Hey y'all, it's me, the author! I just wanted to drop in here and say a big 'thank you' to everyone that's read/left reviews on this fic up to this point! This is the final chapter, and it feels so weird to me that it's actually over now. This story really means a lot to me, so I really, really do mean it when I say I appreciate all the support and kind words that I've been graced with over the course of this adventure. Here's to many more!
Hope you all enjoy the ending :)
the-kings-tail-fin, out!
Radiator Springs, the next day…
Lightning woke with a start, ending the visions of flames and sounds of screams as quickly as they'd began. To his right, that charmingly annoying alarm clock was going at it, signaling the start of a new day. Jimi Hendrix was blaring somewhere nearby. Otherwise, serene, wind-blown silence filled the atmosphere around the Cozy Cone Motel.
He switched the clock off and focused on a bird tweeting in the trees outside. He closed his eyes again to regain his lost composure.
"You're fine. You are more than fine. Your friends are fine. Everyone is safe. It's over," he rambled under his breath, repeating the same sentiment until he had convinced himself.
He'd arrived only five hours earlier, in a private helicopter that disrupted the peaceful night over Radiator Springs. The first thing he'd seen was nearly a dozen tired, frightened faces that greeted him as he landed. They swarmed him, all asking variations of the same two questions.
"Are you okay?"
"What happened?"
As relieved as he'd been to come home, he'd panicked. He was stressed and tired and wanted nothing more than to erase the past twenty-four hours from his mind. He'd not given them a response. Instead, he ran from them, holing himself up in his favorite Cone for some much needed peace and rest. He did, however, manage to share a longsuffering stare with Sally before closing the door. He needed to talk to her, to apologize to her.
A sudden knock sounded at the door. Lightning jumped, suddenly alert. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.
Doc sat patiently on the other side of the garage door, his usual grumpy, stern demeanor absent.
"Doc?" Lightning asked, surprised to see him and not Sally.
"Hey, kiddo," Doc greeted him quietly with a soft, but concerned, smile. It was what Lightning always thought a real doctor should exhibit. "How're you feelin'?"
Lightning looked down at his hood and shrugged. The scratches on his fenders and down his sides still irritated him, uncomfortable reminders of yesterday.
"I'm fine," he answered. "Just need some new paint and a little work from Ramone."
Doc shook himself. "That's not what I meant."
Lightning stared at his mentor for a few moments, reading the undertones from the old car's expression. He sighed.
"I don't know, Doc," he admitted. "It's early. I'm tired. I don't wanna think about it."
Doc didn't push the issue, though he had hoped for a more insightful answer. Instead, he nodded empathetically.
"News all over the radio this mornin' is that it's over," Doc said. "They're kind of makin' it sound like a coup, but no one's given any real answers yet."
Lightning avoided eye contact. "They're all gone. The head manufacturers, I mean. All three of 'em."
Doc looked surprised. The despairing confidence and succinctness in the rookie's response was evidence of fact. What had he witnessed?
"Hmm," Doc pondered. "Well, you don't have to talk about it until you're ready. I just want you to know that we're glad you're safe. All of us. You had us real worried there, hot rod. I don't ever want you to hesitate to come to me – or anyone else for that matter – if it gets to be too much to handle."
"Thanks, Doc," Lightning showed his appreciation genuinely.
"I'll leave you be, then," Doc dismissed himself, backing away. "Welcome home, son."
Lightning watched Doc drive away, heading back toward his office. Slowly, the town's residents began to stir, opening up their businesses for the day and passively greeting each other. McQueen found himself being drawn toward the ambient busywork and rolled out of the motel.
As he approached the road, a flash of light blue caught his attention. Sally had noticed his movement and gone to approach him, hesitating at the motel's office door. She looked worried, but shot him a smile anyway. He returned the sentiment and drove over to her instead.
"Hey, Sal," he greeted her.
"Stickers," she received him in return.
For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Sally had so, so many questions for him. She wanted to know everything. She wanted to know the truth behind the news reports, what he'd experienced, and how on earth he'd made it back in one piece. Most of all, she wanted to ensure his well-being. She took a brief moment to truly appreciate his presence. A day ago, she hadn't been sure she'd ever be with him again.
"Wanna go for a drive?" she asked, throwing all other pressing matters to the wayside.
The look on his face was worth it. He smiled, an unforced smile that truly felt natural.
"What're we waiting for?" he replied.
Wheel Well had been beautiful the first time he saw it, but that paled in comparison to the countryside charm it embodied that day. For several long moments, Lightning found himself enamored with the panoramic view the mountainside lookout afforded. Visitors lazily passed through the town below, trickling in off the interstate and bringing life once again to Ornament Valley. This was what life should be like.
Sally found herself looking at the racecar more than the view. He'd never been so quiet. Sure he'd appreciated the vista before, but never like this. He'd parked so close to her they nearly touched. She found his proximity reassuring, but it continued to raise so many questions. She didn't know how to ask them.
"Thank you," he said eventually, looking at her.
"For what?" she asked.
"For this," he motioned to the grand scene before them. "For convincing me to stay. You know, giving me a home. Didn't know I needed one until now."
She smiled at him, trying her best to keep any tears at bay.
"Oh, well, it's just an overlook," she attempted to make light of it.
"No," he claimed. "It's much more than that."
She leaned against him and he unabashedly returned the favor. After a few seconds, her burning questions overcame her again.
"Tell me what happened," she pleaded quietly.
Lightning sat quietly for a few long moments, long enough for her to wonder if she should have avoided the inquiry. He didn't show any signs of prevalent emotion.
"We ended it," he eventually said. "Or, well, they ended it, I guess. I just turned out to be a tool, I think. Sort of a catalyst to the end. I don't know how to explain it, but Sally, I am so sorry for leaving you like I did. I shouldn't have done that. I won't do it again."
Sally paused before replying, careful with her answer. "You did what you felt you needed to do. I'm not upset. I'm just glad you're back and intact. You belong here."
"Yeah," he said with a hint of good humor, backing away slightly and turning toward her. "I belong right here."
He moved in and planted his lips on hers. Worries melted away. This was his future. He wasn't going to let the past change that.
Lansing, Hostile Takeover Bank HQ, three days later…
Chick sat in a deserted waiting room outside his agent's office. He'd always liked coming to Lansing, as he was the local celebrity, but this visit was different. The luxurious room he sat in, adorned with mahogany floors, elegant bookcases, and black leather chairs, seemed cold. The droning of the complimentary television in the corner agitated him.
The news had been covering the story for days. Every couple hours a little more of the truth would come public, facts about the futures of the manufacturers, and what the conclusion of the war meant for the country. Chick gritted his teeth in anger. Those reporters kept talking about leadership and policy changes. They knew nothing. They didn't know what he'd done for them. They didn't know what had happened in the basement of that executive building. They didn't know how high the stakes had been.
And they never would know. Chick searched the room for a remote, looking to change the channel or switch the television off, either would work. He couldn't find it. With an irritated huff, he parked in one of the lush leather chairs and awaited his agent's welcome without patience. The reporters carried on in the background.
"The thing that gets me, Kara," a male news anchor said to his co-anchor. "No one saw this coming! All three major manufacturers stripped of their leadership at the same time?"
"If you're asking me, I'm glad it ended the way it did," the female reporter said, looking into the camera. "Out with the old, in with the new! The new CEOs are looking to change their policies to better align with each other, and to keep competition healthy. We just found out earlier today that the new leaders of the three companies have signed a peace treaty of sorts – an agreement that will prevent anything like this from happening in the future. If it's ever breached, the government will be able to step in and do something about it at an official level. Thoughts, Jacob?"
"I think it's a fantastic idea," he answered, looking down at a piece of paper in front of him. "A quote from GM's new chief executive officer – 'We want what is best for all cars. That is not conflict. Makes and models and technical specifications do not define us. They never should.' Sounds to me like they're on the right track!"
"Agreed, now back to you, Carol…"
Chick sighed in relief as the sliding doors to his right opened. He looked over and saw his agent, who looked tired but eager as always to do business.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, pal," the older Pontiac Fiero apologized. "Come on in!"
"Long time no see," Chick said, taking his usual place on the other side of the sports car's desk.
"You're tellin' me," the Pontiac agreed in disbelief. "I swear I haven't had a bit of time off since your win."
"Ah, yeah," Chick grinned smugly. "So tell me, Neil, my friend, where do I sign?"
Neil blinked. "Come again?"
"My deal with Dinoco!" Chick reminded him enthusiastically. "You know the deal. Winner gets a new sponsorship. You've got that all lined up, right?"
Neil broke eye contact and fiddled with a fake ink well on his desk. Chick realized what the hesitation implied. His enthusiasm deflated quite visibly. Neil sighed.
"They're not offering you the sponsorship," he explained. "I asked – begged! – them for it and got nothing but laughed at. Said you 'didn't have the morals of a Dinoco racer'. Believe me, I tried. I was ready to move into an office in Dinoco Tower down in Dallas and work for you from there, but it's a no go for us, Chick. I'm sorry."
"What?" Chick asked in nothing more than a whisper, "But – "
"I'm sorry," his agent repeated. "But I'm afraid that's not the end of the bad news."
Chick glared at the car he'd always considered a friend. Business with Neil often revolved around a few brews and some crude humor at the bars. He'd never actually been to the agent's office before. He should have known.
Seeing he wasn't getting a response, Neil bit the bullet and continued. "The bank lost nearly thirty percent of its business over the last couple weeks. Angry customers, you know how they are. They see something they don't like and leave. Apparently that tiebreaker race angered a lot of people."
"What?" Chick asked in a louder, more aggressive tone. "What do you mean? I won!"
Neil shrugged. "Not in the eyes of the customers, I don't think. But anyway, I'm gonna cut to the chase here. Hostile Takeover is struggling to make ends meet. They don't have the money to fund you anymore. You're out of a sponsor. I am really, really sorry, man."
Chick wanted to scream. To fight something. To do anything that would take his frustration out on anything that wasn't him. Instead, he grew quiet and still.
"What do I do now?" he asked, facing the fact that the two things he'd ever known – racing and fighting – were now out of the question as career options.
Neil shot him a smile. "You didn't think I'd call you all the way out here to just give you a bunch of bad news, did you? I got something I think you might like, given the circumstances. I know a guy over at RSN…"
Auburn Hills, Chrysler HQ, a month later…
"I'm glad you guys could make it. I would have called sooner, but everything's just so hectic right now."
Izzy backed out of the doorway to make room. Strip entered the revamped executive suite and looked around. Lynda followed close behind.
The office looked like a completely different room. The once barren walls were covered in art and tasteful décor. The wall of television monitors was gone, replaced with another window. A simple, organized desk with a computer monitor replaced at least six filing cabinets and a desk that at times looked more like a mound of papers.
Strip drove around the room in a circle, looking at everything before facing his sister again. She looked exhausted, but happy.
"Looks like you've been busy," he told her.
"You have no idea," she said. "But I think it's going alright."
"I still can't believe he wanted you to be his successor," Strip said, looking out a window at the scene below. Even in the December snow, Chrysler's bustling headquarters was livelier than ever.
"Yeah, miss CEO," Lynda added with a smile, "how's it feel?"
"It feels like I'm not the least bit qualified," Izzy answered with an honest laugh.
Strip smiled at her undying sense of humor and looked out toward the snow-covered war memorial below. There was a new monument next to the old one. It was a little smaller, and placed at an odd angle to the existing one. Strip knew that they'd buried Rick as close as they could to Stacey without regards to the landscaping crew's distaste. It was the right thing to do.
"So, tell us all about it," Lynda asked, settling in like she was awaiting some of the world's best gossip. "We haven't heard anythin' more than what the news is goin' on about."
Izzy smiled. "That's what I was hoping to tell you two all about. Figured it would just be easier to talk in person."
"Well, we came all the way up here, have at it," Strip encouraged, turning to face her.
"Where do I start?" Izzy asked herself, suddenly realizing that in her excitement she hadn't structured her thoughts.
"Tell us about these other two guys that replaced Stephen and Paul, for starters."
"Ah, right," she said, jumping right in. "Ford's system was a little weird. They had a designated successor all lined up and ready to go. He was their CFO, previously. I thought it was suspicious, thought that maybe he had the same intentions as Stephen, but turns out he's cool. First thing he did when I met him for the first time was thank me for fighting. Said to extend the same gratitude to you, too, whoever you were. He knew something was wrong with Stephen, but I guess didn't quite realize the extent of it. He was actually the one to propose the treaty.
"The GM guy, he was a little harder to win over. He thought that since I fought I shouldn't lead. Too closely connected to the situation, y'know? But we convinced him otherwise. Used the excuse that I had a better understanding of what we want to avoid in the future. Also, it was none of his business to tell me what to do, so that was resolved pretty quickly."
"So you're all on the same page?" Lynda asked. "Everythin's civil?"
"Yeah," Izzy answered. "Civility was the common goal. We're here to manufacture, nothing more. It's time the business respected those boundaries."
"Sounds like you got it all figured out," Strip commended her.
"I'm glad you think so. I only know how to talk to others and reach agreements. I have no idea how to run a business."
"I have a friend or two that might be able to help with that."
She looked at him as if she didn't believe him. "Your alcoholic friend and the cowboy? Hmm."
"They'd be more than happy to help, Iz," Strip explained. "You don't have to do this on your own."
She paused for a moment and thought about it. "Yeah, I know. And I don't know if I wanna do this forever. I'll get the company up and running again and make sure everything's going the way it's supposed to. Then I don't know. I'll stick around until I find someone worthy of the position, I guess. Someone I trust. But that's all in the future. Right now, I have a job to do. I'm gonna do it right."
Strip nodded in understanding. She'd spent her whole life at Rick's side. She knew the ins and outs of the company better than anyone else, regardless of title. He'd picked her for a reason. He knew something about her that she didn't realize herself. Strip could see it, too, though he didn't know how to describe it.
"So how's the kid?" she asked, referring to Lightning. "I haven't seen or heard anything about him since we shipped him back to Arizona."
Strip shrugged. "I guess he's alright. Last I talked to him he said he was workin' on building his racin' headquarters out there. He's stayin' occupied. He's got a good bunch of folks to take care of him."
"Yeah, I think he's takin' it in stride," Lynda added. "I heard from someone in town that he's more open about it, and seems back to normal, more or less. Probably just took him some time to come to terms with it."
"He's a racer," Strip explained. "He's adaptable. I'm not worried about him."
"That's good to hear." Izzy seemed genuinely relieved. "I was scared he'd drop off the face of the earth and go missing again."
There was a comfortable silence for a moment as Izzy contemplated how to approach the next subject.
"What about you? Are you doing okay?" she asked her brother.
Strip looked surprised at the question. He glanced at Lynda out of habit and found her watching him. She knew how he'd taken it. While the long-term effects of the battle had been much better than the last time he'd come home after a rough fight, it wasn't necessarily good. He'd had his fair share of quiet flashbacks over the last couple of weeks. He'd mourned Rick's death appropriately, instead of keeping it all bottled up. He spent a lot of time thinking. He was dealing with it.
"I'll be alright," he answered. "Guess I've learned how to handle this sort of thing. Just trying to stay busy."
Lynda came forward and parked next to him. She was proud of him for how he'd handled himself both during and after the fight. He'd managed to tell her the whole story this time around.
"What about you?" Lynda inquired. "You've been up here all by yourself."
"Oh, well, the same, really," she shrugged. "Staying busy. Keeping myself preoccupied. Trying to face the facts. Appreciating the little things."
"As long as you take time for yourself," Strip reminded her, knowing how easy it was for her to neglect herself in favor of work. "Don't overdo it."
"I'm working on that," she promised with a smile. "Finally decided to do something I always wanted to."
"What's that?"
Izzy's soft smile deepened into a more enthusiastic one. "Come on. I want you to meet someone."
She led the two of them out her office door and down the hall. It was strange for Strip. The executive building used to be so desolate it often seemed like Rick was the only inhabitant. Now there were workers here and there, bustling about and doing their day job, unafraid of being out in the open in case of attack. The atmosphere of what he'd always considered the core of the company had changed drastically – for the better.
Izzy approached a door and stopped. She turned back to her guests.
"Shh. Let this be a surprise."
Strip and Lynda exchanged a suspicious glance. Neither one of them knew what Izzy had in store for them as she quietly nudged the door open.
The first sound Strip heard was the overenthusiastic voice of Darrell Cartrip, yelling something about "It's too close to call!" Those words had forever been engrained in the mind of every Piston Cup racer and race fan. Izzy moved to the side and let him through to see. At his other side, Lynda sucked in a sharp breath of adoring surprise. Strip felt himself smile.
There, sitting in the room facing away from them, was a newly manufactured racecar. He had soft white paint, nearly gray. In front of him was a wide screen television tuned to RSN and replaying the past season's highlights. It was their yearly special – four hours of the most memorable moments of the past year.
At the racecar's side, several books lay stacked neatly on top of each other, bookmarks placed strategically throughout their pages. Strip recognized them. An assortment of manuals, autobiographies, and other racing lore. Interesting. The kid must have been old enough to read. He definitely seemed old enough to know what he wanted to do – race.
Strip looked at his sister. She was so happy. He'd never seen her look at anyone or anything the way she looked at this younger car. He gave her a playful bump in the fender with his front tire.
"You've been keepin' secrets," he accused her in a lighthearted tone.
She shrugged and grinned in absolute joy.
"You know I've daydreamed about this forever," she reminded him quietly. "I found him, the oldest one that hadn't been adopted yet. Couldn't for the life of me understand why. He's the sweetest thing I've ever seen."
"What's his name?" Lynda asked, barely containing herself.
Izzy smiled and looked over at her son. He was so glued to the television screen he hadn't heard them talking.
She called out to him. "Hey, Cal! Why don't you come meet your aunt and uncle?"
The racecar perked up at the sound of her voice and immediately turned to look behind him. Strip rolled forward a bit, Lynda keeping pace beside him.
Cal's eyes widened at the decorated racer. His mouth dropped open and he rolled backwards, knocking a couple empty cans of oil over. He jumped at the noise and came to a halt. The television behind him replayed the three-way tie for what must have been the eleventh time since they'd entered the room. The kid's attention snapped attentively from the Dinoco racer in the room with him to the replay on the screen. He blinked a few times as though he couldn't believe what was happening and looked back at Strip. A huge lopsided grin crossed the kid's face.
Strip smiled back at him and drove a little closer. "So, you wanna race, huh?"