Chapter Text
With Smokey as his crew chief, Lightning basically moves to Thomasville full-time for training. He prefers it to Radiator Springs sometimes, because to be close to Smokey, River, Junior and Louise felt closer to some part of Doc that Lightning never knew. The part of Doc whose drive wasn’t yet diminished by the many disappointments of his early life and career. Lightning often wonders what might have happened had he met that younger Doc - had the two of them not let their various doubts and insecurities fog up what could have been; left unrealised by Lightning until it was too late. There's nowhere else in the world he feels such a rush of adrenaline than that turn of the speedway where Doc suddenly appears framed against the trees. Watching from his billboard with piercing blue eyes as Lightning floors it towards him, towards the finish line.
Today however, ten minutes after the Cotter Pin opens for lunch, Lightning is at the bar ordering beers. Training with Smokey starts every morning at 5am sharp and by midday, Lightning is ravenous for a lot more than their Brunswick stew and crusty bread special. His speed is stagnating again. All week long he’s been topping out at 196mph. Last year, he'd managed 202mph before he even got to the first race. He doesn't know why he's not matching those numbers again but it's making him frustrated - and therefore a bit prone to dramatics. "I don't think I'm going to win a race ever again, Smokey," he says, taking an angry swig from his bottle.
"Yeah,” says Smokey. “Doubt you will."
That isn't what he expected to hear. He inhales fizz up his nose and descends into a violent coughing fit, while Smokey watches calmly across the table.
“Thanks a lot!” Lightning chokes out.
“You're the one who said it."
"I thought you were going to tell me I just need to work on my drafting technique or something! Not yeah, sure thing, Lightning - time to call it quits!"
"There's no problem with your technique," says Smokey. "And I never said nothing about quitting."
"Then what are you talking about?"
"It not that you can't win, Lightning. The problem is you don't want to win."
Lightning is aghast. “Of course I want to win!"
Smokey gives him a cool look over the top of his bottle. "You're half asleep on the track these days, kid. Yeah, your heart just ain't in it."
"My heart isn't-? Would you even be my crew chief if you thought I wasn’t giving it everything I fucking had? Come on, Smokey! You can’t possibly believe-” Smokey's moustache twitches and Lightning realises he's nearly shouting. Sweet is watching them with thin-lipped apprehension as she polishes cutlery behind the bar. He gives her a sheepish smile and a wave before ducking his head.
“Right,” he mutters, leaning across the table. His hands tap a beat on the wood, his beer pushed aside and forgotten. “Okay. Can you at least explain your thinking to me?
"Who's your biggest competition right now?"
“Cruz.”
Smokey says nothing to that. Lightning frowns.
“Danny Swervez?”
That doesn't get a reaction either, so he starts firing off names at random.
“Chase Racelott? Or Bubba Wheelhouse? On a good day, anyway. Or are you thinking Tim Treadless? He had three wins last year-”
"You got it right the first time, kid.” Smokey sets down his bottle on the table with a clunk. “Be honest with me, Lightning. Do you really want to beat Cruz? Or are you just as happy seeing her win as you are winning yourself?”
"That's not a fair question," he says. "I was her crew chief after all." Even now as her competitor, he's been by her side to witness how far she's come. She's tallied up two Piston Cups already, but Lightning knows she still has that broken plastic trophy mended with tape in pride of place in her mother's display cabinet.
It makes him smile to think about it - though he could just as easily burst into tears. He understands now why Doc sent Smokey enough photos and clippings of Lightning to plaster over a whole wall in his garage. The way it all wells up inside him is a bit overwhelming at times.
“You love her," says Smokey.
The smile drops off Lightning's face.
"I have a girlfriend,” he says quickly, and blushes as he hears the words come out of his mouth. He's been living out of Louise's guest bedroom for over a month and they all know he hasn't gone home yet to visit said girlfriend. Nor has she made the journey herself. He even forgot to call her on Friday as he usually does, for his obligatory check in.
"I didn't say in what way you love her,” says Smokey carefully. “I just said you love her. You've never raced against someone you care about, or feel protective over."
"I raced against Bobby and Cal for ten years!"
"You respected them. Maybe you were friendly with them, went for a few drinks together every now and then. That's not the same."
Lightning sighs. He slumps back in his seat. His driving must be really fucking lousy for Smokey to be probing at him like this.
“Alright,” he says slowly. “So where do I go from here?”
“When you first came to me, you’d driven all the way across the damn country for it. Missed qualifying in Florida and had to start dead last. You did this without knowing if I was still alive, or that I wouldn’t just send you packing. Why’d you do that?”
He grumbles, reaching for his beer again. "I was desperate.”
“Well, maybe you need to tap into a little bit of that again. It might not have been enough to save your race in Florida, but it did save your career. Is there no one you race who you consider your rival?"
"Not really."
"What about Swervez?"
"I mean, he's a good racer. A damn good racer, but..." His voice trails off.
"He ain't Storm, is he?" says Smokey perceptively.
The sound of that name makes Lightning tense. He hasn't heard it in a long time.
"Good," he snaps. "At least we don't have to worry about Swervez going haywire and attacking Cruz on the fucking track."
“I can see your eyes have changed already,” says Smokey. “Tap into that. Bring a bit of that fire back. Can't hurt, can it?”
Can't hurt? Hilarious. Danny Swervez never made Lightning feel threatened the way Storm had, back then. Storm had been a phenomenal racer, and a phenomenal asshole about it too. He'd enjoyed kicking Lightning when he was down. Even if it did drive Lightning to Thomasville and to people he now considers some of his closest companions, he still hates that it he took it all so personally in the first place. It had almost cost him his life as well as his career.
Even worse, Lightning had been the one to put Cruz in the race at the Florida 500. He hadn't anticipated how far Storm would go to secure his own victory. The violent screech of metal on concrete was one of the worst things Lightning had ever heard - Cruz's car had been seconds from going up in flames.
Cruz! he'd yelled down the headset in a panic. Get out of there!
Lightning fidgets with his beer bottle, pushing it back and forth across the table. He doesn't have to worry about Storm anymore. IGNTR took him out of the Piston Cup to avoid fines and disqualification, turning their attention instead to the Asian circuit. Apparently he's been out there smashing track records all over again. Lightning hasn't followed his career abroad with much interest, mostly cause he was just very glad to see the back of him.
But him being out of the picture doesn't change the fact that Lightning made several terrible calls of judgement. That was on him, not Storm.
“Smokey, last time I got that fired up I wrecked,” he mutters. “So I don't think that's the solution.”
“You’re a lot smarter than that now, kid.” Smokey finishes his beer and steals Lightning's out of his hand. "You've got some hours to put in this evening," he says, smiling when Lightning splutters and protests.
Neither of them knew it, but that's the last piece of advice Smokey ever gives to him. The next morning Smokey's voice falters in his ear mid-way through practice laps, then goes silent.
By the time Lightning realises something is wrong - slamming on the brakes and scrambling out of his car - River is on the phone to paramedics. Smokey is lying on the ground, his face greyish white, his eyes glazed over.
It isn't the first time he'd collapsed since taking the job. Lightning was worried then, but Smokey just snorted and waved off all their concerns even with the IV clipped in his liver-spotted arm. "I'm fine," he said. "Just had a turn. If you want to keep me away, I'd like to see you damn try.” He'd eyed Lightning beadily, like they were actually going to come to blows about it while he was lying in his hospital bed. He looked oddly small without his orange cap. Lightning didn't even know he was bald.
Seeing him like that silenced the impulse to argue with him. They all knew at his age, Smokey should be focusing more on his health than eking out what little was left of Lightning's dying career. Maybe he felt a renewed sense of purpose in being a crew chief again. Maybe he just enjoyed it - he was good at it. Or maybe Smokey felt he owed it to Doc to keep going - to continue his protege’s legacy as long as he could. Lightning couldn’t - and wouldn’t - ever argue with that.
This time, though, he knows its different. He paces back and forth in the hospital waiting room, sweating profusely under his overalls. His dread mounts as the day pulls into night; as River, Louise and Junior look more and more drawn every time they go in and out of Smokey's room. Eventually, Louise comes out and puts her hand gently on Lightning's shoulder, the lines on her face etched deep with grief.
This couldn't be happening. Not again.
He was only just talking with Smokey. Smokey had been chastising him for taking a turn too wide. Where you going, kid? You wanna go for a spin around the woods while you're out there-?
Lightning likes it when Smokey calls him kid, even though he's nearly forty. It reminds him of Doc. He can't face the thought he's never going to hear it again - that yet another part of his late mentor is gone; snuffed out from the world.
*
Lightning is supposed to be racing in Wisconsin the next week, but obviously that's not going to happen. Cruz backs out of the race too - which means the whole Dinoco-Rust-eze team are absent from the line-up.
"I know it's a bit early to be asking," Tex begins awkwardly, when they had all traipsed down the hill back to the Cotter Pin. The two of them have taken the corner table - Lightning watching Sweet serve chicken goujons and sandwiches in a black lace dress, her blonde curls pinned under a black porkpie hat. The band are playing a sombre riff on their electric guitars; and instead of the laughter, shouting and occasional bottle being thrown across the room, there's just sniffling, sobbing, and the drone of low muttered conversation. It's pissing down with rain outside - everyone soaked through and splattered with mud from the graveyard. It's too fucking surreal. Like this whole thing is just some bad dream he might wake up from any second.
"Huh?" he say, when he realises Tex is still talking.
"I said, you did the right thing to withdraw from the rest of the season," says Tex. "You can take as much time as you need - Douglas and I will always go at your pace. We were wondering, however... if you had given any thought yet to next year?" He looks a little embarrassed and takes a quick bite of his sandwich. A blob of tuna mayo drops down his front.
"Um, no," says Lightning. "Not yet."
"Not that it should influence your decision either way," says Tex, chewing hurriedly. "But I should make you aware... IGNTR have indicated they're going to reinstate Jackson Storm as their driver going forward."
Lightning looks down at the stain forming on the front of Tex's shirt. "Right," he says.
"I know he's been withdrawn from their ticket for a while now. Unfortunately because that was a voluntary thing, they managed to avoid any, ah, official repercussions for the incident in 2017. And, well, to be blunt about it, they have a lot more bargaining power this year because of their success on the international market..." He blathers on.
Thankfully, Louise and Cruz bundle through the door, lowering sodden umbrellas. The two of them head to the bar to join Junior and River, Cruz's eyes searching the room. When she sees Lightning, she raises her hand in greeting.
"Now, I have had words with the organisers," Tex continues, though Lightning isn't listening. "They've assured me that driver safety is their number one priority-"
"Great." Lightning gets to his feet. "Uh, thanks for the heads up, Tex. We'll talk more about it later." He edges out around the table and goes over to Cruz.
"Hey," he says quietly, giving her arm a squeeze. "How you holding up?"
She gives him a weak smile. Her eyes are red and swollen and she really doesn't suit black. He already misses her trademark bright yellow.
"Ugh, alright. I just can't believe he's... in the ground." She shudders. He wraps his arm around her shoulders.
"I know." For an insane moment as they were lowering the coffin, Lightning had half an urge to throw himself in after it. There was something about seeing him in the grave that rammed home the finality of it all. That this was the moment of parting - that they would have to leave Smokey here in the cold dirt at the edge of the woods forever. "Lou?" he asks. "You okay?"
She knocks back a whiskey neat before responding. Lightning has never seen her drink anything stronger than white wine.
"I'm alright, son," she says gruffly. "What did Tex want? Don't tell me he was talking business at a funeral."
"Yeah, he was just asking me about next year's Piston Cup. Thanks," he adds, as River passes him a beer.
Cruz snorts. "What's the saying? Money never sleeps?"
"He wants to know if I'm going to race next year."
"Of course you're going to race," she says quickly.
There's a short pause. Lou is already ordering another whiskey, and Junior reaches across her and indicates to Sweet to leave the bottle. Lightning is craving something stronger himself - something that will burn on the way down.
"Yeah," he begins. "I, well - I wasn't sure-"
"Smokey would have wanted you-" Cruz cuts herself off, cringing. "Sorry."
"You're right," says Lightning. "He would have wanted me to."
"Yeah, but I shouldn't be... Jesus, at his damn funeral too. Don't feel guilt-tripped into it. But.. yeah, you definitely should race, if you're, um, okay..." She gives him a worried look and he flashes his winning smile to placate her. Truth is, he wasn't planning on racing at all - up until about five minutes ago.
"Oh, and apparently IGNTR want to race Storm again," he says. "Tex just told me."
Cruz scoffs. "Of course they do."
Junior looks up from the bar, frowning. "Hasn't that little shit been in Japan or somewhere for the past five years? Why the hell's he coming back?"
"How has he been allowed to come back?" River asks. "I thought he was banned."
"He wasn't," says Louise, and the hard look in her eyes tells them all what she thought of that. She glances at Cruz before knocking back her second drink. She's been her crew chief since Lightning stepped down from the role - she isn't going to relish the prospect of putting Cruz in the field with someone who has a proven track record of violence against her. Lightning is already exhausted thinking about it and he's relatively young. Louise isn't as old as Smokey, but she's a lot older than Doc was when he died. This can't be good for her.
He has a vision of her being the next one to fall, tumbling off her pedestal into the pit. Abruptly, he changes that vision to one of Storm trailing over the line dead last with two flat tyres, and a cracked windscreen for good measure.
"You're not worried, are you?" River is asking Cruz. "He won't try anything if he knows what's good for him."
"No way - I'm not scared of him. Besides, I know Lightning will be a gentleman and throw himself in front of me if needs be."
"Sure I will," Lightning says. "I won't have a crew chief to talk me out of it, anyway."
She's joking, but he isn't. Smokey, as well as having some uncanny gift of foresight, had been bang on the money about one thing. Lightning would do anything to protect Cruz.
Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sally sitting with Mater, Flo and Ramone. Has he even spoken to her today? He can't remember. He realises he still has his arm around Cruz and drops it half-heartedly back to his side.
"We can always step up if you need us," says River. "Just say the word. Right, Junior?"
Junior purses his lips around his glass. "Big boots to fill," he mutters.
"I can't put on a headset for you, Lightning," says Louise. "But I'll be in the pit if you need me. We're on the same team at the end of the day." She sets her empty glass on the counter. "We're... we're family now, really." There's a low pleased murmur of agreement. Cruz wipes her eyes again.
Lightning, however, feels his insides clench like a fist. Smokey had died unmarried, without kids - just like Doc. Lou has a daughter and a grandson but she never sees them. Though River and Junior do have families, they seem to spend most of their time in the Cotter Pin or on the road as part of Lightning and Cruz's entourage. It's touching that they count so much on each other, but it makes him feel oddly hollow.
He's thirty-eight. He's now two crew chiefs down and with his last racing season fast approaching, he can't help but wonder what he'll be left with when it's all over. He always imagined himself with a wife and children by now. He never saw himself alone in Doc's old house in Radiator Springs; his seven Piston Cups lined up on the mantlepiece every bit as empty as Doc had always condemned them to be.
"To Smokey?" River says, raising his glass.
"To Smokey," they chorus. Lightning finishes his beer in one long gulp and lowers his eyes, not looking at anyone.
He definitely doesn't dare look over at Sally.
*
She manages to catch him outside the Cotter Pin. Or rather, he's heading out the door with Cruz and Louise, and because Sally's standing there smoking a cigarette he can't just walk past her.
The women exchange somewhat awkward platitudes. There's tension between Sally and Cruz that's been there from the day Cruz first appeared, and everyone knew Lightning's long stretches away from home involved travelling with her, staying in hotels with her. Racing with her; celebrating and commiserating with her. Sally was always too dignified to comment on it and she continues to be now, giving Cruz a polite hug before her and Louise take off arm in arm down the hill, treading carefully so they don't slip in the mud. It's still fucking raining.
There's a short silence as the two of them stand there under the doorway. Sally inches closer to share her umbrella, but not close enough to touch him.
"You alright?" he asks.
"Oh, yeah," she says. "You?"
Lightning swallows. "Um, yeah. Okay."
They're obviously not okay or alright in any way, shape or form. He can't remember the last time either of them actually communicated how they were really feeling to each other.
“I'm going to head back now with Flo and Ramone,” Sally says.
“Oh,” says Lightning. “Right.”
“I'll just pop in to say goodbye and then we'll get on the road.”
“Okay,” says Lightning. “Right.”
“Don't think you really need me here anyway.”
Lightning can't even deny it. She was right there at the graveside, when he'd leaned past her at the moment he thought he might break and took hold of Cruz's hand instead.
He feels his shoulders sag. Why is he surprised when he keeps losing people? He thought he was better than this now. He hadn't meant anything by it - Cruz had been close to Smokey after all, where Sally only knew him through Lightning. Did it make it any better that he'd also reached for Louise Nash with his other hand?
Probably not. God, they've been together for fifteen years. She'd been standing right beside him.
She's more of a ghost to him than any of the dead.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Jesus. I'm really sorry, Sal."
She smiles at him sadly. "So I am, Stickers."
The pet-name compels him step out from under her umbrella into the rain. Within seconds, it has plastered his hair to his scalp, dripping under the collar of his coat; sticking his shirt to his back.
"I want to say - tell you," he starts, fumbling over the words. "There's nothing going on between me and Cruz."
He knows he has insulted her by the way she tenses, but he has to say it. "That's not why I'm a shit boyfriend," he continues. "It's not why I couldn't be there for you. I've been on the road, obviously, but I could have tried harder-"
"Lightning, we're both to blame."
"Maybe," he says. He's both grateful and hates that she's somehow flown through the first four stages of grief to acceptance. They're only just breaking up and he's shaking all over. Her hand is steady as it holds the umbrella over her head. "I-I just needed you to know. It wasn't cause there was anyone else."
Sally's eyes bore into him for a long moment. “Does she know that?” she asks finally.
"Yes."
"You sure?"
"Definitely," he says.
“She looks at you like you’re her whole world, Lightning.”
"I know, but-"
“Just like Doc did.”
He takes a big shuddering gasp. Anything else he might have said dies in his throat. Sally's expression flickers with pity as she turns without another word and goes back into the Cotter Pin. And that's it.
Lightning can only stand there, soaked to the skin. It's the closest anyone has ever come to voicing aloud any acknowledgment that Doc's love for him might not have been strictly platonic. If Sally had noticed, then maybe it had been real.
He hasn't given her enough credit. As his partner, as a woman, and as someone who had also loved Doc. Sometimes it feels like he's been carrying that burden alone. Like he's only person on this earth still unable to move on, his tyres spinning perpetually in the dirt.