Part VI
As fate would have it, they did not have a practice meet the next weekend, or even the weekend after.
Shingo knelt on the cold concrete, running his hand tenderly over the Civic's injured flank. The red paint had curled up at the edges of the deep gouges that ran the length of the passenger side of his car. But it was more than cosmetic damage…there was also a serious crunch in the front end, and the radiator was leaking fluid all over the road. The repairs were going to be expensive.
He was still shaking from the near-death experience and his wrist throbbed painfully, but predictably he was more concerned about the car than he was about himself. He held back tears as he circled the car, assessing the damage that he himself had caused. Shattered plastic from the head and taillight covers crunched underfoot while the Civic's hot engine ticked accusingly at him as it cooled.
"I'm such an asshole. What was I thinking?" he muttered disconsolately. He had been so sure that he would win the death match that the possibility that he might lose never even crossed his mind. And when he'd seen that stupid AE86 pass him by and drift perfectly through yet another corner, he'd lost it. Things that had seemed like good ideas only moments before made him cringe with shame now that his feet were firmly on the ground.
Bumper nudging was not a new activity for him, but he couldn't believe he'd actually tried to kill both himself and the 86. A cool gust of wind whipped down the mountain making him shiver against the chill. He swept a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat, as he chewed his lip thoughtfully. What was he going to do? Things seemed impossibly dismal.
And then he saw twin lights in the distance, approaching at a rapid rate. A two-toned S13 sailed around the corner and came to a stop a few meters from his car. He hastily wiped away the tears that had gathered behind his eyes with the back of his hand. As the car's occupants stepped out, he recognized the Speedstars team leader and his second in command. This was just what he needed, to be seen by the Speedstars in his moment of ultimate humiliation. Guilt, shame, and resentment fought for dominance in a mind clouded by fatigue and shock.
"Are you alright?" Iketani asked.
Shingo bit his lip and turned away, afraid they would see the raw emotions that he was trying so hard to conceal. The two of them tried to cajole him into going with them to the hospital.
"Thanks, I appreciate it," he mumbled rather reluctantly. Iketani nodded approvingly.
"He's incredible. Who is that hachiroku driver anyway?"
"He's our friend," Iketani replied proudly.
"Ah." Suddenly, he decided against going with the Speedstars. After tonight, that hachiroku driver must really hate me. And if they're his friends, then they must too. Nothing is worse than accepting charity from your enemies. "This is too much. I don't need to go to the hospital. A phone call is enough."
"But…" the second driver began before Iketani stopped him.
"We understand. I'll call the towing service as soon as we get back."
The S13 eased onto the road and sped off into the night, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He sat heavily on the concrete, staring dazedly at the road. There was nothing to do but wait. He sighed and shivered against the cold, wondering what his teammates would say…what Takeshi would say.
Ever since their conversation in the cafe, Shingo had tacitly avoided the Night Kids leader. He had been floored by Nakazato's defeat; even the rapport that they had built the weekend of the RedSuns visit could not stop the outpouring of his scorn. And now, after all the things he'd said to Takeshi, he too had lost to the 86.
Just when he thought that it couldn't get any worse, he heard the low rumble of an approaching vehicle. His heart sank as a black Skyline flew around the corner and slowed to a stop.
Dust billowed dramatically in the GT-R's headlights as its owner stepped from behind the wheel. This was just what he needed…an "I told you so" and a lecture, compliments of Nakazato Takeshi. He stood and crossed his arms, trying to compose himself and prepare for the inevitable denunciations.
"Are you alright?" Takeshi asked, concern written all over his face. Shingo stiffened as Nakazato grabbed his shoulders firmly and examined him for injuries. He roughly shoved him away, knowing that his hastily erected mask of nonchalance would never stand up to such close scrutiny.
"I'm fine, nice of you to care," he sneered acidly.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" he bit off. "So come on, why don't you just say it?"
"Say what?" asked Takeshi quietly.
"Say what you came here to say! 'You're reckless, you're arrogant, you're stupid, I knew this would happen,' whatever! Just get it over with so I can go home!" he ranted, the bravado covering up the gaping wounds in his pride. To his surprise, Nakazato didn't shout back. In fact, he didn't act much like a person who had come to rub it in. Instead, he heaved a sigh and started speaking softly, almost soothingly. Guilt gnawed at the edges of Shingo's conscience.
"I didn't come here to say any of that."
"Then why did you come here? If you're looking for an apology, you can forget it!"
"I came to see that you weren't hurt…"
"Well, I'm fine!" he snapped. "So just leave!"
"…and I came to give you a ride."
"Wh-what?" He had been prepared for a lecture. At least then he could have fended off Nakazato's attacks with smug, sarcastic retorts. But Takeshi was being nice.
"Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden? What about all that shit I said about you?"
"Would you prefer that I repeat it back to you? I could, but I would have thought you'd had enough for one night."
"I…I…" He felt the walls of his defenses crumbling against the unexpected onslaught. At least an angry Takeshi would have been familiar…but this, this compassion was almost more than he could handle.
"Come on, Shingo. Where's your cell phone? Did you call the tow truck?"
"I left my phone at home, but don't worry, those meddlesome Speedstars stopped by. Said they'd call the towing service when they got back."
"Alright, then I'll wait with you. You can't stop me, it's a public road, eh?"
"Do what you want," he snarled before turning and walking away from Takeshi.
Shingo watched as the tow truck parked his battered Civic in the autobody shop's lot. He wrote a quick note on the back of a crumpled receipt he had found in the glove compartment. The message said that he would call them first thing Monday morning, and it was signed with his name and phone number. He deftly slipped it beneath one of the EG-6's windshield wipers. Then he ran his hand lovingly over an undamaged section of the hood, staring for one endless moment at his pride and joy, and apologized. It was nothing more than a wordless expression of regret, but it was heartfelt. And whether the apology was to the car, Takumi, Takeshi, or himself didn't really matter. He heaved a dejected sigh, tearing his gaze away from the obscene visage of his savaged auto.
When the tow truck finally left, Takeshi turned to him.
"Come on, Shingo, I'll give you a ride home. It's better than walking to the train station." A stiff breeze sliced through their thin clothing, making them both shiver. "Besides, it's getting a little cool out here."
Shame and guilt finally crushed the remaining shreds of resentment that were bolstering his defenses. He simply couldn't keep up the charade any longer. The sooner he got home and buried his head under the covers, the better. He shrugged.
"Good. Let's go."
Carefully, he climbed into the GT-R's passenger seat and closed the door, snapping on the safety belt. He closed his eyes, trying to estimate how much the repairs would cost and wondering whether or not it was worth the increase in his insurance rate to report the accident. He jumped suddenly as Takeshi touched his shoulder. They hadn't moved; the Skyline was still idling in the car park.
"Where do you live?" Takeshi asked, regarding him with a worried expression. Shingo started guiltily.
"Oh…yeah." That was something he hadn't thought of. In order to take him home, Nakazato would have to see where he lived. He wanted to cry…hadn't he suffered enough? He didn't think he could stand it if he had to see that look of disdain on Nakazato's face when he saw his cramped, messy, one room flat. But he had already agreed to this, and there was no backing out of it now. Grimly, he gave the directions to his flat.
"Ok," Takeshi replied simply and eased out of the lot. Shingo was surprised he didn't make any comments on the area, or the neighborhood. Well, if they didn't come now, they would certainly come later.
As Takeshi drove, he kept glancing at the person occupying his passenger seat. Shingo looked terrible. He had never seen anyone look so defeated. The EG-6 driver was unconsciously shaking, and staring out the window with a stricken expression. It was obvious that Shingo's pride was crushed. When Takeshi had lost to the 86, he had taken it with a certain amount of grace. Fujiwara had been a worthy adversary, and the battle had taught him a lot about himself. No, what had hurt the most was not his defeat, but Shingo's ridicule.
He wondered why he was here now, helping the one person who had actually kicked him when he was down. He should be angrily denouncing the arrogant driver, not generously chauffeuring him around. But as much as Shingo deserved it, Takeshi wasn't going to do it. He just didn't have the heart to rip into him, especially when he already looked like a kicked and beaten dog. Besides, he didn't want to be resented; he wanted to be accepted. And maybe even…no. He stopped himself short. It didn't make sense to allow hope for reciprocity when mere acceptance came so hard. Best to be content taking what's given.
Shingo watched dismally as road signs whizzed by the racing GT-R. Regret sat like a stone in his chest and he bit his lip against each fresh surge of guilt. I swaggered around bragging like an arrogant jerk. I damaged that 86, and I fucked up my EG-6; I nearly killed us both. All that and I /still/ lost. I laughed at Takeshi when he lost, and to top it all off, instead of kicking my ass like he should, he's actually being nice to me. I am the biggest asshole in the history of Japan. Nakazato shouldn't be taking me home; he should be dumping me in the river.
He cast a sidelong glance at Nakazato just to make sure that he really wasn't about to be taken somewhere and dumped. Nakazato looked tense, but not murderous. And when he noticed that all the road signs seemed to indicate that they were heading in the right direction, guilt made him wonder if he should be relieved or disappointed. I have to apologize. I can't just sit here like an idiot.
"Hey, Na-Takeshi?" he winced at the uncertainty in his voice.
"Ah?" Takeshi replied, glancing briefly at him before returning his attention to the road.
"You…remember that stuff I said…about you?"
Takeshi frowned and Shingo was hurled back into the bucket seat as the GT-R rocketed down the road.
"You mean that I drive like a girl, no offense to Impact Blue?" Takeshi asked tersely.
"Uh…yeah…among other things." The seatbelt tightened constrictively around him as the GT-R slingshot around a curve and just managed to run a yellow light.
"I'm…I'm sorry. About…you know, all that…stuff." He imagined he probably looked about as sheepish as one could, short of being a sheep.
Takeshi slowed to a stop for the next yellow light, thankfully.
"You are?" he asked skeptically, glaring at Shingo from his side of the car.
"Yes."
Takeshi's eyes narrowed.
"YES! Really, what the hell do you want me to say?" Shingo winced slightly when the light turned and Takeshi slammed the car into gear.
After a long pause, and a little more maniacal driving, Takeshi answered,
"I accept your apology."
He heaved a small sigh of relief, noticing for the first time how tense he had been. Forcing himself to relax, he wiggled his stiff shoulders around.
"What's wrong with you?" Takeshi eyed him sharply.
"I think you gave me whiplash."
"What?" the driver snapped, slamming on the brakes and coming to a screeching halt just inches from rear ending the Toyota in front of them. The force of the braking car flung him against the safety belt. Shit, Brembo four wheel disc, nice!
"I'm kidding, it's a joke!" Shingo waved his hands defensively.
"Not funny," Takeshi growled.
"Ok, ok, sorry." He slunk down in his seat and clamped his mouth shut before he said anything else that might get him more seatbelt bruises, or dumped on the side of the road for that matter.