#unlike in past illegal part issues when it was harder to tell which race was affected

[charles-leclerc-official]

mclaren needs to liquidate i am so serious i cannot stand them winning even a single race its so much worse than the redbull and mercedes domination ever was like you have this disgusting illegal rocketship and still you are being whiny and playing underdog ugh

Yeah playing the underdog in the fastest car doesn't work. Like no one gives a fuck, they see you have the fastest car and have been unable to maximize shit for half the races this season. It's laughable.

And don't get me started, I still want to challenge the Baku results bare minimum. It think it's pretty easy to know which races that wing, which has been deemed illegal affected. If not, to me that's a DSQ from the WCC again as those results impact it as well.

But no, British bias is the root of all our problems this season on top of the FIA missing a whole spine.

[whipplefilter]

The fact that Lightning managed to win race after race without a crew chief amazes me. It shows how much he really learned from Doc and how his talent and hard work combined made him one of the greatest racers. Maybe that's part of what Doc saw in him that he didn't even see in himself! E.g, in the opening race (and all his past races I believe), he knew when to pit without having someone to tell him to unlike his rookie year, but he wasn't able to see it until he stepped in as Cruz's crew chief

Saaaame, anon!! Even though I court death every time they show us that empty crew chief podium. And like, not only did he know when to pit, he also took on everything else about crew chief-ing himself, too. So he knew, like, how to tune himself for each particular track, and I guess must have found things to pay attention to to compensate for the fact that he can’t see the field in the way that a crew chief up on said podium can. I’M SO PROUD OF HIM. :’)

…Or, wait, maybe not such different reasons? I mean, Lightning is honoring Doc’s memory by not hiring a new crew chief, certainly. But as I’m writing this now, part of me wonders if he did actually try to hire a new one, but then couldn’t help endlessly comparing them to Doc, to the point of being insufferable all over again. Not intentionally, of course. But some things can’t be helped.

I mean, you gotta admit he was KINDA NEUROTICALLY OBSESSIVE ABOUT DOC IN CARS 3. As are we all, I mean, but Lightning, some of that was not well-adjusted behavior, my bruh! Aaaand now I’ve made myself sad.

Please allow me to continue digging my own grave with some Sally POV fic under the cut.

“‘Adjusted’ is… a word for it,” Sally replies, when Strip Weathers asks her if Lightning’s doing okay. They’ve never spoken before. She’s seen him around–he’s been coaching his nephew, and after Doc’s passing, Sally’s made a point of spending more time around the track–but Strip has a way about him that makes it feel like this is part of a long and comfortable conversation that they’ve had going for years. Sally feels at ease with him.

Lightning’s spent his whole life believing that loss is unacceptable. And it’s become abundantly clear to Sally that in Lightning’s mind, losing something–like a race–and losing someone are poorly distinguished. So, yes. ‘Adjusted,’ no adjectives, is about as good as she’s willing to claim.

She’d thought maybe it was a racecar thing, though the look Strip gives her says otherwise. He looks like he wants to help but can’t quite wrap his head around what the issue is, exactly. He’d have talked to Lightning before he talked to her, and maybe Lightning’s response was just several shades too obsessive to relate to.

That’s how she feels, sometimes.

–

She and Mack hire a new crew chief. Lightning is amenable, if disengaged. Mack is precious, Sally learns–he knows exactly what Lightning will want, who will be good for him.

It’s a match made in heaven, until it isn’t.

Nine weeks in, Sally is sitting in an air conditioned room with the crew chief and her lawyer, asking to break contract.

She can’t keep comparing herself to Dr. Hudson, says the crew chief. It’s bad for her self-image, and it’s not working out. But she really does wish Mr. McQueen the best.

“I’m sorry!” Lightning blurts out when Sally sees him next, because he knows why she’s here and he knows what she’ll want to talk about.

“Let’s just go to dinner,” says Sally.

–

He tries, at first. He really does. But after the fourth resignation of the season, it’s clear he’s fallen into a too-familiar pattern. When Sally introduces the next prospective, she can see in his eyes that Lightning and crew chief #5 have already parted ways. She hasn’t even said his name yet.

And, well, maybe that’s fine. He’s adjusted in most other ways. There were some hiccups in Tokyo, the particularities of which Sally’s never quite been clear on, but it’s not as though Doc’s death is ruling his life–just that podium. As time passes, Lightning’s weirdness about Doc’s death becomes more and more self-contained, and if all it means is an empty line on the staff roster and an empty space to keep Doc’s memory, far be it from her to push. As long as Lightning’s in a good mood, he does exceptionally well with it all–and Lightning’s generally in a good mood. It makes him difficult to worry about and easy to trust.

–

It’s years before Lightning can answer press questions about Doc without looking immediately like he’d rather be anywhere else. But eventually he does, and with gusto, and the pride and love and respect in his responses far outstrips any pain.

Sally and Strip meet each other’s eyes once, while Strip is busy guiding his nephew to his pit box. Cal wobbles on pudgy, anaphylactic tires; he has a dozen McQueen balloons tied to his butt. Strip smiles faintly at her, and Sally returns the gesture.

–

But the thing about adjustment is, it’s contingent, and Lightning doesn’t have stopgaps. Either he’s in a good mood, or he’s not. There aren’t warning sirens. And Storm happens so fast no one could have sounded them, even if there were. The Next-Gens take everyone by surprise.

Warning or no warning, mood or no mood, Lightning is a professional, and he handles it as such. It’d be a misnomer to say he works harder–that, he was already doing–but he works more singularly. After Cal, and Bobby, and Brick are gone, he doesn’t try to make friends. Not with Storm, of course, but with none of the other newcomers, either. It’s all performance. No camaraderie, no heart.

Three-quarters of the way through the season, racing stops being fun for him. Sally notices, but she’s not sure that he does.

Maybe after Los Angeles, she thinks, they’ll talk. She wishes Doc were here.

Sometimes Sally forgets that Lightning’s not the only one who misses him.

–

She’ll never forget again. For four months, four months after she watches the love of her life fly through the air, bleed sparks into the pavement, crunch again, and again, (and again) she wonders–

The first thing she does is look to the crew chief’s podium–she looks for Doc–but it’s empty. Then she looks for Strip’s, but that’s empty, too. The entire Dinoco pit box is empty.

For four months, she wonders: If someone had been up there to tell him to stop, would he have listened? If someone were up there, would they have told him to back down? Would they have been able to see?

Could they have saved him?

Because Sally’s read the headlines. Most crashes, you can manage a little something. Not a lot–obviously, or you’d keep yourself in the race–but just enough. But Lightning had no control at all. He’d been redlining as it was, probably would have lost it soon after, even if that tire hadn’t blown. He’d been too deep in, and no one had stopped him. In the more technical racing periodicals–which of course Sally reads; she’s his lawyer–there was talk of even revising the rules next season, to make what had happened impossible. (Or at least, illegal.)

Once back in Radiator Springs, Lighting spends a whole month doing nothing but watch Doc’s old racing reels. No one asks her how he’s doing, because it seems clear enough. They give him his space.

–

One night, though, he goes to the Butte. No meters, no drills. He flies through the corners and kicks up whirlwinds. The earth in the sky shimmers under the moonlight, a spackle of shale and sandy dust. He’s not thinking, just racing. He’s just happy to be alive, and he knows what makes him feel most that way. He knows what he wants.

Sally knows what he needs.

“All right, Doc,” she says to the ground as she watches Lightning fly. “Let’s do this.”