FIC: Spinning - Fast & Furious, Dom, FRT

by silentflux

FIC: Spinning - Fast & Furious, Dom, FRT

Title:  Spinning

Author:  Andrea/

silentflux

 

Fandom:  The Fast & The Furioius

Character:  Dom

Rating:  FRT for language I knew as a teenager and also some mild slashy overtones

 

Warning:  Slashy overtones, but not necessarily….depends on how you read it. Spoilers for the movie.

 

Summary:  Dom’s thinking on pain meds after the first movie.   Just a little window of thought since I couldn’t seem to help myself.

 

A/N:  This is what happens when I’m bored at work and thinking about The Fast & The Furious which I totally blame on Bone/

thisisbone and her fic for this fandom…  Written in fifteen minutes at the end of my work day.

 

 

Also…unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.

 

 

 

Dom stared at the slim volume in his hand, the leather worn and scratched – scarred.  He obviously hadn’t been paying attention when he’d thrown all his shit into this bag at the shop along with the twenty thousand he’d had stashed there.  He’d made it to his safe house just over the border in record time, and after call the village’s doctor, he’d kicked back and waited.

 

Mia had been pulled in for questioning, but was released without charges.  He’d left everything in her name, and he’d always been careful with his records, making sure to document everything so that no one could say he ever ran any money through the shop or anything Mia owned.  Nothing would ever touch her.

 

Letty and Leon had called and were laying low in Nevada.  They’d stay with friends there until Letty had healed up before they make their way down to him.

 

Jesse…Thoughts of his friend caused pain to grip his chest that had nothing to do with his broken ribs.  God, he should have gotten there sooner.  Fucking Tran.  And now…he knew Mia would take care of the arrangements, but he wouldn’t be there.  He should fucking be there, at his funeral.

 

And then there was Brian.  Dom winced at the thought of the other man, his confusion making his head spin.  Brian was a cop.  A fucking cop.  God, he hadn’t seen that coming.  And Dom had no idea why he’d chosen to be so God damned blind.  The unsettling rage washed through him like acid, eating away at everything until he couldn’t see anything else.

 

Vince had fucking told him.  Of course, Vince was a paranoid fucker, but he was paranoid because Dom was.  Or Dom usually was.  Whatever.  Fuck!  Dom threw his beer against the back fence, hearing the satisfying crunch of breaking glass.

 

After the initial gratification that came from an impulsive violent action, Dom was just without beer.  And he hurt.  Sighing heavily, he levered himself up and went inside to grab another from the fridge.

 

And as he took a long cool pull, the cold liquid ran down his throat, washing away the rage to uncover the ever present confusion when it came to Brian.  No matter what Vince had said, Dom had stuck by the blond.

 

God.  Vince.  Hector had told him he’d call when he heard how the other man was doing in the hospital.  He’d also told Dom that Brian had dropped a warning voicemail on his cell, not to mention that the word was Brian had taken care of Tran.  Hector had sounded like he’d been thrown through a loop at that – a cop warning him and killing for Jesse.  Dom was right there with him.  Every time he tried to puzzle it out, his head ached.

 

After the doctor had left, handing Dom pain pills for his wrapped ribs and a sling for his shoulder, Dom had kicked a few back with his beer, mood becoming darker with every passing moment.  Morose and pissed, he’d gone looking for a fresh shirt that wouldn’t kill him when he tried to put it on.

 

Shuffling through the random shit in his bag, he’d found the journal.  He’d had no clue what it was at first before he’d remembered seeing Brian writing in it a slow period at the garage a couple of days ago.  God, was it only a couple of days?  Felt like forever.

 

Staring at it, trying to figure out if he wanted to burn it or read it, Dom stumbled to the lounge chair on the deck.  The sound of the ocean washed over him, soothing as he opened the volume cautiously.  He knew he must look ridiculous – Dom Toretto afraid of a fucking book. 

 

Rubbing his hand over his head, wincing when he felt his calluses scrape over a sensitive cut, Dom muttered, “Just fucking do it, Toretto.”

 

Looking down, the words seemed to lift and form on the page in front of him, and he lay in the sun, captivated, reading until his eyes blurred with alcohol, medication and pain, the light swirling until he saw clear blue eyes smiling cockily back at him from the worn pages.