Sarge pretended to work for a few hours, flipping idly between checking inventory and reading his novel. He thought for a while about travelling into Albuquerque to buy one of those new-fangled computers, weighing the option of eliminating his boredom altogether. Maybe he just needed to get out more, or something like that.

The bell above his shop's door chimed as it swung open, and Sarge sat straight, hastily hiding his novel. Some part of him hoped against all odds that he would finally have a customer…! Unfortunately, it was just Fillmore, coming to bother him (as usual).

Before Fillmore got a chance to say anything, Sarge groaned, "What do you want?"

"Coffee? Flos?" Fillmore said simply, leaning against the counter like always did (or, always used to).

"Again?"

"Yes, again. I'm exhausted."

Sarge pretended to think about it for a moment, although he had known the answer all along. "I suppose another cup wouldn't hurt," he said, standing from his seat and stretching, "Don't you think Flo is getting tired of us, though?"

"Nah," Fillmore replied, "We're basically family at this point."

Together, they walked the short distance back to Flo's diner, for the second time that day. Sarge knew that the whole thing was against his better judgement- after the little episode he had earlier, it likely wasn't good for him to be spending much time around Fillmore. It was like waking a sleeping beast, one he had put to rest decades ago in favor of moving on with his life. Though even with good judgement, a cup of coffee sounded damn good.

They sat themselves in Flo's diner, as usual, and she brought them two cups of coffee in passing. "Be a dear and bring them to the bar when you're finished," She said tiredly.

Sarge met Fillmore's eye briefly, and was pulled back into his train of thought: come to think of it, Fillmore hadn't really changed that much… at least, not to the extent that he was a different person. His hair was still long and unkempt, but had elegant streaks of gray to match the faded brown. He'd grown a beard in the last thirty-or-so years, which looked surprisingly good; it, alongside his menagerie of unnecessary jewelry, seemed to be the only thing about himself that he took perfect care of.

"You got a staring problem?" Fillmore said, snapping him back to reality. His eyebrows were raised.

"Huh? No!" Sarge said, quickly looking away.

"Are you feeling okay, man?" Fillmore asked, "You're acting a bit weird."

"Yeah, I'm just a bit tired," Sarge lied, pushing it to the back of his mind, "Long day."

"You said it, man," Fillmore replied, unconcerned, "What's it been, thirty hours?"

"Sounds about right."

"That's a long time, even for you." Fillmore grinned, "We're getting old, man."

Suddenly, Sally burst into the diner, a grim expression plastered on her face. "He's done," She panted, "It's not good."

Done? Sarge thought. There was a ripple of murmurs throughout the diner- no one seemed to believe her.

"See for yourselves," Sally replied, turning to return outside, "Like I said, it's not good."

Sarge's eyes met Fillmore's, whose expression was equally confused as his own. It had only been a mere few hours since McQueen had started, which wasn't nearly enough time to pave an entire half-mile of road.

"Should we follow her?" Fillmore murmured, unsure.

"S'pose so," Sarge replied, standing to follow the other townsfolk in their procession.

As they exited the diner, they understood what Sally meant by "Not good." The road was bumpy, crooked, and overall, poorly done. Sarge ventured to think that it was worse than how it was before- at least then the road had been somewhat intact. Down by the strip, Mater cheered about the "new" road, before tripping over one of the many ridges in the pavement and falling flat on his face.

"It looks awful!" Sally exclaimed. "You can't be serious."

"Look, Doc said that I could go once I finished the road," McQueen crossed his arms petulantly, huffing.

"The deal was that you fix the road! Not make it worse." Doc seemed to appear out of nowhere looking equally huffish and almost ready to brawl. "Scrape it off and start over!"

"Do I look like a construction worker?" McQueen grinned smugly, "I'm a famous race car driver!"

And Doc got that look on his face, like he knew something everyone else didn't. "Oh-ho! How about we have a little race, then? Me and you."

McQueen had the nerve to laugh. "Me and you? What, in that old hornet?" He smirked, "You'll get blown outta the water, old man."

"If you win, you walk free and I fix the road," Doc bartered, "And, if I win? You do the road my way."

Sarge exchanged glances with Fillmore, but Sheriff was the first to speak: "Doc, what're you doing?"

McQueen laughed again, the smug, playboy grin returning to his face. "No offence here, Doc, but you go to zero-to-sixty in what, three-point-five years?"

"I reckon you ain't got nothing to worry about."

For a moment, Fillmore met his eye. "What the hell is happening?" He murmured; the ghost of a laugh frozen on his face. Sarge shrugged and shook his head in return, attempting to say that he really didn't know, either.

It takes nearly an hour for Mater to fix McQueen's car enough to work, and even then it still seemed unsafe. McQueen continued with his smack-talking right up until the minute he closed the drivers-side door behind him. Meanwhile, Doc seemed indifferent. He tossed a thumbs-up in the direction of the crowd, before getting into his Hornet.

Somehow, Doc kicks McQueen's ass. He had managed to not only drift his old Hornet around the bend at Willy's Butte, but also throw McQueen off of the cliff in the process. Sarge always knew he was a multi-talented man, but… This was way out of left field. He hadn't expected him to pull something like that, especially in his age. Something seemed off about it, that was for sure.

Sarge decided he hated McQueen during his loud and incessant complaining spell following the race. As he passed by them with a shovel that evening, scraping the hot pavement off of the road, he muttered to himself about how "he was better than this," and "how could he let this happen."

"Watching him is making me thirsty!" Flo exclaimed, fanning herself mockingly. "Anyone else want something to drink?"

"Nah, not me, Flo," Mater sighed, "I'm on one of those, uh… Special diets. I'm an athlete, y'know!" He giggled, and everyone joined in.

"How about some of my organics?" Fillmore offered, nearly elbowing Sarge in the ribs.

Jesus. Sarge scoffed, "That freak juice?!"

Distantly, McQueen declined the offer. The sun had nearly set below the horizon, and he refused to stop working. If nothing else, he was certainly determined.

Exhausted, Sarge headed home early. He'd been awake for nearly forty hours, he was well deserving of a good night's rest. Fillmore opted to walk him home, for whatever reason. Something about it lingered in the back of Sarge's mind, like the way Fillmore was treating him had been somewhat wrong. They were never this nice to each other, were they? And besides that, why was Fillmore paying so much attention to him, anyway?!

"Y'know, I think you should get out more," Fillmore drawled, "Hey, whaddya say to coming over and trying some of my new blends?"

"No thank you," Sarge replied, "I think I've had enough of that for one lifetime."

"You're missing out, man. I made this one special."

"Oh, right. I forgot you like to put magic mushrooms in that stuff."

Fillmore laughed. "Not so much, anymore."

They stopped right outside Sarge's Surplus Hut, just as the sun finished its descent into the ground.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Fillmore said, although it sounded a lot more like a question than a statement.

"Just like every other day," Sarge replied.

Neither of them said anything. Sarge shifted his weight from one foot to another, feeling horribly awkward. Why does this always happen to him?

"Well!" Sarge said, "Goodnight, then!"

Fillmore twitched a little, as though he was going to walk away but decided against it last minute. Sarge took one quick step backwards, and his hand fell onto the door handle of his shop. "Er… Goodnight," He repeated, opening the door and nearly falling backwards.

Fillmore sort-of gasped, as if he had suddenly realized that he hadn't said anything. "Goodnight!" He replied, "Uh, sleep well."

"You too." Sarge said, quickly closing the door behind him. What the hell was that? He thought, shaking his head a little. Fillmore hadn't done something so odd since the first few weeks they had known each other… But that wasn't something he wanted to dwell on for too long. It wasn't good for him to think too much about it, especially if he wanted to continue moving forward as planned.

He, unfortunately, allowed himself to think entirely too much about it as he roamed around his living quarters, getting ready for bed. It was a pity that he had spent so much time worrying about Fillmore, given how long he had been living in Radiator Springs.

God... How long had he been living there? Twenty, thirty…. Thirty-nine years. That was almost a lifetime, in the grand scheme of things. And he had only stayed because of his discharge… and because of Fillmore, unfortunately. Sarge had grown to be under the impression that dating Fillmore (if it could even be called that) was the worst decision he could have ever possibly made. The choice he had made on Independence Day forty years ago was irreversible, something that continued to come back and bite him in the ass even today.

Was it worth it? He asked himself, laughing bitterly, Was the loss of your career and life goals worth sleeping with a damn flowerchild for a few years?

Yes! A part of him replied, desperate. Sarge's better half disagreed, remembering all of the pain and anxiety the relationship had caused him. They had broken up and gotten back together countless times, the outcome getting more and more messy as the years went by. He had left Fillmore for a reason. He was entirely too absorbed in politics, to the point where it would get in the way of every other aspect in his life. Not to mention, he always seemed to push him into doing things. Sarge hadn't forgotten about the ordeal with moving to San Francisco, nor his bullheaded way of thinking about the world.

Though, was that really the case anymore? Fillmore seemed to settle down after his final demonstrations of the 70s, he hadn't heard a peep about modern politics… And, what seemed like most important of all: Fillmore never skipped town for good. He always ended up coming back, no matter where he went or how long he was gone. That must mean something, right?

And that got his gears turning. Why had he and Fillmore never tried to reconcile again, especially recently? Their final attempt had been what… Ten? Twenty years ago? A long time, needless to say.

No, Sarge thought to himself, putting his foot down. He frowned at himself in the bathroom mirror, absolutely fed up. Shut up, don't think like that.

Sarge tossed and turned for the majority of the night, lost thinking about his issues. Just when he thought he had put the whole ordeal with Fillmore behind him…

When he does fall asleep, it's restless and unfulfilling. He was plagued by bad dreams that he couldn't seem to remember later on, regardless of how enlightening they may have been.

He got up around seven the next morning, turning on the early morning news as he got ready. High of ninety-one and sunny, expect light rain by the end of the week… That was too damn hot for his liking. Sarge showered and dressed quickly, hardly even listening anymore. He shaved carefully and precisely, something he'd been doing for decades. Lightning McQueen, race car driver, has been reported missing as of early yesterday morning….

Sarge paused his routine for a moment, poking his head out of the bathroom door to watch the television. Sure enough, a modeled picture of the road-breaker himself was shown on the screen. "I'll be damned," He mumbled, surprised. He didn't really think that McQueen had been famous, but then again… It made sense, didn't it?

Sarge finished shaving before trudging into his living room and switching off his television. He didn't like to think that they could get in trouble for holding the kid captive, but… He did, indeed, break the law. If anything, calling the press and telling them the truth would make things more complicated.

It's past eight when he finally went outside, greeted by the dry early-morning sun. It wasn't too hot out yet, it would have been a perfect morning to… Sarge stopped short as he looked to his right, jaw falling open ever so slightly. The road- or, at least the first stretch of it- was finished.

"Mornin' Sarge," Fillmore yawned, joining him out front, "What's all the commotion about?"

With one shaky hand, Sarge gestured towards the other end of town. Fillmore's silence indicated that he, too, understood the gravity of what had happened.

"Woah," Fillmore murmured, "Just like how it used to be..."

Sarge nodded, in nearly the same amount of awe as his counterpart. He knew it was just a road, but… it seemed like more than that, somehow. Like new life had finally been breathed into Radiator Springs, after all these years. A part of him dared to think that things would, indeed, go back to normal; like they had been before the situation with the interstate, before the 60's had ended.

Though… that was ridiculous, wasn't it? There was no conceivable way that any of that would happen, especially not forty years after it had all crashed and burned… Even so, he deeply wanted it to happen.

Sarge turned to meet Fillmore's eye. He had a strange expression on his face, something halfway between confusion and realization. His eyes were wide, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape. One hand fidgeted with the amethyst that hung around his neck, rolling it between his index finger and thumb.

Maybe then, his conscience spoke, You can try again. With him.

And this time, Sarge did not bother to correct himself.