Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was approaching midnight. Most reasonable people would be asleep by now, but Travis' insomnia was keeping him up. It didn't matter that he was exhausted, it didn't matter how busy tomorrow would be, he was still up, lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling. Things hadn’t gone well today. Being Chick Hicks’ crew chief was never an easy job, it never had been, but today had been more difficult than usual. Chick’s obsession with training and perfecting was getting out of hand. The day felt endless as he attempted complicated maneuvers and higher speeds than before. Chick’s anger only grew worse and worse as he failed to perform flawlessly, resulting in a fight between the crew members. Travis sighed wearily at the memory. He was contemplating taking something to help him sleep, but he didn’t like relying on medication. His swirling thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a shrill ringtone coming from his nightstand. Travis cursed to himself, reaching for his phone. There was only one person who would be calling him this late at night. Sure enough, the name ‘Chick’ was displayed as his phone vibrated violently in his hand.

“Hello? Hello? Did it go through?” Chick was asking as he answered.

“Yeah, yeah, I can hear you.” Travis said groggily.

“Thank fucking God.” Chick let out a sigh of relief. “Look, I need your help.”

“You usually do when you call me this late.” Travis pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t give me that shit.” Chick snapped. “I’m out in the desert and the car’s uh, well, it won’t start.”

“You’re in the desert?” Travis repeated. His exhaustion suddenly faded, replaced by concern as he sat up in bed. “What do you mean you’re in the desert? And what do you mean your car won’t start?”

“I decided to get some late night practice in.” Chick said simply, as if it explained everything. “Drove out into the desert, y’know, practice on the dirt. Went well for a while, but next thing I know…” Chick didn’t finish the sentence. The bubble of concern was growing inside Travis’ chest.

“Where the hell are you?” he asked.

“I don’t really know.” Chick said. “Can’t remember where I’ve been.”

“Have you been drinking?” Travis knew the answer before he even finished his question.

“I’m not fucking drunk!” Chick shouted. “Look, I just need you to get your ass out here!”

“Honestly, I can’t fucking believe this.” Travis said. “I mean this is stupid, even for you. Honestly, what the hell is wrong with you?!” he didn’t intend to lose his temper, but Chick wasn’t making it easy to keep a cool head.

“A lot of things, now are you gonna help or not?!”

“Alright, alright,” Travis took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea where you are? Any idea at all?”

“You know the old highway we used to take joy rides out on? I think I’m out by mile 13, or somewhere around there.” Chick answered.

“I’ll be out there as soon as I can. Listen to me, do not go anywhere. Stay by the car and don’t wander into the desert.”

“Alright, alright, I'm not an idiot, I got it.” Chick growled. “I shoulda called Bruiser.” he muttered as he hung up. Travis sighed heavily. He couldn’t imagine how poorly things would’ve gone if Bruiser was involved.

Travis let out another long gusty sigh, heading to his closet to grab a coat. He hurried to the front door, pulling on his shoes and grabbing the keys to his pickup. He realized Chick couldn’t be too far out, considering he had decent cell reception, which was at least something good. He climbed into his truck and turned the key, the engine roaring to life. Travis sighed to himself once more. He had known Chick for a good number of years now, as both a crew chief and a friend, this was far from the first time he'd helped Chick out of trouble, but this stunt was beyond his usual brand of recklessness. He turned his thoughts back to the present, pulling out onto the road. It wouldn’t take long to reach the mile marker Chick had told him, but finding him from there might take awhile longer, since Chick said he couldn’t see the road. But at the very least, Travis had a few points to go off of. He was driving faster than he should, but there was hardly anyone else on the road at this hour. The clock in his truck was telling him it was just past 1:00 am. Travis tried to ignore how heavy his eyes felt and keep them focused on the dark road stretching before him, the lights of LA’s outskirts fading behind. He occasionally glanced to the side, on the off chance that he’d see Chick and his car, before returning his gaze to the weathered and worn highway. When he reached the mile marker, he veered off the highway into the desert. Off-roading was hardly a problem in his truck, but he could only imagine how rough the drive had been for Chick, especially at high speeds. Thankfully, there was a fresh trail of destruction and tire marks that Travis suspected was left by Chick.

It was nearly two in the morning when his headlights fell upon Chick and the infamous 86. Chick was leaning against the car, arms wrapped tightly around his body. Chick had never handled the cold too well, and the chill of the night air was clearly getting to him. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” he called to Travis. Travis stepped out of his truck.

“You’re lucky I found you out here.” he said seriously. Chick scoffed. There would be no getting through to him, so Travis moved on, stepping closer to examine the damage on the dust covered car. It was practically suspended on a rock, completely high centered. Bits of cactus clung to the tires, there were several dents and scratches decorating the car. Though he couldn't look under the car, Travis winced at the thought of what the damage might be. "The crew is gonna have a field day with this one." Travis sighed, shaking his head.

“So, how are we moving it?” Chick asked. Travis hadn’t really considered that. He had mostly been thinking about getting Chick out of the desert. His pickup truck definitely wouldn’t do the job.

“We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” Travis shrugged. Chick muttered something under his breath, that Travis could only partially make out,

“Making me leave my goddamn car in the goddamn desert-”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t decided to go off-roading in your stock car.” Travis thought. But there was no point in saying it. Chick didn’t listen to him off the track and he was too tired to hammer the fact. “Come on, let’s get you home.” he said instead.

The two climbed into the truck, Chick sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, arms still wrapped around himself. Travis decided to turn up the heat, as he turned back towards the highway. Chick was surprisingly quiet on the way back. Usually you couldn't get him to stop talking, but he barely said a word. "You warm enough?" Travis asked.

"What? Oh, yeah." Chick responded absentmindedly, just staring out the window.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Travis asked again. Chick sighed.

"Trying to get some practice in. Before next season." 

"I take it you're trying McQueen's tactics?” Travis guessed. It wasn't unusual for Chick to try what was working for other racers. “Why did you decide the middle of the night was the best time for this?”

“Late night inspiration.” Chick shrugged.

“Hitting the whiskey?”

“I sobered up by the time I was out here.” he said defensively.

“Right.”

There was a pause before either of them spoke up again. “I dunno.” Chick said suddenly. “All of this feels pointless anyway.” 

“Pointless?” Travis repeated.

“I got the cup. Feels the same. No Dinoco, everyone hates me more than they did, and they all left. Well, everyone except you and the crew, but that's ‘cause I pay you.” It was unusual to hear Chick speak this way. Travis must have let his surprise show, because Chick's expression suddenly changed to his usual smirk, though his exhaustion certainly showed. “What, did you think I was being serious?”

“I think you were, but you didn’t want to admit it.”   Travis thought.

“Quit taking things so seriously.”

It was nearly four in the morning when Travis got back home, after dropping Chick off. He was thoroughly exhausted, but he wasn't sure he was gonna be able to sleep. Tomorrow he'd have to arrange to get Chick’s car out of the desert on top of everything else. But that wasn't the only thing concerning him. The biggest concern was Chick himself. Sure, he'd always been intense, but he seemed different. Ever since the off season began, his intensity, his drinking, his sudden change in attitude had all become concerning. It crossed the line from dedication to reckless obsession. Or maybe not just obsession, but also avoidance, considering what Chick had said on the drive back. “I need to talk to him. This is getting out of hand.” Travis thought as he kicked off his shoes and threw off his coat, trudging back to bed. Despite his concerns, he was asleep in moments.

Chapter Text

How the hell was he back here? He'd left years ago. He was standing in the middle of a hallway, ugly white walls with peeling paint, carpet stained in several places, the same stains he spent years stepping around. He remembered this place vividly, where he would stand, listening, wondering if it was ‘safe’ to step into the living room where his father always inhabited. He listened, hearing the sound of a race on TV and the hum of the AC, but other than that, nothing. This was fucking ridiculous. Why was he still hiding from Chaz like some scared kid? He was a grown man now and he was stronger than Chaz had ever been.

As he stepped into the living room, he looked at the familiar sight around him. There he was, in the same chair as always, studying the race with a critical and jealous glare. The coffee table and the floor next to him was littered with cheap liquor bottles and beer cans. As soon as Chick stepped into the living room, his father stood up, whipping around to face him, shouting and ranting incoherently. Chick felt his heart beginning to race. He clenched his fists, standing firm as Chaz stormed up to him, reeking of alcohol. “I’m not fucking scared of you!” Chick tried to yell over his father. Chaz pulled back a fist in a threat, but Chick was quicker, striking him directly in the chest. Chaz was hardly fazed. He grabbed Chick by the collar effortlessly, pulling him in. Chick struggled, but he once again felt helpless as he had all those years ago, looking into the blazing eyes of his father.

Chick woke up in a cold sweat, tangled in his sheets. His heart was still racing from his dream. He threw the blankets off himself as he bolted upright, looking around wildly. Late morning sunlight streamed in through the blinds, making him squint. He was in his bedroom, in his house, in southern California. Miles away from Houston, miles away from...Chick let out an irritated growl, not wanting to finish that thought. He ran his fingers through his tossed and tangled hair. The nightmares had been tormenting him for years, pretty much ever since he had left Texas behind. It pissed him off to no end. He was a grown man, he wasn't supposed to be scared by nightmares anymore. And he wasn't afraid of his father. “Besides, that fucker’s as good as dead.” he thought. “Got what was coming to him.” But that thought didn’t really bring him much relief.

After his victory in the 2005 tiebreaker, things hadn’t gone as well as Chick had hoped. The press wasn’t interested in his win, instead focusing on what he’d done to get it, and painting him as racing’s biggest villain or whatever. A few sponsors had chosen to drop him over the whole thing, but it was fine. He had his Piston Cup, and no one could take that away from him. There was still one person he wanted to personally inform. Chaz Hicks. The man who’d spent years telling him that ‘second place never got nobody the cup’, the man whose own career had hardly been a blip in racing history. Chick had been waiting years to literally and figuratively shove that cup in his face.

Despite his later attempt to drown it out, Chick couldn’t dull the memory of the call. He had called Chaz for the first time in years, only for the phone to be answered by a strange woman, with a very thick drawl. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Chaz Hicks has suffered an aneurysm and a stroke. He’s been left with minimal brain function. I’m sorry, we’ve been tryin’ to reach you…” she continued talking about something, but Chick didn’t give a damn. He was stunned. He had never loved his father, far from it. The two hated each other, but Chick had been waiting for this moment to show that old man who the real racer was. “...the important thing to do is figure out next steps-”

“I don’t give a shit what happens with him.” Chick answered. “Let him rot for all I care.” he hung up without letting her say another word.

Chick had hurried off to his most reliable bar, one he had frequented for a few years due to the heavy pour and a convenient place to get drunk when he needed to. And so far the scandal hungry press hadn’t found him here in his lowest moments. He had every intention to get rid of the memory of the call. He was a few drinks in when he heard someone approach him. “Chick.” Travis’ voice spoke over the loud hum of the bar. He couldn’t fully remember, but he figured he had forgotten some important thing, maybe an interview or a sponsor deal or something, he didn’t care.

“Fuck off, lemme get fucked up.” Chick slurred.

“Chick, we need to talk.” Travis pulled his drink away from him.

“Asshole, give it back!” Chick grabbed at it clumsily, but it was out of reach.

“I'll give it back when you can explain what's going on.” Travis knew him too well. Chick let out an irritated growl.

“It’s Chaz.”

“What, did he finally kick it?” Bruiser chimed in behind Travis. Travis shot a glare at the smaller man. Chick found himself searching for words, but nothing was coming to him.

“Brain dead.” he managed to get out. “Drank himsself to…brain death. I never got to fuckin’ prove he's the loser by shoving my fuckin' piston cup down his throat.”

“Chick, I'm sorry-” Travis started to say.

“Fuck you and gimme my drink!” Chick roared. “Don' want your sorry.” Travis just let out an exasperated sigh, sliding the glass back to him.

“Hey, Travis, back off for a moment.” Bruiser said. Travis just stepped back wordlessly. Bruiser stepped up beside the bar with Chick, who didn’t acknowledge his presence. “Hey, at least the old man’s as good as dead.” Bruiser said. “Sure, you never got to prove it to him, but you’ve got more wins than he ever had.”

“That's true.” Chick nodded, head swimming from the motion.

‘“So, what do you say we drink to the bastard’s death?” Bruiser suggested.

“Yeah, fuck that old bastard!” Chick agreed, raising his glass.

Chick forced himself to pull away from the memory..and the nightmare. He hated it. Houston may have been long since left behind, but he still couldn’t escape it. Not for long, anyway. His head was spinning and his heart still pounding. He forced himself to stand up. He started moving away from the bed, but felt heavy and sluggish. It pissed him off. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find some way to escape. The thought of drinking crossed his mind, but it was too early. Besides, he had probably reached his limit for the week anyway. A sound came from his nightstand, his cell ring tone. Chick angrily turned towards it. It was Bruiser. He didn’t give a damn though, declining the call and turning his phone on silent, before turning and storming out of the room. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to lose himself. He decided his best option right now would be his second best option.

Chick flipped on the lights of his home gym. He spent a lot of time here. It was important to his career, but also a way to forget whatever the hell was on his mind and his best option until he could get a nice stiff drink. He approached the punching bag, the echoes of his nightmare still ringing in his mind. He channeled every bit of his hatred for Chaz as he pulled back his arm, executing near perfect form and well practiced blows again and again, the dull thuds starting to drown out the memory. His hands started to sting, Chick vaguely realized he should’ve taped his hands. He lost track of time, it was only when he landed a punch that slipped that he realized his knuckles were slick with blood. He still wasn’t done. His rage hadn’t faded yet. He’d just have to shift gears, find something else to work on. He reached up to wipe the sweat dripping down towards his eyes. He decided to move on to the treadmill, cranking it past his usual pace. “Just keep at this. Don’t fucking thinking about it. Don’t be some weak son of a bitch.” he thought as he fell into the repetitive motion of running.

Chick's chest was heaving as he fought for breath. Good. Just what he wanted. His muscles were burning and trembling, he felt like he was about to collapse. Good. He could barely see straight, let alone think straight. Not as great as whiskey, but it did the trick. Sweat had poured down his body, soaking his clothing and dripping down his face and through his hair. He futilely wiped his brow. He wobbled toward the window, noticing the sun had moved across the sky. It definitely had to be past noon. He needed to go shower off, but knew he’d need to wait to let the nausea pass.

Once Chick was out of the shower, he returned to his room. The water seemed to have brought back some of his energy. He realized that he should probably check his phone. 27 missed calls, including a good number of voicemails and texts. It looked like everyone on the team had contacted him at least once. A surprising pang of guilt flashed through him. Maybe ignoring them hadn't been the best idea. He didn’t even know where to start. Definitely not Travis, he didn't want another damn lecture, but he should probably tell someone he was alive. Someone who wouldn't judge. Someone who was more of a wreck than him, as he dialed the phone.

The phone rang a couple times. “Well, look who’s come up for air!” Bruiser greeted him jokingly.

“Shut up.” Chick replied. “Not in the mood.”

“Look, we’ve all been trying to get ahold of you all morning. What the hell happened?” Bruiser asked. “I mean Travis tells us you went joyriding in the desert and the 86 is totally fucked up. How drunk were you last night?”

“How many times do I have to say I wasn’t drunk?!” Chick shouted.

“I don’t buy it. Don’t pretend like I don’t know you.” Bruiser said. Chick let out an irritated sigh.

“Look, it’s a long story.”

“And? I’m listening.”

“Don’t you have something else to do? Like fixing my car or something?” Chick asked dismissively.

“I’m waiting for parts, asshole. Speaking of, I need your ass down here, you need to sign off on this shit.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll be down. Give me an hour.”

It was closer to an hour and a half when Chick showed up at the garage. Bruiser was waiting for him, bouncing his leg impatiently, arms crossed tightly. Bruiser looked up at him. “Finally, you’re here.” he said. Chick ignored his barbed greeting.

“Alright, what the hell do you need me for?” Chick asked.

“Just some bullshit forms and all that.” Bruiser thrust a clipboard in his direction. “Travis covered for you, by the way, but I wanna know what actually happened.” Chick sighed. Bruiser wasn't going to let this go.

“It was just some late night practice. Didn't go as planned.” he wasn't looking at Bruiser, just looking at the paperwork in front of him.

“That can't be all.” Bruiser pressed. The pit crew worker wasn't particularly observant, but he was persistent. There wasn't any point in avoiding it.

“Look, I was thinking about next season. Y'know, I've got plans to win more than one cup-”

“And you were drinking.” Bruiser interrupted. Chick shot him a glare.

“I was two drinks in.” he reluctantly admitted through gritted teeth. “I wanted to get some practice in. Out on the dirt.”

“So let me get this straight, you're copying McQueen again?” Bruiser asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Shut up.” Chick growled. 

“I mean, getting lost in the desert like that-”

“I told you to shut the fuck up!” Chick snapped. Bruiser looked slightly taken aback.

“Jesus, chill the fuck out.” he said, before muttering something Chick could only partially hear. “...can’t even take a fuckin’ joke.” Bruiser just stepped back over to the car. Chick could care less. This whole thing was bullshit, he was sick of talking about it.

“Chick.” A familiar monotone said from the entrance of the garage. Great, just the one guy he didn’t want to see, Travis. “I wanna talk to you.” Of course he did. Most likely another sermon about Chick being reckless or whatever.

“I don’t wanna hear any of your shit.”

“Well, too bad.” Travis said. Chick reluctantly walked over. Travis stepped outside into the weak sunlight. The sun was already getting pretty close to the horizon.

“Have you just been waiting here for me to show up or whatever?” Chick asked.

“Bruiser told me you finally returned his call.” Travis paused for a second, stifling a yawn. The dark circles under his eyes were more obvious than usual. “We need to talk about whatever the hell is going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on with me.” Chick scoffed.

“After what you told me last night, I know that’s a lie.” Travis narrowed his eyes. “And don’t pretend you weren’t being serious about everything feeling pointless. I’ve been your crew chief for over ten years, I know you.”

“So?” Chick retorted weakly.

“You’ve been getting worse and worse ever since the tiebreaker.”

“Oh fuck off, my driving’s-”

“I’m not talking about your driving.” Travis stopped him. “I’m talking about your behavior. The obsessive training, the drinking, all the reckless shit you’ve been pulling ever since the tiebreaker and what happened to your father, even for you this is getting out of hand.” Chick opened his mouth to object, bristling at the mention of Chaz, but Travis interrupted before he could start. “And honestly, I’m kicking myself for letting this go on for so long. I had to cover for your ass, again. Every time you throw yourself into these goddamn bullshit shenanigans, I’m the one pulling you out, just so you can do something else reckless and dangerous. I’m getting real fucking sick of it.”

Travis took a deep breath before he spoke again. “You need help. And I mean professional help.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Chick said dryly. “Look, I’m fine. Better than fine. I got my Piston Cup, training’s going great, and Chaz isn’t around to give me shit.”

“Let me put it this way,” Travis said seriously. “Either you get help, or I quit.”

“What? Quit? Are you serious?” Chick let out a nervous chuckle. Travis didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. “We can talk about this. Is it about the pay? I could get you a raise.”

“It’s not about the pay. It’s about you getting help to sort out your issues.”

“I’m handling it-”

“But you’re not.” Travis said seriously. “You schedule and go to at least one therapy session, I’ll stick around. You don't, I quit. That’s it.” There was no winning in this situation. Chick knew it. He knew Travis. He was not bluffing. Travis turned away, heading to his truck. “I’ll give you a day or two to think it over.”

Chapter Text

Took longer than expected, but Chick’s car was finally fucking fixed. That drive had fucked it up pretty bad. Travis hadn’t given any details when he'd gotten it in. He just looked tired. Well, more tired than usual, it was pretty standard for the guy. The whole crew was going out for drinks and a burger at Randy’s Bar and Grill, their usual spot. The place was filled with chatter and music, the lights were low, and the air smelled of food and booze. It was the same as always, the crew had been coming here for years. Tonight it was the pitties and Rod, their truck driver. The six of them sat down at a booth towards the back, and ordered a pitcher of beer when the waitress came to their table. The six launched into the usual conversations, trying to get their mind off working. It was mostly about sports between swigs of beer. Bruiser wasn't really paying much attention, his leg bouncing in anticipation to blurt out what he'd heard earlier. 

“Heard an interesting conversation between Travis and Chick.” He took his chance after the group ordered some food.

“I don't wanna hear about work tonight.” Jordan sighed. The other guys muttered in agreement.

“Just hear me out.” Bruiser continued anyway. “Heard the two talking. Travis was talking about how Chick’s getting worse and Chick was arguing with him, but then, check this out, Travis told him that he was gonna quit if Chick didn’t go to see a damn shrink.” At the word ‘shrink’ it was like someone had hit pause. The pause ended with,

“What, like therapy?” from Mark, never the fastest on the uptake.

“Isn't that like, for women?” Rod asked. “Hey, now we know why he's called Chick!” he slammed a fist on the table as he let out an obnoxious laugh. The pitties paid no mind to his joke, except for a dry chuckle from Mark.

“Well, I hope Travis can find another job soon.” Aaron said, dramatically setting his beer glass down. “No way Chick would ever do that. No matter how good a crew chief Travis is.”

“Seems like a stupid thing to quit over, anyway.” Dale spoke up.

“Yeah, I mean, it's Chick we're working with here, we all know what we're in for. He's always a disaster of some kind.” Jordan added, already sounding bored of the conversation.

“Sure Chick's been a little off ever since the whole incident.” Bruiser gestured vaguely. The crew knew exactly what he meant, even with the vaguest implication. “But hey, he's been through worse, he'll be fine.” Truthfully, it was hard to say if Chick had ever been through worse in his career and the rest of the crew knew this.

“Who knows, maybe they'll both drop it and things’ll be normal again.” Dale shrugged.

“They're both pretty damn stubborn.” Aaron reminded him. “If you ask me-”

“If you ask me, we need another pitcher. I'm sick of thinking about work.” Jordan interrupted. And with that, the conversation returned to the topic of the upcoming game.

It was nearing midnight and at this point Chick was just waiting for his alarm to go off. He had given in and agreed to Travis’ deal. Chick didn’t want him to quit, Travis was too valuable of a crew chief to lose. The two had been through a lot together and Chick didn’t want some hack replacing him. Who’d be desperate enough to work with Chick Hicks anyway?, the ‘villain of the piston cup series’. He was gonna have to look for some shrink who could get him in as soon as possible. He needed this over with so things could go back to normal. Whatever ‘normal’ was these days. He'd spent too long thinking about this. Completely giving up on sleep, he got up and began pacing his house in the dark like a caged animal. He needed to get out of here. He needed to be out on the road, sober this time. He hadn't felt much like drinking anyway, Travis' damn judgment had gotten to him. His aimless wandering became more focused as he gathered his clothes and shoes.

Chick stepped out into the cool night air for a brief moment before climbing into the car. He turned the key, engine roaring to life, the familiar loud rumbling drowning out his thoughts. For now, the only thing that mattered was the road and driving. He pulled out of the drive, a dark river of pavement winding through the desert in front of him. The highway was virtually empty this early, giving him free reign to speed. To Chick, the open road had always felt like freedom. He had spent a lot of time on it ever since he’d left Houston behind. His car sped forward, headlights illuminating the gray asphalt ahead. It was just him, the car and the road. Chick couldn't remember how long it had been since he felt like this. Long before the tiebreaker, for sure. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he prepared for the turn up ahead.

Chick gripped the steering wheel. He didn't wanna be here. Not in the slightest. He was sitting in his car in the parking lot of the 'New Horizons Mental Health Clinic'. Chick rolled his eyes at the name but it was the only place without a six month waitlist so he could get this shit over with. He could just say he went. That's what Bruiser had suggested. Repeatedly. Bruiser was uncharacteristically serious. Chick had shrugged off his concerns in the moment but now they were back to haunt him. "Remember, you gotta watch what you say or they'll lock you up. And tell the doc you're not taking any pills he gives you. And if anything goes wrong, give me a call." Chick realized he'd been sitting out in the parking lot for too long. He needed to make a decision now. Travis would probably know if he was lying about upholding his end of the deal. He wasn’t an idiot. With a deep sigh, Chick threw the car door open and climbed out, looking at the sign for the clinic again. Just one hour and this shit would be over and things would be back to normal. 

As he entered the lobby, he was greeted by a receptionist sitting behind a desk, smiling at him. “Good morning! What can I do for you?” she spoke in an overly cheery voice, the kind that just made Chick feel irritated.

“Here for an appointment.” he just said simply.

“May I have your name?”

“Chick Hicks.” The racer could only hope she didn't recognize him.

“Ah yes, you're here for the eleven thirty appointment with Dr. Morales.” The receptionist turned her gaze to the computer. “I have you checked in. Feel free to take a seat, Dr. Morales will be right out to see you.” she said, cheerful tone never once fading. Chick just walked away from the desk, ready to be done with the conversation. He sat down in one of the chairs, leaning forward just a little, eyes surveying the room. The walls were sterile white, like a hospital's. Whoever had decorated this room had tried to hide this by hanging up the ugliest paintings Chick had ever seen. There was a door on the other side of the room. He kept glancing at the clock, which seemed uncomfortably loud in this silent waiting room. At the very least, he was the only one waiting.

After an eternity, the door on the other side of the room gently swung open. A woman stepped into the waiting room. She wasn't exactly young or old, somewhere in between, professionally dressed in a blouse and pants, long dark hair tied up in a bun. She carried with her a clipboard, held close to her body. She approached Chick with a warm smile. “Chick Hicks?” she asked, as if he could be anyone else. Chick nodded. “I'm Dr. Rebeca Morales, it's nice to meet you.” she held out her hand. Chick stood up and shook her hand unenthusiastically. 

“Yeah, sure.” he muttered. Dr. Morales ignored his reluctance.

“Follow me right this way and we can get the session started.”

Chick was led to an office towards the end of the hallway. It was nice enough. The walls were painted with a blueish green. There was a desk in one corner, decorated with framed pictures and houseplants. Actually there were a lot of houseplants all over the office. Dr. Morales took a seat in a high backed chair, gesturing to the seat across from her. Chick sat down just on the edge, looking at her cautiously. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.” she said kindly. Her voice wasn’t sickly sweet like the receptionist, but Chick still didn’t trust her. “Alright, we can get started. What brings you in today?”

“Listen here, before we start, I gotta make a few things clear.” Chick found his voice. “I’m only here to hold up my end of a deal.” he noticed Dr. Morales was beginning to write in a notepad, periodically looking back up at him. “First, I don’t want anything that goes on in this room getting out. Second, I’m not taking any meds you try and give me. Third, I’m not going to any institution. You got that?”

“I understand.” the therapist nodded. “However, I feel you should know that I am required to keep everything in this room private unless I feel you are at risk of hurting yourself or others, which is the only criteria where we’d force you to be institutionalized. And I am a therapist, not a psychiatrist, meaning that I cannot prescribe you anything.” Despite her words, Chick wasn’t letting his guard down.

“You mentioned that you’re holding up your end of a deal, would you care to explain?” Dr. Morales asked.

“My crew chief. He’s acting like I’m going crazy. Told me I’d have to schedule a session or he’d quit. He’s too good to lose so here I am, going along with this. I’m ready to get this over with so things can get back to normal.”

“Have things been different lately?”

“Guess so. Things don’t feel right. But it’s probably just because Travis is telling me I’m fucked up. He’s telling me I’m being obsessive and reckless and drinking too much.” Chick narrowed his eyes as he remembered the conversation with Travis.

“Travis is your crew chief?”

“Yeah.”

“It seems as though he’s concerned about you.” Dr. Morales noted out loud.

“He’s always bitching about something I’m doing. Constantly trying to tell me what I should be doing, like we’re still on the track. And then he tells me he’s gonna quit this time!” Chick clenched his fists.

“Would you consider the possibility that he made this request to ensure that you listen to his concerns and suggestions?”

“Well it worked.” Chick muttered.

“You say that things haven’t felt right, can you explain any further?”

“Explain what?”

“What exactly feels off or when this feeling began.”

“Nothing’s off. Travis is the one saying that. He’s said it’s been since the tiebreaker.”

“Tiebreaker?”

“Y’know, the 2005 tiebreaker? For the Piston Cup?”

“My apologies, I don’t follow car racing.” Dr. Morales said. 

Chick paused for a moment. “So you don’t know a damn thing about the tiebreaker?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, all you need to know is that I was the winner.” Chick said. “Took home the Piston Cup.”

“And that’s really all there is to the story?” Dr. Morales raised an eyebrow.

“It’s all you need to know.”

“I respectfully doubt that, considering what you’ve indicated so far.” she glanced at her notes. Chick scoffed.

“What have I indicated?”

“It seems that ever since this tiebreaker your behavior has shifted noticeably to your crew chief, who has been trying to bring this to your attention. This would indicate that something changed at this tiebreaker.” Damn. She could read him like a magazine. Chick decided to give in.

“The tiebreaker was my last chance to beat an old rival. I told myself I wouldn't lose. It was down to the final lap and I was still behind him, so I bumped him." Chick explained briefly. Dr. Morales’ expression was completely unreadable, her eyes fixed firmly on him. "Look, it's legal. Lots of racers do it. Crashes are a part of racing. It's not like I thought it was gonna be that serious. He lived." Chick added. Dr. Morales nodded, adding to her notes. "You better not be writing down that I'm a psychopath or something. What the hell are you even writing down?"

"I'm taking notes regarding our session. I don't think you're a psychopath. It's not even a clinical term, but that's beside the point.”

“Then what do you think?” He hated how desperate the question sounded.

“So far, from what you've told me, it sounds like you were seeking catharsis by winning the Piston Cup, but failed to find it despite your victory.”

“How would you know that? Winning that damn trophy was worth it, it's the biggest achievement of my life! It's everything I've been chasing after, this is the start of the Chick Era!” Chick insisted. 

“And yet your other statements lead me to believe otherwise.” Dr. Morales replied calmly. Somehow the fact that she was calm only added to his frustration.

When the session was finally over, Chick was feeling worn out in a way he couldn't explain. He couldn't understand Dr. Morales but he was sure he didn't like her. “It's over, at least. Never have to worry about her again. There you go Travis, you fucker. I don’t know why you were making such a big deal of this.” Chick thought as he stepped into the lobby, headed past the reception desk.

“We can schedule a follow-up now if you'd like.” the receptionist said, same sugary tone as before.

“I'll pass.” Chick said curtly as he walked by. “Follow-up, my ass.” he muttered to himself.

“I’m sorry?” she said with a confused look on her face.

“Nothing.” he waved his hand dismissively.

Chapter Text

For the first time in her life, Rebeca Morales was going to watch a race. Or at least a video of one, the tiebreaker her newest client had mentioned. It was late, and the only light came from her laptop screen, bathing her in the harsh glare. In one hand, she clutched a mug of tea that was beginning to go cold. She was transfixed on the screen. Though she wasn’t very knowledgeable on the subject, she knew enough to follow what was relevant to Chick Hicks and what they had discussed. She had promised her partner she’d come to bed at a decent hour, but as the clock moved towards eleven, that was looking unlikely. The audio included the announcers and what the racers were saying over the radios, although a lot of it was racing techniques and terminology that were foreign to her, she felt she could successfully get a sense of what was happening. The race was in its final lap, Rebeca focused on the green 86 car, caught behind the 43. She knew for a fact this ‘King’ was the rival Chick had mentioned in their session.

“I am not coming in behind you again, old man!” Chick yelled in the video, before his car violently slammed into the King’s. The car sailed through the air, landing on the turf and flipping several times. She could only imagine the sickening thud of the metal as it crumpled. The racer in the lead, McQueen, suddenly stopped at the horrifying scene, but Chick kept going, speeding past the finish line, cheering and hollering, seemingly oblivious how bad it had been. Despite Chick’s many apparent flaws, she did believe that he hadn’t meant for the crash to be so bad. However buried, he seemed to feel guilt and had a degree of remorse. She knew for a fact this was one such patient that would be a challenge, he had proven himself to be very closed off. There was no guarantee he'd return, she noticed there was no follow-up from him on her calendar, but she wanted to be prepared nonetheless. She had always been dedicated to every patient that requested her services.

The footage was coming to its end, with the crowd cheering as the damaged blue racecar was pushed across the finish line. Morales knew she had all she needed for her notes and observations. Her eyes were feeling heavy as she finished writing her notes. She set down her pen, rubbing her tired eyes and closing her notebook. She powered down her laptop, and went to creep quietly to bed.

The next morning, when she got into the office, she found the receptionist finishing up on organizing the waiting room. “Good morning, Dr. Morales!” Katie spoke in her usual sing song tone.

“Good morning.” the psychologist returned the greeting.

“Oh, by the way, you might want to know, your newest client, Chick Hicks, called to schedule a follow- up.” Katie said. Morales hadn’t expected that. “He called me just before I closed up the office, and I scheduled him for next Wednesday, another 11:30.”

“Good to know, thank you.”

Back in that ugly ass waiting room. Chick hadn't been planning to come back, he'd done his part. Travis had just given him a nod and didn't acknowledge it beyond that, thank God for that. Bruiser had wanted the details, he'd even bribed Chick with a drink or two. So the racer half-heartedly told him about the session. “Should've told her off. She clearly doesn't get who you are. Maybe go back and teach her a thing or two.” Bruiser advised, between swigs of his drink. In the moment, it had seemed like a good idea. Chick had confidently called to make an appointment. Now he was somewhere between stubbornly going through with it and wanting to cancel as he looked at the clock on the wall.

This time he wasn't alone. There was a young woman in the waiting room, tapping her foot loudly against the floor, looking around. Every now and again she'd glance at him and look him up and down. Chick looked back at her with a glare. She'd cast her eyes downward, but she'd stare at him again when she thought he was looking away. “Does she recognize me?” he thought. Chick was used to being recognized. It was just a side effect of being famous that he'd accepted years ago. He didn't even give a shit when someone who hated him recognized him, but it was another thing to be recognized in this goddamn place. The last thing he needed was for this to get out. The press had already jumped on his Piston Cup victory and the crash, the reveal that Chick Hicks was seeing a shrink would just be adding more gasoline to the fire. And there'd be no salvaging his career after that.

He jumped up the second the door opened, ready to get away from this lady. “Chick, it's good to see you back.” Dr. Morales greeted.

“Sure.” he answered, just ready to leave the waiting room. Dr. Morales looked a little surprised as Chick hurriedly walked towards her office.

“Is there something on your mind?” Dr. Morales asked once she had closed the door to her office.

“Yeah-no.” Chick corrected himself. “Just wanna get this over with.”

“I see.” Dr. Morales nodded.

“I watched the race you mentioned.” she began. Chick paused.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“I wanted to get a perspective on the race.”

“So you thought I was lying.”

“No, I wanted to see it for myself.” she insisted.

“No one's ever gonna let that damn tiebreaker go.” Chick sighed. “No one gave a damn about any other crashes or bumping until it was the damn King. He's some kind of untouchable legend or something.”

“What have you done since the crash?” Dr. Morales had her pen and notepad out again.

“Interviews, contractual obligations, preparing for next season. The usual.” Chick shrugged.

“No attempts at reparations?” Dr. Morales pressed.

“No.”

“You can't expect anyone to move past something when you won't take the steps to repair the situation.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The psychologist changed her approach. “I'll put it directly. You need to apologize.” 

“What, to Weathers?” Chick muttered. He shifted his weight to the edge of his seat, ready to get up at any moment.

“Yes, and to those affected by the crash. That will begin to mend things. I emphasize the word ‘begin’. It will take time for others to ‘let this go’. And from what you have shared, you haven’t either.”

“Don't pretend you know who I am. I have let it go. It's everyone else that won't.” Chick growled. Dr. Morales began writing something down. Probably about how Chick was a liar. He got out of his chair and started pacing the small office area. He kept glancing at the door, thinking about just up and leaving.

“She doesn’t get you.” Bruiser’s words came back to him. “Teach her a thing or two.”

“You really don’t fucking get me. You think that just cause you’re some fuckin’, college educated girl that you understand Chick Hicks, when you don’t know a damn thing about the Piston Cup.” Chick began. “You think you can watch a twenty minute clip of a race, and know what it’s like to be on the track? The pressure, the dedication, the bullshit I put up with from the press, the sponsors, the fucking braindead fans! Thank God for the groupies! What the hell do you even worry about? What ugly ass painting you’ll hang up next in that goddamn waiting room?! And you say I owe Strip ‘the King’ Weathers a fucking apology? Like he doesn’t have the whole fucking world on his side?! And McQueen goes around pretending he’s holier than thou after spending a few days in some hick town, like he wouldn’t do the same fucking thing if he was me?! Everyone thinks they’re better than Chick Hicks, when they’d be just the same if they were the goddamn ‘runner up’ their whole career!” Chick was breathing hard, his pacing brought to its end. “Why the fuck am I the villain here?” he asked. He surprised himself with how much he had just shared, and yet he could still hear himself going on about the way the press had hounded him after the tiebreaker. Why was he still bitching and whining to this woman? He was practically begging himself to stop, and yet he couldn’t.

Dr. Morales was unfazed by his rants, still sitting calmly. How was it that she could be so goddamn calm throughout everything? Anyone would think she couldn’t feel anything. “Why are you still here? You didn't have to come back, you held up your end of the deal, like you said.”

“I came here to give you a piece of my mind.” Chick answered, through gritted teeth.

“And you did that. Why are you still here?” Dr. Morales repeated. Chick didn't know what to say. But it didn't seem like Dr. Morales expected him to say anything. “It was very bold of you to share your unfiltered thoughts.” she said. Chick was surprised. That was bold? She hasn't seen anything yet. “Unfortunately, we've reached the end of our session.” Dr. Morales continued, standing up and walking to the door. “You can book your next session with reception on the way out. I look forward to seeing you next time.” Next time. She sounded pretty damn certain he’d be back.

Chick was again wondering how Dr. Morales could get in his head like that, and leave him feeling worn out like he'd just gotten done with a long race as he walked down the hallway. The waiting room still wasn't empty, there were two other people waiting, but that fidgety woman was gone. Chick Hicks walked up to the reception desk, leaning against it as casually as possible. “I take it you're looking to schedule a follow-up?” the receptionist asked in her sunny tone.

“Yeah. What have you got?”

“ Well let me see here.” She looked at her computer screen.