This thing has been sitting in the document manager for about two months, and I didn't realize it only needed a few additions and a spell/grammar check. It's been crazy, what with family in the hospital, birthdays (mine included), and school, but hopefully I should be getting back to this story. :) Thanks to the people who read & reviewed the last chapter! I really appreciate all of the reviews, so feel free to leave them! Enjoooy!

Chick drove up Tailfin Pass, hoping the lunch rush was coming to a close. He knew from past experiences that it wasn't very wise for him to go up there when there were crowds of cars - all of the dirty looks, the whispers behind his back, all of these things made his experiences things he wanted to forget, but couldn't. The pairs of eyes that fell on him, the way they talked as if they knew him, all of it only served to fuel his temper.

The drive calmed him a little, allowed him to get his bearings and collect himself, although Sam's words still burned just as badly as they had when they had first been spoken. So that's what he really thinks? It aggravated him, but what aggravated him more was his irritation with Sam - because, if he really wanted to face facts, Chick knew that the words were true. And that didn't mean that Sam thought ill of him.

Before he could think too much about it, he came up on the Wheel Well. Only a few cars remained from the lunch hour, which relieved him - the fewer the cars that saw him, the less he'd have to think about all of this. He drove into the restaurant, glancing up at the television which was filled with the sound of some day time reality show. Chick ignored it as he parked in front of the bar, really only requesting a canister of fuel.

Chick was thankful for the quiet and the dull hum of the television as he glanced around. McQueen's girlfriend did a nice job with this place... He spent a few minutes looking around until his fuel was set in front of him. "Thanks," he said, taking a drink. I can understand why McQueen set up the racing HQ here - nobody to bother him, and he probably has a lot of time to himself on the off-season.

He continued with his lazy train of thought, his eyes resting on the television, although they had glazed over slightly as he wasn't absorbing anything he saw. It was numbing to have so much quiet time, but the numb was slowly becoming a more welcome feeling. He didn't think about all of the crap that was going on, he didn't have to. If for a few blissful moments, he had nothing to worry about.

His bliss was quickly shattered, by the pair of eyes that were now resting on him. "Ugh," he mumbled, snapping back into reality as his eyes snapped over to meet those of the car beside him. He was surprised to find that Lynda Weathers was the owner, her blue eyes curious, her grill curled down slightly in a frown. Chick risked a quick glance around - where was Strip? Nowhere to be found, as it seemed. The stock car cleared his windpipe. "Hello, Mrs. Weathers..." He tried to be polite - his problem was never with her, and that he could recognize.

She nodded to him, parking herself beside him. "Hello, Chick." Without missing a beat, she added, "I'm surprised to see you here." And she smiled.

Chick paused for a little while, waiting to feel the condescension pouring through that smile, but there wasn't any of it there. Just a genuine smile, which left him more than speechless. He wasn't sure what to say to her - whether or not to pick up on the casual remark, or simply nod and return to his drink.

The waiter approached, a forklift just a little rounder at the sides than McQueen's pittie, Chick noticed. Lynda turned him away without ordering anything. "I'm still waitin' for my husband and daughter."

Oh yeah! Chick remembered the scene he had witnessed down on Main Street. He wondered if he should say something about it, for the ostensible reason that Lynda looked more than a little concerned, but he knew that he just wanted some dirt on King and the girl. Lynda caught his eye for a moment, her soft frown deepening even further, as if she seemed to see through his outward facade.

She didn't mention it, though, if she did see through him. "So what brings you all the way out to Radiator Springs?"

Chick took another casual drink of his fuel. Oh, the usual. The boss threatened my career as a racecar, so I had to come out and scout out Lightning's moves. No big deal, Mrs. Weathers. He snorted quietly, shaking his hood at his own thoughts. He said, "I thought I needed a vacation."

"Wait until you're retired," Lynda remarked, her eyelids rising slightly. "Everyday seems like a vacation."

Chick nodded. The old man must be bored all the time. "It must be nice."

"It is." Her words were vague, as if something was bothering her.

"Is that a little disappointment I hear?" Chick was interested now - was the hubby down in the dumps? Or was life in the slow lane just not what Lynda was expecting?

Lynda shot the green Buick a look, which was stern like a mother's when she was chastising her child. "Not so much disappointment as frustration."

"Frustration?" Curiouser and curiouser.

"Hun," she started, shaking her hood. "It's nothin' you need to worry your handsome little hood over. I promise you, it won't make you feel any better."

Chick quieted down, effectively put in his place by his long-time rival's wife. She had seen through him, and he'd pushed a little too far forward. Should he apologize? He thought of Sam's words, which rang annoyingly inside his mind. "I didn't mean it like that," he tried, although he knew she knew that he didn't believe his own words. Lynda simply glanced at him, in a way that made him feel like a little boy. He sighed in exasperation, not wanting to seem like a total jerk.

Before he could say anything, Lynda stopped him with a tire, turning towards him. "Listen, I know you're still angry about what happened seven years ago," she began. Chick was beginning to think he had lost track of time - had it really been seven years? "And I know the whole world's angry, too. But you've got to let it go, boy. I know Strip has. You know, he would have forgiven you if you had come right out and apologized, and I don't know why you didn't." She leaned to one side slightly, looking him straight in the eye, but there was a certain softness that made her words sting less. "I thought better of you."

The stock car tried to hide the surprise, forcing himself to keep a straight face. She thought better of him? What was he supposed to say to that? His engine churned and suddenly the oil in front of him didn't seem so appealing anymore; it felt like glue sticking to the sides of tank.

Lynda reached over to nudge Chick with her tire, but he shied away, flinching back rather hard and almost bumping into a forklift behind him. Without another word, he pulled out of the Wheel Well and was back on the pavement, driving deeper into the wilderness that was Tailfin Pass.