Author's Notes: I've been revisiting the cartoons of my childhood lately. And, this character from G-Force/Battle of the Planets was channeling me in work one day. I could no longer deny his call.

Reviews welcome. No flames, please, but, I will accept constructive criticism in order to keep developing better as a writer.

Disclaimer: I don't own Battle of the Planets, Gatchaman, G-Force, or any other names this series has been created and shown under.

Summary: First-person one-shot from Jason's perspective.

The Drive

Clutch.

Shift.

Accelerate.

Freedom. Exhilaration. That's what I feel when I drive. Sure, my car's not the classiest or the most expensive piece of metal on the road. But, I built her. It took me time and well-spent energy. It was a goal to reach, and I exceeded my own expectations when I finished her three months ahead of the schedule I set. I guess I am capable of overachieving when I want.

In the windshield before me the sun is just starting to come up on the east. It's a nice blend of light cracking through the last bits of the darkness. The desert highway is abandoned as usual and exactly as I like it.

My left hand holds the steering wheel in a comfortable and relaxed grasp. My right hand rests on the gearshift. Without even putting thought into it, my feet do their dance between the clutch, the brake, and the gas pedals.

Conscious thought abandons me. It's now just my instincts, my car, and my freedom. Driving for me is just one of those things that happens. I'm afraid that if I ever stop to analyze how I manage driving at the speeds I do, I'd lose control and probably my life. All that matters is that elusive line on the horizon. I once noticed that when I'm in this groove, I never even bother to glance out the side windows. I considered that it was probably because the blur of the passing desert would destroy my concentration. That was enough for me to keep my eyes straight ahead.

Here in my car, I have control. Here when I drive, I am the master of my own destiny. There is no one else to worry about. There is no one else to stop and consider. The control is mine, and I have no problem obeying the orders of my instincts to just drive.

The hum and roar of the engine fills me now with a quiet calm. It is the only conversation I ever need. It is a soothing rhythm, a song only I could ever understand.

Clutch.

Shift.

Accelerate.

Yeah, they call me the hothead. They tell me I have an attitude. They tell me I react on emotion rather than a well-thought out plan. They don't believe I logically handle things. They assume I want the quick way rather than the constructive way.

I've seen Mark handle the situations. He's always so calm and collected. He takes the responsibility for all of us. That's his instinct. He's a born leader. He's a natural commander. I don't envy his position nor do I even want it. Second-in-command is fine for me. I prefer being the leader on a part-time basis. I want the situation resolved with as little danger to the rest of us as possible. I'd rather send in a bomb from a mile away if I couldn't do the job myself. That would keep all of them safe. No, I don't want to be the one who has to make the decisions for the rest of us all the time. Just tell me where to be and what I have to do.

So, why do I argue with Mark over his decisions? Simple. I need him to see alternates. He thinks too logically sometimes. Once in a while, he needs to see a new perspective. Once in a while I need him to get his nose out of the proverbial "How To Be A Commander Manual" and see that the pre-determined plans sometimes get outdated really quickly. Plus, it keeps him grounded knowing he has me for his backup.

Clutch.

Shift.

Accelerate.

Mark's a great leader. I shouldn't be so hard on him. But, sometimes he can be the most clueless thing this side of a Sherlock Holmes novel. I've seen the way Princess looks at him. He never acknowledges it with anything, not even a wink or a partial smile. I'd say something to Mark about it, but I understand why he keeps the distance. He thinks it's best to keep reserved on companionship. It's another part of his commander's handbook. He figures that none of the bad guys can use any of us for anything if nothing beyond professional camaraderie is ever exhibited.

Well, it's probably best that Princess has her attractions for Mark anyway. I consider her my little sister, and she'd be safe with him. Of course, I pity the guy who ever treated her wrong. She may look like an easy target, but she's got fists of steel. I can remember the welts I got sparring with her. We actually used to get into it pretty good. I remember a few of the bruises I left on her. She's competitive like that. Give her a punch, and she'll give you a damn good beating to make you think twice before trying it again. She's also the girl you want at your back when there's a bomb in the room. Call her a genius, but she just understands those devices like they can talk to her. Mostly, though, she's one of the most caring people I know. She took that kid Keyop under her wing, literally and figuratively.

Clutch.

Shift.

Accelerate.

Keyop is another thing entirely. I don't think the kid is totally human. I've never heard anyone whistle and toot in every sentence. I used to hate it at first. It was annoying and made me want to just smack some decent English into his brain. Then, I saw him nurse that baby bird back to health after it fell out of a tree. The simple innocence that exuded off Keyop gave me a new respect for him. His quiet, unassuming manner when faced with a challenge showed us why he is the perfect candidate to handle the reconnaissance missions. The kid probably has more heart than the other four of us put together. Lately, he decided to take on saving the spotted owl and the whales. It's the innocence of youth. In his world, the glass is always half-full. I'm glad I'm not that naïve.

Clutch.

Shift.

Accelerate.

How they came across Tiny I'll never know, but he's the best damn pilot I've ever flown with. The man likes his food, though. You'd never think someone with his girth could be so nimble with the Phoenix under his control. He and that ship have a connection. I sometimes catch Tiny talking to the Phoenix, and she responds to him like a baby in her father's arms. Tiny doesn't normally get to go in the thick of the face-to-face fighting. He's pretty content for just handling the ship. Still, I'd never discount him in hand-to-hand combat. He's got muscle strength under the exterior. He just likes to hide it with his extra large heart.

Clutch.

Shift.

Accelerate.

I pull the car into a screeching turn. The sun has risen too high in the sky before me and is blinding my path. There's only one thing left to do. I get my pride and joy turned around. The darkness is now before me again. Her engine is still purring nicely under the hood. She's ready to head back home, too. I give her a good revving. It's our personal ritual we share. Then, she pulls free as I lift off the brake. In a short while, I'll be joining up with my teammates, my family. We'll fight like families do. We'll laugh, and we'll kick some Spectra butt.

My mind falls into the driving zone again, and I enjoy the last of my solitude. Sometimes it's good to just be Jason, the guy who loves his car.

Clutch.

Shift.

Accelerate.