Disclaimer: I do not own Speed Racer. That right belongs strictly to Speed Racer Enterprise (who secretly want to hire me to one job or another, they just don't know it yet). I'm just borrowing their characters and the 2008 movie's concepts.

Notes: I wrote this entire thing on deviantArt's text submission -- it works like a charm for us with ADD minds. There's no 'save' option, so you're forced to sit there and finish it for fear of losing the entire damn thing. Anyway, if you see remnants of manual italics, bolding, etc., that's why. Sorry. x)

Notes2: Inspired by the fics I've read where X is all jealous of Speed. I felt like being ... I don't know. Different? x3

Warnings: Borders AU because I mentioned possible ages of various characters. I figured Jack Taylor to be 12 years older than Rex and racing when he was still alive, soooo. Yeah. Heh.

It's Not There

The silver sheets were cool, their chill almost a dampness on his aching, feverish skin as he slid between them and the soft spring of the mattress. Bathed in the glow of the city's tainted moonlight, it almost felt like he had slipped into the depths of some sacred lake, coated in its soothing waves, head held just above the surface by its caring caress -- a caress that could quickly turn against him and pull him below to a painful death and watery grave.

He wasn't entirely sure if he wouldn't let it.

His eyes burned with tears of exhaustion as he yawned, a few of which escaped to cascade down his face and land on the silk pillows that cradled his head. He felt them foreign -- tears, that was. A rare luxury he had not allowed himself for any reason in quite some time. And thus, he iddn not brush them away with the annoyance that many would, but instead savored in their salty presence, wishing and almost giving in to the desire to rush to a mirror if only to see them for himself.

To make sure that it wasn't just some cruel illusion. To make sure that he really was still the human his closet claimed him to be.

Racer X, unmasked in the dark sanctuary of his private room, let a weary sigh escape his lips as hazel eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling.

It had been a long time since he had been in this city -- such a long time. Even in the years he had been driving as the mysterious masked racer, he had not allowed himself to get so close to Thunderhead Race Way -- he had declined each and every invitation to do so, even if many of the refusals resulted in him not being qualified for a higher race. For whilst tears were a foreign concept to him, bitter memories were his constant painful companion. His excuse this time, as he had informed the Chief Inspector, was because this particular race fell on the anniversary of his record-setting run eight years ago, and it would be interesting to see if anyone would dare to try and beat it on such a night. The Inspector, of course, had merely smiled at the words and winked in his own knowing way, because, in the end, they i both /i knew that that was not the case. Racer X had no business with Thunderhead at all, especially not any business there on the night of Rex Racer's record-setting anniversary.

Which was why it had been Rex Racer who had attended. And damn it all, but it had felt good to sit in his private booth, Minx precariously by his side, as he had watched the Mach 6 crush the competition a mere three laps in, and continue to keep the lead with nerve-wracking moves.

And thus the true reason for his attending: Speed Racer, his baby brother who had torn Thunderhead to shreds with driving spectacular and skilled enough to rival his own.

A soft knock on the door alerted him to the presence he knew would be there eventually, and thus he did not even bother to voice his approval of admission, confident enough in trust and routine that it wasn't need. Certainly, and moment later with a soft shimmy of a pocket knife, the door of his room creaked open, the hall light flooding a path wide enough to give her direction.

"You are not sleeping, I hope?" Minx's tone was teasing in its whisper as the door closed once more, effectively hiding her from his not-so-searching look. A smile formed on his face -- grim and unusual in its place -- the best anyone would get. He bothered not to make room for her beside him, knowing she did not yet want it. Instead, he kept his eyes focused forward, aimed at the vanity lit by the moonlight, lessening in their defensive intensity only when he saw her form move to occupy the chair.

"Of course I'm not," he responded, voice slightly coarse, as it usually became this late at night. "I'm tired, but I don't feel like sleeping, not just yet." No suggestiveness there -- it wasn't X's style -- just the flat truth, which his companion took in simple stride.

"How could you, after a night like this?" She agreed softly. He heard the clinking of earrings being arranged neatly onto the wooden structure. "It was an amazing sight."

He allowed his eyes to close, briefly, as he recalled the Mach 6 sliding so beautifully across the finish line. "The best," he concurred. His eyes opened again when silence followed, and narrowed somewhat at the building sense of awkwardness. Minx remained quiet from her spot at the vanity, other than the various sounds that accompanied her nightly activities. There was something ... "What's on your mind?"

"A question," she responded promptly, still softly. "And not one for Racer X."

"Ah." A pause, uncomfortable as the situation called for. His sheets were now proving to be the masked sea he had earlier compared them to. "You know—."

"I do." She turned to face him now, voice assuring, and he could just barely make out her eyes in the provided light. They were a calm sort of desperate -- a little confused, maybe, though not for herself. Never for herself. "But I worry for you."

"You don't have to." It came out a little bit stronger than it should have, but the room was threatening quite fiercely to become suffocating, and his entire body demanded that he run from the oncoming attack.

The only obstacle was Minx. They had been together far too long for her to miss the warning signs of any departure, and she pounced well before his limbs had the opportunity to obey his mind's order to move.

"Are you jealous that Speed is considered a better driver than you?" She demanded gently, bluntly, and his body froze completely. "Does your brother's place within your family hurt, Rex?"

And the words stung -- his name like a knife through his heart, the reminder of what he had yet couldn't hold like acid up on his skin. His body trembled slightly at a phantom menace.

Jealous? Hurt?

His head shook now, as it did then, though it was to pull him from the memory rather than live in it. Vaguely, he was aware of Minx seating herself beside him, close enough to be of comfort, but far enough to keep him from backing away. He appreciated it, slightly -- her presence -- despite the fact that she had brought the memory forward in the first place. And thus, when he spoke to her, it was not with anger towards her on behalf of his hurt, but with the tone befitting one friend to another. Gratitude, maybe. He didn't really care.

"When Speed first started racing, the Inspector came to me," he whispered softly. "He asked me the same question as you did now -- whether or not I felt any envy toward Speed." He socwled slightly in defense of an oncoming headache. "And since you ask out of concern, as he did, I'll tell you. I have always known that he would be a better driver than me." He held up a hand as his lover's mouth opened in protest. "I love racing, always have. But I had to learn how to do it -- every bit of it. I can't tell you how many times I messed up fifth gear and the brake," he chuckled bitterly at i that /i recollection. "But Speed -- Speed always knew it, everything. Sure, I showed him, but he always seemed to be one step ahead of me, and his mistakes were few and far between. I race because I'm driven, sure, but I have other things now." He eyed around the room pointedly. "Racing is his life."

"And about his place within the Racers?" Minx coaxed after a moment of silence, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. He released a large sigh, and then shrugged.

"It hurts," he admitted, as he only would to her, and she knew so. "But they need it, all of them, and he deserves it." And that was all he found he could say. The sheets beckoned to him once more -- the sea calling out to claim the child she had washed up. He allowed his body to sink back into them, to submerge in their shadowy protectiveness. He felt Minx stir, and he managed to divert his path just enough to land in an area that left enough room for her.

"Rex," she began again, but this time the name brought a pained cringe.

"Don't," he snapped coldly, desperately. "It's not there, Minx, what you're looking for. Stop looking." She nodded and slinked in beside him, wrapping herself tentatively around his body.

And the room grew quiet once more, the only sounds being those of the imaginary waves crsahing against the cruel shore that his reality. And his eyes slowly closed, his arm pulling his lover closer to him in both protectiveness and the need to be protected. He shuddered.

It wasn't there, damn it, but it was a constant knock at his door.

Twelve Years Ago

"It's really nothing, Speedy." Sixteen-year-old Rex Racer stood beside the glistening silver machine that was the Mach 3, hands resting on either side of the pitch-black cockpit. She was an old car -- built more for round-the-track sprints than full-blown races. But she was faithful, and Rex had enjoyed his first few races in her until Pops had granted him the sleek Mach 4. He had a lot of faith in her metal being, enough so that he was currently trusting her with his younger brother in her sole seat.

Azure eyes glanced up at him doubtfully. "That's a whole lotta buttons, Rex," the six-year-old voiced with a pout, diverting his gaze to once again examine the 3's cockpit. "More than yours has."

Rex couldn't keep the grin from his face as he lifted his head up to dart an alert gaze around the garage. Pops and Mom were supposed to be in town picking up more parts than just one of them could carry, but he didn't trust either of them not to pull a magic parent trick and just pop out of nowhere. Granted, all Speed was currently doing was sitting in the Mach 3's seat ... but Mom had a tendency to over-react to anything involving her baby, and Pops had strictly warned them both before leaving that all cars were off-limits.

"Every good driver learns classic first, Speedy," he assured the younger boy. "You got all those -- what do you call 'em, idiots? -- out there now, ya know, Bobby Ricky, Jack Taylor, Sonic Renaldi? They just went straight for the technology, and look at how "well" they race." He shook his head with a scoff, before beaming as Speed allowed a giggle. "No little brother of mine is going to be beaten by the likes of those 'idiots' when he starts racing." He saw the serious look that developed on the child's face, the set look of determination, and inwardly cringed. Too much, too soon, maybe. "Even if he does insist on wearing red socks," he added mischievously.

"Rex!" Speed's cry was predictably indignant, and he crossed his arms across his chest with pure six-year-old maturity. Rex couldn't contain his laughter, releasing it for the whole world to hear. He reached over and down, ruffling the curly raven locks affectionately, drawing forth a reluctant but matching smile on Speed's face. "Seriously, though, buddy, I'm not kidding. You've got a lot of potential, but potential is nothing without education. You could be better than them one day, Speedy, so you better pay attention to me to get there." The look was back on his baby brother's features, but this time it was softened but the sparkling excitement in his vivid blue eyes, and the wide smile on his face.

Rex's head shook as he showed Speed the various buttons to push to gain fuel charges, jump-jacks, and the ever-faithful headlights, and instructed on which pedal was which gear and "b please /b don't press down on the accelerator and the brake at the same time". He could see the avid attention being paid to his words, and knew without doubt that the six-year-old was not going to forget the instruction any time soon. Yeah, Speedy was going to be better than ol' Jack Taylor could ever hope of being (and how he wished he could tell that to the cocky twenty-seven-year-old racer).

'Hell,' he thought with a shrug as he gently guided Speed's hand away from the starter again. 'Maybe he'll even be better than me.'

Finished

Okay, this felt a little flat, even for the long drabble it was supposed to be. xP Let me know if you think it is, too. Irking, but I'm too lazy to rewrite it.

SR Fic Count: 3/13 completed. YAY! xD Next one to be posted: Guilt. Look for it. ;D

Going to try to get one one-shot out ever other day -- my multi-chaptered ones will see their first chapters posted before I go on vacation. Enjoy!

Now, I have to go and work on my HP fics. So y'all just do me the little favor of clicking the review button and leaving a message, and I'll get back to you with another story. x3

Always,

Me