This took me long enough.
Title: Genesis
Fandom: Speed Racer (at last!)
Pairing: Rex Racer x Inspector Detector
Length: 4,811 words
Rating: PG-15 for a few swears.
Status: Complete, hopefully.
The beta okayed it, so here we go...
So you guys already know my obsession with backstory. This is what happens when I obsess about Speed Racer.
“Excuse me, I’m - ”
“ - I mean it, you know what happened the last time - ”
“ - could you possibly - ”
“ - c’mon, it’s all very funny, but please put it - ” Despite Rex’s best and somewhat courageous attempts to wrestle his brother to the ground and remove the large metal object he’d somehow located, Speed still managed to place aforementioned cylindrical lump of metal firmly in the centre of the (up until now unnoticed) stranger’s shins, emitting a rather satisfying thwonk. “ - down,” Rex finished, and winced, finding himself looking up uneasily into some rather blue eyes. “Go find the spanner tray, Speedy,” he muttered, a firm shove between his shoulder blades to steer him in the right direction. Speed jogged off happily; helping Rex generally resulted in a rewards, usually either in the form of something sticky, sweet and terrible for his cholesterol, or (if he was absolutely brilliant) something to do with his car. Rex dropped the cylinder he’d recently acquisitioned in Speed’s distraction and turned to the intruder.
“No need to apologise,” the other murmured. It could just have been the accent, but Rex thought he sounded amused.
“He’s young,” Rex replied stubbornly.
“Aren’t we all?” the man mused.
“Can I help you?” Rex muttered, trying hard not to grit his teeth. “The stands are back that way - ”
“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not a spectator,” he murmured in reply. Rex fought the urge to curse and really, really hoped it was the accent lilting his voice. If he’d somehow managed to insult a prospective investor the other drivers would kill him. “I was looking for some… friends of mine with something for me, did they pass through here?” Rex jumped and realised that they’d been standing in a rather uncomfortable silence for quite sometime, and blushed - and almost groaned. This was all so painfully unprofessional, not to mention acutely embarrassing. “No matter,” the man said as aforementioned silence dragged on again, as Rex still couldn’t seem to speak. “It was nice to meet you, Mr Racer.” He smiled and walked away, brushing the brim of his hat (a Fedora, he noticed quite significantly as he stared at it) as he left.
Rex looked down at his hands, and realised that what he was holding was most definitely not his own; his mouth felt a little dry from the sight of it. He walked quickly towards the door behind the other man, calling out to him. “Excuse me, is this what you’re looking for?”
Or, at least he tried to. At that moment, Speed plodded back in, precariously balancing a tray of rather heavy spanners, unbeknownst to Rex, who crashed into him, sending everything - including the spearhook he’d been up until now holding in his hand - into the air. Now, it cleaved through the air quite dramatically and hit him sharply on the temple. He sank ungracefully to the ground and as his vision shimmered into blackness he watched the man turn round and smile.
He was rather unceremoniously woken to Speed shouting, Pops bellowing and Mom fussing whilst an unidentifiable fourth occupant doused him with what was definitely not the first bucket of water. The fourth person muttered something, but it was unintelligible - to Rex at least; after this, he moved away and Rex’s vision cleared just as his suited leg turned the corner and out of sight. He rubbed his head and winced; Speed let out an almighty cry of “Rex!” and crashed into him, sending him firmly horizontal again. Rex sighed and righted himself, scrambling onto his feet.
“How long have I got till the race starts?” he asked Speed, who seemed to be the only one not screaming.
“Three minutes,” he replied, nibbling on a finger. Rex absently removed it from his mouth and headed over to where the Mach 4 was parked, opening the door and buckling himself in.
His parents flipped. “Out of the car, now!” Pops yelled, and Mom started throwing fearful words like ‘concussion’ and ‘brain damage’. Rex ignored them, winked at Speed and pulled out onto the track.
He won, naturally. It didn’t stop him scanning the stands for a Fedora.
Or nearly crashing when he spotted one.
His feet slammed on the pavement, taking him away from a baffled Mom, Pops and Speed behind him and closer to the bobbing hat heading quite directly for the business quarter. He trained his eyes desperately, dodging eight cars and twenty-one pedestrians. The hat became tantalisingly close, and Rex was within grabbing distance (though unfortunately not calling distance; the centre of town was a nightmare of noise) until the man simply disappeared. Rex looked round quite despondently, and then jumped most inelegantly as an amused voice behind him announced; “At the risk of sounding quite clichéd, we meet again, Mr Racer.” Rex spun around and managed to fully appreciate the other this time (though, thank God it had been him, and not some other nameless businessman with a Fedora and a well-fitting suit). “Though hopefully, you’ll be a little more eloquent than our last meeting, based on the speed of your, pursuit.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to stop gawping at the man’s eyes, which were a startling pretty blue. The man’s mouth quirked again as he spoke; this, along with the words, broke Rex out of a reverie. “It would seem not,” he murmured. “Although I had not expected you as the shy and silent type.”
Rex’s brain tried to get past the ‘where are you from?’ ‘how old are you?’ style of questions it seemed to have grown so fond of and perhaps to something a little more intelligible. Its attempts were unsuccessful.
“It must be a nightmare trying to telephone you,” the man remarked. “Although it is an experience I think I should ascertain. Seeing as you worked so hard to get here…” He reached into the insides of his jacket, and withdrew a piece of paper, folding it into Rex’s unresponsive hand. “Perhaps I’ll hear from you when you manage to find that voice?” The man repeated the brush of his hat and walked into the alleyway beside them.
Rex’s brain decided to take this moment as an opportunity to trickle back through his ears, and his frozen legs learnt the principle of locomotion and rather smoothly came into effect, chasing the man through the alley and out the other side -
- to find himself lost in a sea of Fedoras and pea-green suits. The business quarter. His eyes helplessly scanned the waves, but en masse, they appeared identical. Save for the rather brightly lit up Racer family, which was making its way from the other side of the square. Rex groaned. Pops’ face was livid, Speed looked confused and hurt… this would take some explaining.
The next time Rex found the Inspector Detector (the name he salvaged from the piece of paper, along with a number he hadn’t had enough courage to ring) he was in a tailor. He still had a pathetically obvious conversation with him, involving something along the lines of;
“What are you doing in here?!”
The Inspector rose an eyebrow. “I’m in a tailor. I’m getting a suit fitted.”
“Um,” Rex replied, feeling the blush creep back up his neck.
“And back to inarticulate mumblings,” the Inspector said as he received his hat from an attendant, turning to smile at Rex. “I had so enjoyed hearing that voice after such a wait. The anticipation was almost killing me.”
“Um,” Rex replied.
The Inspector simply smiled. “I do believe I have another twenty-three minutes before I have to return to work. A lot can happen in twenty-three minutes, can it not?”
“Um,” Rex replied.
They stepped out onto the street together, and the Inspector looked around at him, smiling. “Coffee,” he declared, moving off. “Coffee can happen in twenty-three minutes. I know somewhere nearby, if you don’t protest?” Rex shook his head, rushing to keep up with him in this unfamiliar part of town. The Inspector slipped inside somewhere which looked distinctly reputable but made his way to the back of the shop, into a hidden cubicle which the staff were clearly used to him using. A pot of coffee was deposited, the door was shut, and they were left alone. “Company use,” he explained as he poured two cups. “Soundproofed for meetings.” He took a long, slow drink, letting out a satisfied sigh when he’d finished. Rex picked up his cup and took a drink for something to do; the Inspector watched him with close eyes.
Rex’s eyes flickered up once, his blush creeping along his neck again, before he dropped them again, watching his hand trace patterns in the table. The Inspector followed his gaze. “Truth is, sir, I’m not entirely sure why I’m here either. I don’t really understand anything right now,” he mumbled. “But I keep bumping into you and I dunno, it just makes sense to follow…”
The Inspector smiled, stood up and leant across the table. “Stop me if this doesn’t make sense,” he whispered as he grabbed Rex’s hair and slammed his mouth onto his own.
Rex’s eyes rolled back, nope, perfect sense, he would have said wittily if his mouth hadn’t been full of tongue. He pushed back, grabbing onto the Inspector’s hair, knocking off the Fedora. Despite his previous visions of the Inspector going mad, melting or spontaneously combusting when said hat was removed (none of which he would discover to be true, though he did get a bit peeved the time he knocked it off, ran around with it for half an hour and then hid it under the sofa) the man simply laughed and pulled him closer, grasping Rex’s hair and doing something rather delicious with his tongue.
And then his perfect sense sort of stopped making perfect sense for two reasons;
He glanced at the clock; it was three twenty two, and Speed came out of school ten minutes ago.
His hands wrapped around the Inspector’s waist and the unquestionable shape of a gun pressed into his fingers.
He panicked and bolted from the room and didn’t stop driving for a very long time.
The Inspector was now in a lot of shit.
It had gone from being a cute, smiling kid who followed him around without any idea of why - God, he was just so naïve, he didn’t understand anything he’d done, and now the Inspector had just gone and practically molested him in some sleazy coffee shop and the kid must think he’s some kind of pervert - not to mention the fact he had a gun up his jacket, real smart, it had freaked him out so much, but he had to have one for work -
Work, oh god, work, work was worse, his boss was starting to suspect something, and he’d just cocked up another relationship before he even gave it a chance. His phone went off in his pocket; he didn’t bother to check the ID, pressing it to his ear and simply snapping “What?”
On the other end of the line, Rex hesitated. “Um,” he managed, and closed his eyes, wincing. He heard the other’s gasp, painful seconds of silence dragging out before Rex mumbled a “sorry” and made to hang up.
“Wait,” the response came, more pleading in it than Rex had expected. “I didn’t think you’d call,” it continued, sounding uncertain and… scared?
“Sorry,” Rex mumbled again, to receive a soft chuckle from the other end.
“I think the wrong person is apologising, Mr Racer,” he replied quietly, his own screaming out through every word.
“Well it’s not like you’ve got much to apologise for, I mean, I liked it - ” Rex’s face lit up with fire and his throat clogged up and his brain screamed oh no, oh god no, I did not just - “It’s just the gun kinda freaked me out a little, and, um, I mean, Speedy - ”
The Inspector’s laugh was a relief and a means by which to ignite his face further. “That’s good,” he replied eventually. “Because I did too.” A rush of static announced a sigh. “I doubt I’d be able to explain very well about the gun over the phone, and frankly, I’d rather tell you face to face.”
Rex’s face scorched again. “Well… maybe we should do it again?” he said quickly, flush spreading further down his neck.
“Maybe we should,” the Inspector replied elusively, and Rex could hear the smile in his voice.
There was a lengthy pause. “You mean, like, Superman?”
Inspector Detector let out a long, slow sigh. “The link between me and Superman being…”
Rex took another sip of his coffee, seeming to think about it for a moment. “You both catch bad guys?”
The Inspector chuckled slightly. “I hardly catch bad guys. I reprimand dirty racers. Half the glory, twice the paperwork.” He wrinkled his nose for a moment, but then smiled a half-smile and sipped on his own mug; unlike Rex, tea. Although he needed the caffeine, he could never stand the stuff without making it three parts sugar, one part coffee. “I suppose it could be vaguely suggested as fun,” he mused. “Well, the job satisfaction and paycheck aspect is,” he grinned, and Rex smiled.
“You got to like what you do, though,” he pointed out, and the Inspector rolled his eyes.
“Despite the fact I adored racing, I didn’t have the funds nor connections for driving and certainly not the brains for mechanics. So I settled for… catching bad guys.” He leant back in his chair and spread his hands. “Besides, it’s hardly hard to not like what you do.”
“Hurting my family kinda sucks,” Rex mumbled, and the Inspector watched him closely. “I mean, no one goes for them directly, but everytime I crash or lose a race or even just do something dangerous it kills my Mom a little and well, as for Speedy…” The sentence tailed off into teen angst and the Inspector took another slow sip. “But you can race?” he finally asked, and he found himself smiling.
“I can drive,” he replied. “It’s hardly what you do. But yes, a certain amount of car skill is necessary for the job.”
“I want to see you drive,” he insisted, and the Inspector smiled, knowing he never would. “So… are you like, the head of your division?”
The Inspector let out a slow sigh. “I’m twenty-three. I’m hardly old enough to run the Corporate Crimes division.”
Rex furrowed his brow for a moment. “You do a hell of a lot of work, though,” he mused, and the Inspector chuckled.
“That’s the life of an underdog,” he smiled, but he was starting to feel a little queasy.
“So what is it exactly you do?” His suspicions were confirmed in a heartbeat; he was beginning to become interested in his job, and that way, madness lay.
“I can hardly tell you top-secret government information, can I?” he smiled, and Rex seemed slightly put out for a moment before one quirked his lips too. “Besides, your job has got to be much more exciting than mine,” he steered carefully. “You’re a race car driver.”
Rex wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I guess, but…” He sighed. “I’d never complain, because I think it’s brilliant that I can do what I want to, but there’s not much money in it… I want the best for my family, and we don’t earn that much from Racer Motors, and I always wanted Speedy to go to a good college. Kinda do the things I never got to. Though he’d probably just flunk out and go driving anyways,” he said, pride in his voice. An alarm went off in the Inspector’s pocket, and he sighed, fishing it out. He read the message once, before looking up at Rex apologetically. “It’s okay,” the other said, leaning across the table to kiss him gently. “Don’t spend as long as I did calling, okay?” He jotted a number down on a piece of paper and pressed it into the Inspector’s hand, who stood up, smiling gently, donning his Fedora and leaving Rex to mull on the thoughts which would eventually destroy everything.
“I want to come work with you,” Rex said suddenly over a dinner in the Inspector’s apartment, and it was everything the Inspector had dreaded.
“No,” the Inspector had answered, and he wished That had been That, but what followed were two weeks of sheer agony, as Rex pleaded, begged, pressed and hounded him, hoping with the stubbornness that he quite clearly possessed and the fact that No never meant No the Inspector would eventually give in. But the Inspector had seen better men than Rex destroyed by what he did, himself included - he wasn’t sure he understood what it involved, no matter how many times he sat down and talked it through with him. It meant your family gone, it meant your name gone, it meant your freedom totally gone. It meant losing everything just so every now and then someone bad got put away.
Until they got free again and then came back with a vengeance.
He held his arms up in desperation, looking at the Inspector Detector. “I am sick of my life not being what I want it to be! What you do - saving people, helping them, that’s what I wanna be! I want to be -
“A hero?” The Inspector simply sighed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. What it involves losing.”
Rex laughed bitterly. “I get this at home enough without getting it from you - I’m not a kid! Stop treating me like one! Hell, you’re only a handful of years older than me, what makes you so goddamn special?!”
“Your parents are right to be worried for you. It is… difficult. I am doing this because I care for you, Rex,” he murmured calmly.
“If you gave a shit about me you’d let me do this,” he whispered. He gripped hold of the Inspector’s shirt, staring at him hatefully. “I hate you,” he whispered, and shoved him back into the chair and left.
“Can I come with you, Rex?”
“Not this time, Speedy.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
---
Five years later
---
The crash was a horrible tangle of flesh and metal and it left the driver mutilated beyond recognition.
Rex Racer caused it, as instructed, drove past it, as instructed. He got out of his car and he walked out of that locker room with a hundred eyes boring into him, full of hate. He was used to it. He got into his car and he drove home to his expensive flat with the all-wall TV and satin sheets and exclusive view of the Grand Prix Coliseum to remind him what could be his if he played by the rules and what so very easily couldn’t if he didn’t.
Now that he hadn’t.
He took a long, slow drink and turned round to face the man, who, framed by two of his employees, sighed dramatically. “Now, we both know you weren’t supposed to win that race.”
“It was only by a margin,” Rex muttered, not caring enough to make a proper argument.
“You still won. Leaving me with some rather annoyed friends because they were under the impression that they were to win that race. You knew what this involved when you signed the contract. Rex,” he said patronisingly, and Rex’s insides stung as he was reminded of his little brother’s voice mumbling his name. “this simply won’t do. You know I have to make an example of you.” There was the sound of heavy tread across the plush carpet and Rex braced himself, letting his eyes drift shut as he waited for the inevitable pain.
It never came; there were several hard, angry shouts and a few gunshots, which rippled through the room with alarming intensity. Rex spun around and saw unfamiliar faces, clothed in black spreading into the room, guns pointed at him, Binelli and the henchmen, the single command of “Freeze!” barked through the room, and Rex didn’t even nod.
Binelli looked at him with an expression of total hatred before squeezing the trigger. The bullet seared through Rex’s gut and he felt an overwhelming attack of pain; his heartbeat rocketed in his ears so he missed the retaliation, his boss falling unconscious to the floor beside him and a panicky voice cutting through the murk. He clawed at the familiar accent before letting everything ripple into black.
He’d crashed before, and waking to a white room and soft sheets wasn’t unfamiliar. The Fedora resting on his feet was, though, and so was the man sitting in a chair beside him. He muttered the name he associated with the face, and the man’s eyes widened and fluttered up to his, unaware that he was conscious. “Does the medication work?” he asked quickly, staving off any further questions by Rex, who nodded dumbly, causing the Inspector’s eyes to widen with relief.
“You came,” Rex mumbled, and the other man smiled.
“Of course.” He let out a slow sigh, and let his head fall forwards. “I don’t believe this is the best time to be doing this, but it’s my orders to offer you…”
“A job?” Rex found himself sitting up in excitement, then wincing at a dizzying rush of pain and slumping down onto the bed.
The Inspector sighed again. “Your enthusiasm is severely misplaced, but yes. If you do not wish to accept, then we can offer you the full protection of the CIB against any further fixers who wish for you to race for them, and a list of companies who would be delighted for you to become part of your team.” His voice seemed to indicate that Rex should choose the second option, but he ignored it.
“I accept,” he said happily, and the Inspector sighed.
“I will give you time to think about your decision,” he said clearly, and sat back in his chair.
“I want to accept,” Rex said firmly.
The Inspector shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do not understand. The losses it involves are much, much more than you have already ascertained.”
“Why?” Rex asked petulantly, fiddling with his bandages. “What else could I possibly lose? Who was it you had to lose?”
The Inspector seemed to freeze, turning away for a moment. “No one,” he said quietly.
Rex frowned. “How come?” The Inspector found himself sighing again; he was too young and too stubborn to ever just let it drop.
“Because I had no one left to lose.” He paused for a moment, Rex’s face a silent prompt to go on, before pulling in another shaky breath and continuing. “Six years ago, on the second of August in a small flat in Berlin, two henchmen under the command of a recently-jailed local fixer broke in and killed everyone inside. My girlfriend had invited our parents round to celebrate my promotion. I had left the flat to purchase a cake for my mother because I had been too preoccupied and too lazy to walk up to town that lunchtime and I had left it to the last minute. My brother was shot in the head three days later when he came to the mortuary to identify the bodies.
“Three days later a man from the CIB returns; he’d been there only a week before, thanking me for helping put the fixer behind bars. He offers me a job, and I think there isn’t anything left for me to lose, so I accept. I join and I do lose more, because now I don’t have a name and I never had a family, and I can’t quit because there’s nothing to quit for, so I work all night because I can’t stand my empty apartment.
“But then one day, it’s my first field assignment, and I’m at Thunderhead and I chase this fixer for a spearhook into a garage and this strange boy hits me in the shins with it. And then this even stranger man starts defending him and then gets himself knocked out, and for the first time in six months I’m smiling again, and I’ve never felt so alive for years. He shows up a few more times but then he starts asking questions, and I know he’s got a brother and I know he’s got parents who love him, but he wants to throw it all away. So I can do nothing but say no and beg him not to but it all goes horribly wrong and he leaves,” and his voice finally broke, “he leaves for five years and becomes everything I’m trained to hate and then I finally find him again and God, I nearly die because he’s nearly dead.”
There was a long silence. “I’m sorry,” Rex said quietly in a very quiet voice. “About your family.”
The Inspector smiled. “No, you’re not, because you have no idea what it’s like. I could say it’s worse than dying, but even then it means nothing. All I can say is that I cannot let your family have that fate, so please, just go home.” He seemed to suddenly become aware he was crying, and raised a hand to his face as he stood. “There are CIB men outside. They’ll get you whatever you need.”
Rex’s fingers were buried in the Inspector’s sleeve. “Don’t leave.”
“I’ll let you think about it for a while,” he murmured, disentangling himself from the desperately clawing fingers.
Rex ignored him. “Speedy probably hates me by now. Pops already hates me, and I’ve already broken Mom’s heart. I have nothing to go back to if you leave me now.”
This was brushed aside as the Inspector put on his Fedora. “You can go home and say sorry. Your family is no longer at risk.”
Rex shuffled up again in protest, before sinking back with a wince. “That’s not true,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “You know it won’t be true as long as I’m alive.” Rex frowned. “Or as long as I appear to be alive,” he mused, and the Inspector snorted derisively.
“Are you suggesting we fake your death so you can come work for me?” he snapped, voice incredulous.
A half smile settled on Rex’s face. “You’re head of the department?”
“What has that got to do with anything?” he muttered, his eyes rolling. “The pain that you will put them through that way is too terrible, and it is something you can’t go back on.”
Rex’s fingers curled around the Inspector’s sleeve. “It’s okay. I’ve got everything I need here.”
The Inspector rolled his eyes, almost painfully, but his mouth twitched. “The crassness of that statement does not escape me.” The fingers curled more insistently, and the Inspector sighed, hope bubbling up in Rex’s stomach.
“I have one condition,” Rex murmured, and the Inspector smiled.
“So do I,” he replied, sitting down in Rex’s bedside chair.
“I want you to take care of everything, the investigation, all of it,” Rex muttered as his fingers idly traced up the Inspector’s sleeve, resting in the crook of his arm to move down again in slow sweeps. The Inspector nodded, hiding his face. “What’s yours?”
The Inspector smiled. “Actually, that had been mine, but I suppose I can think of another one.”
Rex’s eyes glittered. “Can I think of one for you? If it’s one I think you’ll agree on.”
The Inspector smiled. “Go ahead.”
“Kiss me,” Rex whispered, and he did.
“Does it look okay?” he murmured in a new voice.
The Inspector smiled, kissing his temple. “You look amazing,” he smiled, and Rex… Racer X blushed, for the first and last time.
“I was kinda afraid you wouldn’t still like me,” he said in a very, very small voice.
The Inspector smiled again, coming to crouch in front of him and taking his hand in his. “This has been hard enough for you already. I’m not going anywhere.” He stood up and kissed X’s forehead. “Get some rest. Your body’s not flushed all the drugs yet. We’ll speak more in the morning.” X sank into happy unconsciousness as the Inspector undressed neatly, slipping on his nightclothes and sitting up in bed beside him, knowing he wouldn’t sleep. His innocent, bumbling, devoted Rex Racer was gone, and, truth be told, he was terrified. But that was the game, eh? Keep him guessing, because if he ever found out how much he relied on him, he’d never be safe again. He’d made that mistake before.
The Inspector moved down and kissed X’s shoulder once. He’d destroyed the boy’s life and he’d be damned for it, but right now, he just couldn’t care at all.
Fandom: Speed Racer (at last!)
Pairing: Rex Racer x Inspector Detector
Length: 4,811 words
Rating: PG-15 for a few swears.
Status: Complete, hopefully.
The beta okayed it, so here we go...
So you guys already know my obsession with backstory. This is what happens when I obsess about Speed Racer.
“Excuse me, I’m - ”
“ - I mean it, you know what happened the last time - ”
“ - could you possibly - ”
“ - c’mon, it’s all very funny, but please put it - ” Despite Rex’s best and somewhat courageous attempts to wrestle his brother to the ground and remove the large metal object he’d somehow located, Speed still managed to place aforementioned cylindrical lump of metal firmly in the centre of the (up until now unnoticed) stranger’s shins, emitting a rather satisfying thwonk. “ - down,” Rex finished, and winced, finding himself looking up uneasily into some rather blue eyes. “Go find the spanner tray, Speedy,” he muttered, a firm shove between his shoulder blades to steer him in the right direction. Speed jogged off happily; helping Rex generally resulted in a rewards, usually either in the form of something sticky, sweet and terrible for his cholesterol, or (if he was absolutely brilliant) something to do with his car. Rex dropped the cylinder he’d recently acquisitioned in Speed’s distraction and turned to the intruder.
“No need to apologise,” the other murmured. It could just have been the accent, but Rex thought he sounded amused.
“He’s young,” Rex replied stubbornly.
“Aren’t we all?” the man mused.
“Can I help you?” Rex muttered, trying hard not to grit his teeth. “The stands are back that way - ”
“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not a spectator,” he murmured in reply. Rex fought the urge to curse and really, really hoped it was the accent lilting his voice. If he’d somehow managed to insult a prospective investor the other drivers would kill him. “I was looking for some… friends of mine with something for me, did they pass through here?” Rex jumped and realised that they’d been standing in a rather uncomfortable silence for quite sometime, and blushed - and almost groaned. This was all so painfully unprofessional, not to mention acutely embarrassing. “No matter,” the man said as aforementioned silence dragged on again, as Rex still couldn’t seem to speak. “It was nice to meet you, Mr Racer.” He smiled and walked away, brushing the brim of his hat (a Fedora, he noticed quite significantly as he stared at it) as he left.
Rex looked down at his hands, and realised that what he was holding was most definitely not his own; his mouth felt a little dry from the sight of it. He walked quickly towards the door behind the other man, calling out to him. “Excuse me, is this what you’re looking for?”
Or, at least he tried to. At that moment, Speed plodded back in, precariously balancing a tray of rather heavy spanners, unbeknownst to Rex, who crashed into him, sending everything - including the spearhook he’d been up until now holding in his hand - into the air. Now, it cleaved through the air quite dramatically and hit him sharply on the temple. He sank ungracefully to the ground and as his vision shimmered into blackness he watched the man turn round and smile.
He was rather unceremoniously woken to Speed shouting, Pops bellowing and Mom fussing whilst an unidentifiable fourth occupant doused him with what was definitely not the first bucket of water. The fourth person muttered something, but it was unintelligible - to Rex at least; after this, he moved away and Rex’s vision cleared just as his suited leg turned the corner and out of sight. He rubbed his head and winced; Speed let out an almighty cry of “Rex!” and crashed into him, sending him firmly horizontal again. Rex sighed and righted himself, scrambling onto his feet.
“How long have I got till the race starts?” he asked Speed, who seemed to be the only one not screaming.
“Three minutes,” he replied, nibbling on a finger. Rex absently removed it from his mouth and headed over to where the Mach 4 was parked, opening the door and buckling himself in.
His parents flipped. “Out of the car, now!” Pops yelled, and Mom started throwing fearful words like ‘concussion’ and ‘brain damage’. Rex ignored them, winked at Speed and pulled out onto the track.
He won, naturally. It didn’t stop him scanning the stands for a Fedora.
Or nearly crashing when he spotted one.
His feet slammed on the pavement, taking him away from a baffled Mom, Pops and Speed behind him and closer to the bobbing hat heading quite directly for the business quarter. He trained his eyes desperately, dodging eight cars and twenty-one pedestrians. The hat became tantalisingly close, and Rex was within grabbing distance (though unfortunately not calling distance; the centre of town was a nightmare of noise) until the man simply disappeared. Rex looked round quite despondently, and then jumped most inelegantly as an amused voice behind him announced; “At the risk of sounding quite clichéd, we meet again, Mr Racer.” Rex spun around and managed to fully appreciate the other this time (though, thank God it had been him, and not some other nameless businessman with a Fedora and a well-fitting suit). “Though hopefully, you’ll be a little more eloquent than our last meeting, based on the speed of your, pursuit.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to stop gawping at the man’s eyes, which were a startling pretty blue. The man’s mouth quirked again as he spoke; this, along with the words, broke Rex out of a reverie. “It would seem not,” he murmured. “Although I had not expected you as the shy and silent type.”
Rex’s brain tried to get past the ‘where are you from?’ ‘how old are you?’ style of questions it seemed to have grown so fond of and perhaps to something a little more intelligible. Its attempts were unsuccessful.
“It must be a nightmare trying to telephone you,” the man remarked. “Although it is an experience I think I should ascertain. Seeing as you worked so hard to get here…” He reached into the insides of his jacket, and withdrew a piece of paper, folding it into Rex’s unresponsive hand. “Perhaps I’ll hear from you when you manage to find that voice?” The man repeated the brush of his hat and walked into the alleyway beside them.
Rex’s brain decided to take this moment as an opportunity to trickle back through his ears, and his frozen legs learnt the principle of locomotion and rather smoothly came into effect, chasing the man through the alley and out the other side -
- to find himself lost in a sea of Fedoras and pea-green suits. The business quarter. His eyes helplessly scanned the waves, but en masse, they appeared identical. Save for the rather brightly lit up Racer family, which was making its way from the other side of the square. Rex groaned. Pops’ face was livid, Speed looked confused and hurt… this would take some explaining.
The next time Rex found the Inspector Detector (the name he salvaged from the piece of paper, along with a number he hadn’t had enough courage to ring) he was in a tailor. He still had a pathetically obvious conversation with him, involving something along the lines of;
“What are you doing in here?!”
The Inspector rose an eyebrow. “I’m in a tailor. I’m getting a suit fitted.”
“Um,” Rex replied, feeling the blush creep back up his neck.
“And back to inarticulate mumblings,” the Inspector said as he received his hat from an attendant, turning to smile at Rex. “I had so enjoyed hearing that voice after such a wait. The anticipation was almost killing me.”
“Um,” Rex replied.
The Inspector simply smiled. “I do believe I have another twenty-three minutes before I have to return to work. A lot can happen in twenty-three minutes, can it not?”
“Um,” Rex replied.
They stepped out onto the street together, and the Inspector looked around at him, smiling. “Coffee,” he declared, moving off. “Coffee can happen in twenty-three minutes. I know somewhere nearby, if you don’t protest?” Rex shook his head, rushing to keep up with him in this unfamiliar part of town. The Inspector slipped inside somewhere which looked distinctly reputable but made his way to the back of the shop, into a hidden cubicle which the staff were clearly used to him using. A pot of coffee was deposited, the door was shut, and they were left alone. “Company use,” he explained as he poured two cups. “Soundproofed for meetings.” He took a long, slow drink, letting out a satisfied sigh when he’d finished. Rex picked up his cup and took a drink for something to do; the Inspector watched him with close eyes.
Rex’s eyes flickered up once, his blush creeping along his neck again, before he dropped them again, watching his hand trace patterns in the table. The Inspector followed his gaze. “Truth is, sir, I’m not entirely sure why I’m here either. I don’t really understand anything right now,” he mumbled. “But I keep bumping into you and I dunno, it just makes sense to follow…”
The Inspector smiled, stood up and leant across the table. “Stop me if this doesn’t make sense,” he whispered as he grabbed Rex’s hair and slammed his mouth onto his own.
Rex’s eyes rolled back, nope, perfect sense, he would have said wittily if his mouth hadn’t been full of tongue. He pushed back, grabbing onto the Inspector’s hair, knocking off the Fedora. Despite his previous visions of the Inspector going mad, melting or spontaneously combusting when said hat was removed (none of which he would discover to be true, though he did get a bit peeved the time he knocked it off, ran around with it for half an hour and then hid it under the sofa) the man simply laughed and pulled him closer, grasping Rex’s hair and doing something rather delicious with his tongue.
And then his perfect sense sort of stopped making perfect sense for two reasons;
He glanced at the clock; it was three twenty two, and Speed came out of school ten minutes ago.
His hands wrapped around the Inspector’s waist and the unquestionable shape of a gun pressed into his fingers.
He panicked and bolted from the room and didn’t stop driving for a very long time.
The Inspector was now in a lot of shit.
It had gone from being a cute, smiling kid who followed him around without any idea of why - God, he was just so naïve, he didn’t understand anything he’d done, and now the Inspector had just gone and practically molested him in some sleazy coffee shop and the kid must think he’s some kind of pervert - not to mention the fact he had a gun up his jacket, real smart, it had freaked him out so much, but he had to have one for work -
Work, oh god, work, work was worse, his boss was starting to suspect something, and he’d just cocked up another relationship before he even gave it a chance. His phone went off in his pocket; he didn’t bother to check the ID, pressing it to his ear and simply snapping “What?”
On the other end of the line, Rex hesitated. “Um,” he managed, and closed his eyes, wincing. He heard the other’s gasp, painful seconds of silence dragging out before Rex mumbled a “sorry” and made to hang up.
“Wait,” the response came, more pleading in it than Rex had expected. “I didn’t think you’d call,” it continued, sounding uncertain and… scared?
“Sorry,” Rex mumbled again, to receive a soft chuckle from the other end.
“I think the wrong person is apologising, Mr Racer,” he replied quietly, his own screaming out through every word.
“Well it’s not like you’ve got much to apologise for, I mean, I liked it - ” Rex’s face lit up with fire and his throat clogged up and his brain screamed oh no, oh god no, I did not just - “It’s just the gun kinda freaked me out a little, and, um, I mean, Speedy - ”
The Inspector’s laugh was a relief and a means by which to ignite his face further. “That’s good,” he replied eventually. “Because I did too.” A rush of static announced a sigh. “I doubt I’d be able to explain very well about the gun over the phone, and frankly, I’d rather tell you face to face.”
Rex’s face scorched again. “Well… maybe we should do it again?” he said quickly, flush spreading further down his neck.
“Maybe we should,” the Inspector replied elusively, and Rex could hear the smile in his voice.
There was a lengthy pause. “You mean, like, Superman?”
Inspector Detector let out a long, slow sigh. “The link between me and Superman being…”
Rex took another sip of his coffee, seeming to think about it for a moment. “You both catch bad guys?”
The Inspector chuckled slightly. “I hardly catch bad guys. I reprimand dirty racers. Half the glory, twice the paperwork.” He wrinkled his nose for a moment, but then smiled a half-smile and sipped on his own mug; unlike Rex, tea. Although he needed the caffeine, he could never stand the stuff without making it three parts sugar, one part coffee. “I suppose it could be vaguely suggested as fun,” he mused. “Well, the job satisfaction and paycheck aspect is,” he grinned, and Rex smiled.
“You got to like what you do, though,” he pointed out, and the Inspector rolled his eyes.
“Despite the fact I adored racing, I didn’t have the funds nor connections for driving and certainly not the brains for mechanics. So I settled for… catching bad guys.” He leant back in his chair and spread his hands. “Besides, it’s hardly hard to not like what you do.”
“Hurting my family kinda sucks,” Rex mumbled, and the Inspector watched him closely. “I mean, no one goes for them directly, but everytime I crash or lose a race or even just do something dangerous it kills my Mom a little and well, as for Speedy…” The sentence tailed off into teen angst and the Inspector took another slow sip. “But you can race?” he finally asked, and he found himself smiling.
“I can drive,” he replied. “It’s hardly what you do. But yes, a certain amount of car skill is necessary for the job.”
“I want to see you drive,” he insisted, and the Inspector smiled, knowing he never would. “So… are you like, the head of your division?”
The Inspector let out a slow sigh. “I’m twenty-three. I’m hardly old enough to run the Corporate Crimes division.”
Rex furrowed his brow for a moment. “You do a hell of a lot of work, though,” he mused, and the Inspector chuckled.
“That’s the life of an underdog,” he smiled, but he was starting to feel a little queasy.
“So what is it exactly you do?” His suspicions were confirmed in a heartbeat; he was beginning to become interested in his job, and that way, madness lay.
“I can hardly tell you top-secret government information, can I?” he smiled, and Rex seemed slightly put out for a moment before one quirked his lips too. “Besides, your job has got to be much more exciting than mine,” he steered carefully. “You’re a race car driver.”
Rex wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I guess, but…” He sighed. “I’d never complain, because I think it’s brilliant that I can do what I want to, but there’s not much money in it… I want the best for my family, and we don’t earn that much from Racer Motors, and I always wanted Speedy to go to a good college. Kinda do the things I never got to. Though he’d probably just flunk out and go driving anyways,” he said, pride in his voice. An alarm went off in the Inspector’s pocket, and he sighed, fishing it out. He read the message once, before looking up at Rex apologetically. “It’s okay,” the other said, leaning across the table to kiss him gently. “Don’t spend as long as I did calling, okay?” He jotted a number down on a piece of paper and pressed it into the Inspector’s hand, who stood up, smiling gently, donning his Fedora and leaving Rex to mull on the thoughts which would eventually destroy everything.
“I want to come work with you,” Rex said suddenly over a dinner in the Inspector’s apartment, and it was everything the Inspector had dreaded.
“No,” the Inspector had answered, and he wished That had been That, but what followed were two weeks of sheer agony, as Rex pleaded, begged, pressed and hounded him, hoping with the stubbornness that he quite clearly possessed and the fact that No never meant No the Inspector would eventually give in. But the Inspector had seen better men than Rex destroyed by what he did, himself included - he wasn’t sure he understood what it involved, no matter how many times he sat down and talked it through with him. It meant your family gone, it meant your name gone, it meant your freedom totally gone. It meant losing everything just so every now and then someone bad got put away.
Until they got free again and then came back with a vengeance.
He held his arms up in desperation, looking at the Inspector Detector. “I am sick of my life not being what I want it to be! What you do - saving people, helping them, that’s what I wanna be! I want to be -
“A hero?” The Inspector simply sighed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. What it involves losing.”
Rex laughed bitterly. “I get this at home enough without getting it from you - I’m not a kid! Stop treating me like one! Hell, you’re only a handful of years older than me, what makes you so goddamn special?!”
“Your parents are right to be worried for you. It is… difficult. I am doing this because I care for you, Rex,” he murmured calmly.
“If you gave a shit about me you’d let me do this,” he whispered. He gripped hold of the Inspector’s shirt, staring at him hatefully. “I hate you,” he whispered, and shoved him back into the chair and left.
“Can I come with you, Rex?”
“Not this time, Speedy.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
---
Five years later
---
The crash was a horrible tangle of flesh and metal and it left the driver mutilated beyond recognition.
Rex Racer caused it, as instructed, drove past it, as instructed. He got out of his car and he walked out of that locker room with a hundred eyes boring into him, full of hate. He was used to it. He got into his car and he drove home to his expensive flat with the all-wall TV and satin sheets and exclusive view of the Grand Prix Coliseum to remind him what could be his if he played by the rules and what so very easily couldn’t if he didn’t.
Now that he hadn’t.
He took a long, slow drink and turned round to face the man, who, framed by two of his employees, sighed dramatically. “Now, we both know you weren’t supposed to win that race.”
“It was only by a margin,” Rex muttered, not caring enough to make a proper argument.
“You still won. Leaving me with some rather annoyed friends because they were under the impression that they were to win that race. You knew what this involved when you signed the contract. Rex,” he said patronisingly, and Rex’s insides stung as he was reminded of his little brother’s voice mumbling his name. “this simply won’t do. You know I have to make an example of you.” There was the sound of heavy tread across the plush carpet and Rex braced himself, letting his eyes drift shut as he waited for the inevitable pain.
It never came; there were several hard, angry shouts and a few gunshots, which rippled through the room with alarming intensity. Rex spun around and saw unfamiliar faces, clothed in black spreading into the room, guns pointed at him, Binelli and the henchmen, the single command of “Freeze!” barked through the room, and Rex didn’t even nod.
Binelli looked at him with an expression of total hatred before squeezing the trigger. The bullet seared through Rex’s gut and he felt an overwhelming attack of pain; his heartbeat rocketed in his ears so he missed the retaliation, his boss falling unconscious to the floor beside him and a panicky voice cutting through the murk. He clawed at the familiar accent before letting everything ripple into black.
He’d crashed before, and waking to a white room and soft sheets wasn’t unfamiliar. The Fedora resting on his feet was, though, and so was the man sitting in a chair beside him. He muttered the name he associated with the face, and the man’s eyes widened and fluttered up to his, unaware that he was conscious. “Does the medication work?” he asked quickly, staving off any further questions by Rex, who nodded dumbly, causing the Inspector’s eyes to widen with relief.
“You came,” Rex mumbled, and the other man smiled.
“Of course.” He let out a slow sigh, and let his head fall forwards. “I don’t believe this is the best time to be doing this, but it’s my orders to offer you…”
“A job?” Rex found himself sitting up in excitement, then wincing at a dizzying rush of pain and slumping down onto the bed.
The Inspector sighed again. “Your enthusiasm is severely misplaced, but yes. If you do not wish to accept, then we can offer you the full protection of the CIB against any further fixers who wish for you to race for them, and a list of companies who would be delighted for you to become part of your team.” His voice seemed to indicate that Rex should choose the second option, but he ignored it.
“I accept,” he said happily, and the Inspector sighed.
“I will give you time to think about your decision,” he said clearly, and sat back in his chair.
“I want to accept,” Rex said firmly.
The Inspector shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do not understand. The losses it involves are much, much more than you have already ascertained.”
“Why?” Rex asked petulantly, fiddling with his bandages. “What else could I possibly lose? Who was it you had to lose?”
The Inspector seemed to freeze, turning away for a moment. “No one,” he said quietly.
Rex frowned. “How come?” The Inspector found himself sighing again; he was too young and too stubborn to ever just let it drop.
“Because I had no one left to lose.” He paused for a moment, Rex’s face a silent prompt to go on, before pulling in another shaky breath and continuing. “Six years ago, on the second of August in a small flat in Berlin, two henchmen under the command of a recently-jailed local fixer broke in and killed everyone inside. My girlfriend had invited our parents round to celebrate my promotion. I had left the flat to purchase a cake for my mother because I had been too preoccupied and too lazy to walk up to town that lunchtime and I had left it to the last minute. My brother was shot in the head three days later when he came to the mortuary to identify the bodies.
“Three days later a man from the CIB returns; he’d been there only a week before, thanking me for helping put the fixer behind bars. He offers me a job, and I think there isn’t anything left for me to lose, so I accept. I join and I do lose more, because now I don’t have a name and I never had a family, and I can’t quit because there’s nothing to quit for, so I work all night because I can’t stand my empty apartment.
“But then one day, it’s my first field assignment, and I’m at Thunderhead and I chase this fixer for a spearhook into a garage and this strange boy hits me in the shins with it. And then this even stranger man starts defending him and then gets himself knocked out, and for the first time in six months I’m smiling again, and I’ve never felt so alive for years. He shows up a few more times but then he starts asking questions, and I know he’s got a brother and I know he’s got parents who love him, but he wants to throw it all away. So I can do nothing but say no and beg him not to but it all goes horribly wrong and he leaves,” and his voice finally broke, “he leaves for five years and becomes everything I’m trained to hate and then I finally find him again and God, I nearly die because he’s nearly dead.”
There was a long silence. “I’m sorry,” Rex said quietly in a very quiet voice. “About your family.”
The Inspector smiled. “No, you’re not, because you have no idea what it’s like. I could say it’s worse than dying, but even then it means nothing. All I can say is that I cannot let your family have that fate, so please, just go home.” He seemed to suddenly become aware he was crying, and raised a hand to his face as he stood. “There are CIB men outside. They’ll get you whatever you need.”
Rex’s fingers were buried in the Inspector’s sleeve. “Don’t leave.”
“I’ll let you think about it for a while,” he murmured, disentangling himself from the desperately clawing fingers.
Rex ignored him. “Speedy probably hates me by now. Pops already hates me, and I’ve already broken Mom’s heart. I have nothing to go back to if you leave me now.”
This was brushed aside as the Inspector put on his Fedora. “You can go home and say sorry. Your family is no longer at risk.”
Rex shuffled up again in protest, before sinking back with a wince. “That’s not true,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “You know it won’t be true as long as I’m alive.” Rex frowned. “Or as long as I appear to be alive,” he mused, and the Inspector snorted derisively.
“Are you suggesting we fake your death so you can come work for me?” he snapped, voice incredulous.
A half smile settled on Rex’s face. “You’re head of the department?”
“What has that got to do with anything?” he muttered, his eyes rolling. “The pain that you will put them through that way is too terrible, and it is something you can’t go back on.”
Rex’s fingers curled around the Inspector’s sleeve. “It’s okay. I’ve got everything I need here.”
The Inspector rolled his eyes, almost painfully, but his mouth twitched. “The crassness of that statement does not escape me.” The fingers curled more insistently, and the Inspector sighed, hope bubbling up in Rex’s stomach.
“I have one condition,” Rex murmured, and the Inspector smiled.
“So do I,” he replied, sitting down in Rex’s bedside chair.
“I want you to take care of everything, the investigation, all of it,” Rex muttered as his fingers idly traced up the Inspector’s sleeve, resting in the crook of his arm to move down again in slow sweeps. The Inspector nodded, hiding his face. “What’s yours?”
The Inspector smiled. “Actually, that had been mine, but I suppose I can think of another one.”
Rex’s eyes glittered. “Can I think of one for you? If it’s one I think you’ll agree on.”
The Inspector smiled. “Go ahead.”
“Kiss me,” Rex whispered, and he did.
“Does it look okay?” he murmured in a new voice.
The Inspector smiled, kissing his temple. “You look amazing,” he smiled, and Rex… Racer X blushed, for the first and last time.
“I was kinda afraid you wouldn’t still like me,” he said in a very, very small voice.
The Inspector smiled again, coming to crouch in front of him and taking his hand in his. “This has been hard enough for you already. I’m not going anywhere.” He stood up and kissed X’s forehead. “Get some rest. Your body’s not flushed all the drugs yet. We’ll speak more in the morning.” X sank into happy unconsciousness as the Inspector undressed neatly, slipping on his nightclothes and sitting up in bed beside him, knowing he wouldn’t sleep. His innocent, bumbling, devoted Rex Racer was gone, and, truth be told, he was terrified. But that was the game, eh? Keep him guessing, because if he ever found out how much he relied on him, he’d never be safe again. He’d made that mistake before.
The Inspector moved down and kissed X’s shoulder once. He’d destroyed the boy’s life and he’d be damned for it, but right now, he just couldn’t care at all.