Fic: 'Driving Lessons' (Power Rangers Operation Overdrive, gen, G, 1/1) Title: Driving Lessons Fandom: Power Rangers Operation Overdrive Characters: Ronny, Dax Word Count: 1027 Rating: G Spoilers: N/A Disclaimer: No one mentioned belongs to me. Summary: Dax comes to Ronny with an interesting request.
Driving Lessons
Ronny had just uncovered the TV remote (hidden between couch cushions - thanks, Mack) when Dax bounded into her periphery. "Hey, Ronny," he said brightly.
Not to be deterred, she flicked the television on anyway, switched to ESPN, but put it on mute to be polite. "Hi Dax, what's up?"
"I was thinking about adding more stuff to my resumé. My actor's resumé." She glanced over in mild interest. "You know, you list your agency, your credits, your training, your special skills..."
"Special skills," she said with as little emotion as she could manage. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, but decided to let it play out for itself.
"Yeah," he said with enthusiasm. "Things that could give you an edge over other actors auditioning. Things like languages spoken, accents you can do, and special skills, like salsa dancing, horseback riding..."
"Race car driving?" she guessed.
Dax beamed at Ronny as if it were her genius idea. "Exactly."
She shook her head. "Not a chance."
"Come on! Are you really going to deny me the chance to get some really great roles, based on my superb skills, taught to me by circuit darling Ronny Robinson?"
Flattery was not going to work on her today. "They have stunt drivers for that sort of thing, you know."
"Ronny," he said, with utter seriousness and the slightest twinge of patronization, "I am a stunt driver."
She blinked at him impassively until he amended, "Okay, not yet. But I could be. With your help."
"Dax."
"Please? C'mon. I already have the 'stunt' part down, and you're the 'driver' part... You don't think it sounds fun? I mean, Ronny, when was the last time you were even behind the wheel? Not since you started saving the world, right?"
He did have a point, she admitted reluctantly. Thrilling as the Zords or flying the S.H.A.R.C. might have been, Ronny was a racer at heart. She loved wheels on pavement, the roar of an engine, the way a helmet fit, the way a car siphoned out useless noise so you only heard what you wanted, the thrill of taking a tight turn, and a definitive win, with a finish line and trophy. Thing about Rangering was, even if they won for the day, it was just for the day.
And Dax was right. She hadn't been in a car in forever.
"All right," she sighed. "But you have to promise me that you're coming with your game face on. No whining, no complaining, and you do absolutely everything I tell you without asking questions."
He saluted. "Yes ma'am." Still, she could tell how incredibly pleased he was. Ronny couldn't help but feel good about it.
Dax was a lot of things, Ronny reminded herself with waning patience. He was funny, even if she had the suspicion he didn't always mean to be, and he was sweet, kind, energetic, and fun. She had to recite these positive qualities to herself in an increasingly agitated loop, because for all of these things, there were things he wasn't. Like a good driver. Or a good listener. Or a good student.
Ronny had always had her doubts that she was a great teacher, but Dax was a lousy student. He was bouncy and fidgety as a four-year-old, and had the annoying habit of skipping ahead a few steps without first completing the one he was one. It was like climbing up four rungs on a ladder without unfolding it first.
"Ease up on the clutch," she cautioned him, although it didn't much matter what she said. Any word that came out of her mouth was punctuated by the car lurching unpleasantly.
"Dax!" she said, as the car jolted again and her stomach bounced in feeble protest. She suddenly recalled bouts of motion sickness when she was younger, in the junky old station wagon her father liked to drive in the triple digits down twisty, hilly back roads. He'd had a ball, and Ronny had learned it was only fun if you were the one doing the driving.
"What?" said Dax obliviously. The car stuttered to an abrupt stop and lay in the road like a dead cat.
"Have you ever even drove before?"
"Of course I have."
"Standard or automatic?" she prompted.
Dax stared for a long moment. "Which one's the one where you don't have to switch gears?"
"Dax!"
"Hey, if I'd told you, you never would've agreed to help me," he defended himself.
Well, that was infallible logic. "Okay, so I probably wouldn't have. But Dax, I'm not exactly a qualified driving instructor," she pointed out. "And at the rate we're going, we're probably gonna end up breaking one of Mr. Hartford's cars."
"He's got others," said Dax dismissively. "Besides, you can fix 'em right up."
"Even so. Do you really think this is a good idea?"
"Ronny, I'm not looking to get my license renewed or anything like that. I just want to learn how to drive a race car from the third ranked driver in the nation."
"Second," she corrected automatically, and found herself smiling a little bit. "I still don't think this is a great idea. This is me we're talking about, after all. And you know I'm going to be short-tempered and competitive and impatient."
Dax shrugged, nonplussed. "Well, yeah. That's why I asked you. I knew you wouldn't let me do anything but my best."
A warm sort of pride exploded in Ronny's stomach, taking her by surprise. He'd somehow managed to take all her faults —faults she admittedly knew she had, but wasn't too keen on broadcasting to her friends— and turn them into a sort of good thing. Something he needed. Something she was pleased and proud to give.
"Of course I won't." Ronny grinned at him, the reckless grin she'd always flashed her pit crew right before the race, the sort that was accompanied by a revving engine. She'd been told the teeth baring and the roar of the car made her seem like a lion about to strike. She'd always liked that. "Now start this baby up and let's do this for real."