Two chapters in a day! Woot woot. I feel accomplished. XD Anyway, I wanted to give a little more insight into Chick & The King in this chapter. They're both two of my personal favorites, especially King. R&R is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~


Chick spent the better part of his week holed up in his apartment on the pretense that he was getting ready for his drive out to Radiator Springs. In reality, he was avoiding the inevitable. He was going to have to face McQueen eventually; he was bound to run into the racecar. Not that he wouldn't have minded giving the younger car a few choice words, but he didn't want to be on the same track as McQueen - let alone stay in the same town.

Speaking of the hot shot, he was all over the news. "Lightning McQueen has been looking great out on the practice track," Darrell Cartrip was commenting. "If he keeps it up, he'll have another Piston Cup under his rims by the end of this year." Chick rolled his eyes, turning around in a lame attempt to tune it all out, but he couldn't ignore anything involving McQueen.

Or The King, for that matter. "It's impressive how Lightnin' has grown out on the track. He's really gotten his hood together." Chick reversed, turning his dark brown eyes back to the television. The retired, still baby blue Plymouth Superbird flashed across the screen, his wife beside him. They were caught coming out of the racing museum in Radiator Springs, as it seemed, and "had nothing but good things to say about McQueen."

"Figures," Chick muttered under his breath.

The interview went on, the reporter questioning Strip about his retirement. The piece seemingly shifted focus from the hot shot red racer to the veteran, whose tail fin Chick had chased his entire career. "My retirement's jus' fine. I'm enjoying seeing all the younger racecars out there, more than anything else," Strip answered, gesturing slightly with his tires.

"That's great to hear, Mr. Weathers. It certainly seems like it's been a while since we saw you out on that track. How long ago was it?"

"Six or seven years," he answered, chuckling slightly. "It doesn't feel like it, though." Chick shook his head. Weathers is losing it. It hasn't been that long, has it? No way. It's been four years, I'm pretty sure. Chick continued to listen, his attention captured effectively now. He was completely wrapped up in the interview. "It feels like yesterday that I was out on the track, out on that pavement."

"Do you miss it?"

The King paused a moment, glancing at Lynda, whose eyes had been resting on her husband for the entirety of the encounter with the reporter. Strip smiled and turned his rusty eyes back to the reporter. "Every day. But there are other more important things than just racin'." Lynda smiled, her blue eyes softening. It was obvious that The King had his priorities straight. He always had.

Chick felt something a little like jealousy in his tank, something he brushed off, ignoring it. That was another thing he hadn't quite gotten a grip on - his jealousy towards Strip Weathers. Everybody knew it was there, everybody could see it behind his eyes, yet he still couldn't - wouldn't - admit it to himself.

"I think everybody can respect that, Mr. Weathers, and I know that all of your fans still miss you nonetheless."

Strip shook his head, chuckling again. "That was one of the hardest parts about retiring - not bein' able to get out on that track and see all of the folks who supported you."

The reporter nodded. "You've definitely had a lot of support over the years, from Dinoco's owner, Tex, the fans, Mrs. Weathers."

"Mhm. There've been a lot of days where I needed support, and they were there."

"Especially after your last race, I'm sure." Chick knew where the reporter was going with this - 'Have you had any contact with Chick Hicks? Do you hate him like the rest of the world does?' And Chick was pretty sure that The King would say yes.

Strip nodded. "Oh, of course. It was rough, but I made it out in one piece." He grinned, as if the memory of the horrible wreck didn't haunt him. Not that it haunted Chick or anything like that, you know.

"Speaking of which, if you don't mind that I ask, have you heard from Chick Hicks since then?" And there it is, Chick thought bitterly, settling back on his tires cooly.

The King shifted to one side, his expression one of befuddlement. "Well, I haven't heard from Chick since that day. Sure wish I had, though."

Chick had heard enough. He turned off the television completely, whirling around and driving out of the small living room of his apartment. He disappeared into his room, collected his things, and returned to make a phone call, but the actions were merely just that - actions, just a blur of things, while his hood was going in every direction now. 'Sure wish I had, though.' Yeah, right! You sure wish you had, Weathers. Just so you could play hero, and forgive me, and every car would just fall at your tires like they always do. Chick jammed the button to pop the keypad out from the wall, punching in the number of his driver.

It rang a couple of times before the big rig picked up. "You ready to go, boss?"

"Yeah," Chick muttered. "I'm ready all right." Ready to face McQueen and The King? Yeah, right. I'm ready.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Boss?"

"What?" Chick immediately mentally smacked himself for his tone. Yeah, I'm pissed, but I don't need to take it out on him. "Listen, I-"

"No, I understand." The green racer half-expected his driver's tone to be short and clipped; instead it was the same easy voice he was accustomed to. "I'll be there in half an hour, tops."

"Thanks." Before either could hang up, Chick cut in, "Hey, did you see that interview with Weathers that was on a few minutes ago?"

"Yeah. I'm assuming you did?"

"Yeah." Chick paused, wondering if he should ask how the rest of the interview went. He couldn't avoid the want to know what else may have been mentioned, but he decided that he really didn't care. He didn't want to know; he didn't need another car pointing things out for him. "I'll see you in half an hour."

"Sure thing, boss."


By now, Strip would have expected himself to be used to the paparazzi, the reporters, the cameras and the likes. He was wrong.

The reporter, a spunky looking little VW Beetle, stopped him on his way out of the racing museum. "Mr. Weathers!"

He cast his eyes towards the road, after which Lynda sighed quietly, and he glanced down at her, saying discreetly, "If you want, we can pretend we didn't hear him. We are getting old, after all." Lynda nudged her husband's side, a smile forming across her grill at his comment.

"No, we shouldn't be rude."

"But I really think you want to pretend you didn't hear him, darlin'."

Lynda nudged him again, laughing quietly under her breath as the Beetle drove up to them. "Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Weathers," he began, with that sort of tone that most reporters had. Strip preferred the race announcers, like Darrell or Bob, over the young reporters who clipped their accents and took all the fun out of everything.

"Mornin'," Strip greeted, offering a smile in return. He was still interested in his earlier suggestion, but Lynda's tire was right in his side, so he figured he ought to stay put.

"Good morning, son," Lynda answered, with a smile of her own. Strip glanced down at her, momentarily forgetting his plan to admire her golden smile, which hadn't faltered in all the years he'd known her. He settled in beside her, satisfied to have her beside him still.

"My name is Elliot Trace - I'm a reporter and columnist for the racing magazine, Fast and Hot. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" the Beetle asked.

"Not at all," The King replied, gesturing for the kid to go on. Got to admire his boldness.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "So, after your retirement from the racing world, it seemed like Lightning McQueen accepted the challenge of becoming the new star race car."

Strip thought for a moment, These boys sure are long-winded. Instead, he answered with, "Lightnin' has always been a star, even before everybody else thought he was a star. He's got a lot of confidence, but that's part of what I like about him."

Elliot nodded, smiling. "I think that's what makes him appealing to a lot of cars. What are your other thoughts on Lightning McQueen?"

"It's impressive how Lightnin' has grown out on the track. He's really gotten his hood together," Strip answered, nodding.

The little Beetle nodded some more, taking notes as the camera crew positioned themselves, moving slightly to get better angles and such. "He really took off, especially after his rookie year. It was something special to see a veteran racer and a hot shot rookie out on the track together. A sign of the times, testaments of the generations," Elliot remarked. Strip nodded as well, although something small caught his attention. He didn't say anything about Chick. This bothered him slightly - he understood that Chick was well-hated for what he had done, but what he didn't understand was how that constituted wiping his name out of everything, especially in conversation with The King.

Elliot continued, "So, how does being retired from the racing scene feel, Mr. Weathers?"

"My retirement's jus' fine. I'm enjoying seeing all the younger racecars out there, more than anything else," Strip commented, his tires moving in gesture.

"That's great to hear, Mr. Weathers. It certainly seems like it's been a while since we saw you out on that track. How long ago was it?"

"Six or seven years. It doesn't feel like it, though," the Plymouth Superbird answered, shaking his hood as he chuckled. "It feels like yesterday that I was out on the track, out on that pavement."

"Do you miss it?"

Strip glanced down at Lynda, catching the way she was watching him affectionately. It distracted him a little, a smile crossing his grill as he answered, "Every day. But there are other more important things than just racin'." Lynda's pretty blue eyes softened at his comment.

"I think everybody can respect that, Mr. Weathers, and I know that all of your fans still miss you nonetheless." Elliot smiled, looking between the couple.

"That was one of the hardest parts about retiring - not bein' able to get out on that track and see all of the folks who supported you," The King responded with another chuckle.

"You've definitely had a lot of support over the years, from Dinoco's owner, Tex, the fans, Mrs. Weathers."

"Mhm. There've been a lot of days where I needed support, and they were there."

"Especially after your last race, I'm sure," Elliot commented. Strip had a feeling he knew where the kid was going with this - he wanted to talk about the wreck, and probably Chick, too.

"Oh, of course. It was rough, but I made it out in one piece," the baby blue Plymouth said jokingly, a grin on his grill.

Elliot cut to the chase. "Speaking of which, if you don't mind that I ask, have you heard from Chick Hicks since then?"

And there it is, Strip thought, unsurprised. A lot of interviews went this way, which got to be troublesome and a little (okay, a lot) tiring after a while. His grin was instantly wiped from his countenance, a puzzled look replacing it. He didn't want to breach this subject too much, not because he was uncomfortable with it, but because everyone around him still seemed to hold a grudge.

"Well, I haven't heard from Chick since that day. Sure wish I had, though."

"To make amends? Or confront him?"

Strip shifted to one side, eyeing the Beetle before him. I don't know if this kid is bold, or just plain stupid. This isn't really the kind of thing to be askin' after so long. Not wanting his pause to make Elliot think his answer was the latter of the two, he said, "Jus' to talk to him. I haven't seen Chick in a while, and it would be nice to catch up and see how he's doing."

The young reporter seemed a little surprised by this answer, like he expected The King to be upset over Chick's intentional actions. He was almost speechless, yet he composed himself quickly, jumping back into the interview. "That's an interesting way to look at it, Mr. Weathers." Strip got the feeling that Elliot was looking more for a grudge story rather than the real thing. "Well, thank you for your time. It was a real pleasure talking to you." Elliot nodded politely at Lynda. "It was nice to meet you, too, ma'am."

"Not a problem," replied the Plymouth. And with the farewells all in order, Elliot and his camera crew retreated from the scene, leaving the Weathers couple to their own devices.

"He was a very... Audacious car," Lynda remarked carefully when they were alone. "Unafraid."

"I don't know what he was lookin' for, but I imagine he didn't find it," Strip added.

Lynda shook her hood. "We both know what he wanted, Strip."

He won't get it from me, then. Strip simply shrugged his tires loosely, changing the subject. "I don't know about you, but I'm dyin' of thirst here, darlin'. Would you like to drop by Flo's with me?"

Lynda laughed, nodding. "Sure, hun." His Southern drawl and gentlemanly charm had always seemed to sway her.