Not for you (FIN)

Author's Notes:

I apologize in advance for the fact that the first three chapters will have none to little of the movie characters in them; but I found them important to introduce my OFC, Dana, and what her motives are. I may tend to take *long* posting updates because I usually take a *long* time thinking about what I want to write, and double- and triple check everything I write just so you'll not be too annoyed by spelling mistakes

>"You sure about this?"

He stood there, arms crossed, head tilted and watched me pushing some of my last belongings into the container.

I glared at him, wiping a strand of blonde hair from my sweat covered brow.

"Michael, you can ask me a billion times more and the answer will still be the same. Yes, I'm absolutely sure I want to do this."

I grabbed a plastic bag and threw it into the container to make my point. I grabbed a second which was too heavy to throw, so I lifted it up and tried to push it with my shoulder into a small space between my car parts and a dozen boxes with books, clothes and tools which already were in the container.

"You don't know anyone over there..." He tried to argue.

"I fucking know that I don't know anyone over there! But I don't exactly have friends here, either! Now - could - you - be - helpful - for - once - instead - of - watching - me - breaking - my - shoulder?!" With each word, I tried to push the bag into the small space without success.

"You say you have no friends, yet you ask me to help." He shook his head, pushed me aside, took the back and threw it into the back of the container. Turning around, he grabbed me by my shoulders. "Listen, you do have friends here. Me, Dirk, Christian... we're all there for you."

I twisted from his grab on my shoulders. "You know I don't like that," I tried to distract him.

"You're not distracting me by telling me what you don't like. I know what you don't like, I'm doing this on purpose because I might get your attention by doing it." He said. "Listen, that thing between us might have not worked out, but I've known you for more than fifteen years. So do the others. And now you want to leave all of us behind, just to race someone you've just seen on Youtube?"

"I've not just seen him on Youtube," I said, "and just to state it once more: Unless I find a really interesting and well paid job over there *and* get a greencard, I'll come back."

"Yeah, so you read about him, too. You never talked to that guy... Dana, he is on the run from the police! What do you think, how big are your chances that you'll ever meet him in person even if you move to the US forever? Given that he's there at all, as far as I know, he was seen in Japan, too. And even if you meet him, what are the chances that you'll ever race him?"

"Honestly, Michael, I have so no idea what the chances are. I just know that if I don't do it, I'll regret it, and badly so."

He looked at me for a long time, then, again, shook his head. "You're still running from them after all these years, aren't you?"

I looked into the depths of the stuffed container as if to find out if my belongings were still moving in the dark. It took me a long time to answer him.

"Perhaps I do," I whispered, "but you would do the same if that had happened to you."

He looked at me, brow creased as if he would think hard, then smiled a bit. "Perhaps I would. Listen, I just want you to know that you have friends here, and if you decide to return, I'd happily help you unpack the container. If you've got a GTO hidden in there for me, that is."

I snorted. "You know that this guy has a thing for American Muscle, don't you? I think you and he would get along quite well... Besides, I can only import a car for you outside that container, so if you really want one I hope you won't take it as an excuse not to help me unpack if it's not hidden there, but waiting at the port for you."

The sound of a car with an obviously forbidden exhaust system coming nearer stilled me and him.

We looked at each other.

"Could it be..." I started.

"No, it can't. You know he would never..."

"I can't imagine that it could be anyone else who... - and I've heard that sound a million times at the garage..."

A moment later, a low blue '68er Kadett B limousine scratched over the pavestones of the driveway and a man in a blue mechanics suit got out, right away dropping to his knees, vanishing in the small space between car and ground, examining what damage the pavestones had done to the floor of his car. I shook my head, grinning, and ran towards him

"I so can't believe that I'm actually seeing this thing driving on a street! Dirk, good to see you!"

"I think I scratched my flooring...," he said as if he had not heard what I had said.

"Always told you that this car's too low for driving on a street," Michael said dryly.

Which Dirk obviously also overheard. "Say, you don't happen to have any paint here, do you? I'd like to seal the scratches..." Dirk's head appeared from somewhere beneath the door of his car.

"Hello? Dirk? It's August! It's nice, warm, no rain in sight - you can seal the scratches tomorrow! In case you should have forgotten it over your Blue One - this is my last day in Germany, Dirk - Partytime!"

"Dirk? Party?" Michael snorted. "You'll never ever get that guy out of the blue suit, and you know it."

"Actually, I've seen him once without the suit," I said.

"When?" came the stereo question from both of them.

"Well, there's a picture of him on the internet" I said, hesitating.

"You're so lying," stated Dirk, "I have no business on the internet."

"Yeah, but that's just because your computer's so old that it even refuses a dialup connection."

"My Schneider's perfect," said Dirk, "and I'm still not on the net."

"Y'are, someone posted a picture of you in boarding school. No suit." I grinned.

"I didn't have a car back then, why would I need a suit? Doesn't count," Dirk said.

"Yeah, but no suit on you, so it does count!" I triumphed. "Come on, guys, nice weather, and there's a lot of meat, a barbecue and beer waiting in the garden. Plus, I want to hear how Dirk managed to get the Blue One running after - how long exactly have you been working on it? Ten years?"

"Twelve," Dirk muttered.

"Insane," said Michael, shaking his head.

"Dedicated," I smiled.

"Thorough," said Dirk.

Another car was pulling up the driveway; a silver Rekord C with a driver so short that he barely showed behind the wheel. Just a blonde mass of hair was visible.

"There's Christian, boys, we're complete. Michael, I want you to operate the barbecue - if Christian does it, my departure will be delayed because I'll have to deal with a burned down house and if Dirk does it we'll have to wait a year or so for the steaks... come in, time for a party!"

"It's not a party," Christian muttered, peeling himself from his car, "no girls."

"I'm there?!?" I answered.

"You're not a girl," said Dirk as if he had just stated the fact that flip-flop paint wouldn't look good on an oldtimer.

"She is," said Michael, "otherwise I've been gay for three years."

"She's not," grinned Christian, "look at her. Sweaty, dirty, trousers three sizes to big-"

"They're not too big, they're comfortable!" I spat.

"-T-shirt without any visible sign of breasts or waist, heavy black boots, messy hair and no makeup. Not a girl, but a belated male grunge singer with a surprisingly high pitched voice!"

I picked up one of the plastic bags and threw it his direction.... and missed.

"See, I can't throw and can't aim. I'm a girl!" I grinned.

"See, the fact that you can lift an-" he picked the bag up "-approximately fifteen pounds heavy bag and throw it around like a softball actually proves me right - you're not a girl. What the hell is in there, anyway?"

"Seat covers."

"For the dining room?" Michael asked innocently.

"No, you dumbass! For my car, of course!"

The three exchanged a knowing look. "Still no girl..." they said.

I started walking around the house towards the garden, the three following me.

"You know I had dresses," I replied, "they're just not in that container."

"I doubt you didn't pack any of them into that container. I know you." Said Michael.

"I doubt you know me as good as you think."

"I know you want something, and if you want something, you're ready to put on a dress." He grinned.

"Liar!"

"Oh," said Dirk, "I've seen that. How did you get your engine, hmmm?"

"I bought it. What the fuck is up with you three?"

"Two, actually, I didn't say a word," muttered Christian.

"You grinned, that's enough," I said.

"That guy wouldn't have sold the engine to you at that price if you had worn trousers."

"Yeah, so what? I still bought it, he sold it. If men can be persuaded to sell stuff under price by me wearing a short skirt, so be it, I'll take advantage."

"See," said Michael, unpacking the meat and throwing it on the barbecue while we other three were sitting down at the table, "that's exactly what I meant. I know you, I know you want that guy - what was his name, exactly?"

"Toretto. Dominic Toretto. And I still don't want him, I want to race him, that's something else."

Michael gave me a half mocking look, raising one of his eyebrows. "Yeah sure. I've seen you drooling over those race videos on Youtube. I've seen that guy." He waved at me with the barbecue pliers. "You do want him."

"I don't. Even if I would, I couldn't keep him, so what exactly would you like to tell me with your belated outbreak of jealousy?"

"What exactly makes you think you couldn't keep him?" asked Dirk, and I guess we all looked at him as if he had just asked for an Armani suit. Dirk and anything relationships related was just like Dirk asking for expensive fashion not related to cars - unthinkable.

"Dirk? You fine?" said Christian after some seconds of shock.

"I'm perfectly fine and just interested. What makes her think she couldn't keep him?"

"Dearest Dirk," I said, "this man is interested in two things: Cars and women. If the second fails, he'll go for the first option. And he has, like, a bee's swarm of both around him, at any time. Wanting that guy is perfectly fine, but first, as all three of you have stated correctly, I'm not a real girl. Most of the time I give a shit about what I wear and how I look. If I try real hard, I can look like a girl and convincingly so for some time, but not all the time, simply because I lack the patience to care for my looks every single hour of the day. Second, there are a gazillion other 'babes' in his swarm who look much better than I do. Third..." I picked up the fork and pointed at him, "I don't want a relationship, for reasons you all three perfectly know, and one night stands from that guy I don't want either. Don't want to be a part of some sort of weird collection of which half he has already forgotten." I shoved a large amount of salad to my plate.


"And what if all of a sudden he falls in love with you?" Dirk asked.

"Seriously, Dirk. Dom Toretto falling in love for keep is just as if you would all of a sudden be having a girlfriend. Won't happen. Besides, me wanting a man for keep won't happen either." I pointed at each of them with my fork. "You all know me. I'm not that type of girl. I take what I want, and when I get tired of them, I drop them. Michael should know best, he was one of them. Though it has to be said that I kept him longest of all, and that he's the only one I'm still friends with."

"You still want to impress him," Michael said, obviously unimpressed by my short summary of how our relationship had gone down the hill.

"Impress him? Yeah, sure. Just not by my looks, more by the way my rear lights shine at him when I overtake him in a race."

Michael put the first steaks on our plates, and I started to eat hungrily.

"You know, it could be somewhat difficult with the engine you have..." Christian started, and the three exchanged knowing looks.

"My engine is perfect," I mumbled behind a mouthful of steak.

"You could need a better one," smiled Dirk.

"I could. So what? I'm gonna get one once I'm in the US. You know I needed my car here, and I've already done anything possibly allowed to this car here in Germany. Over there, they don't care what you build in or not."

"You'll have a hard time getting, say, a V8 into that little car of yours..." Christian said, surprisingly staring at Michael.

"I'll find something that fits," I grumbled, "is there any point in this conversation? Because if there is, point me to it, I can't see it."

"Sort of," Michael said, getting up and walking towards the garage, leaving me staring after him.