Okay, first of all: I am so, so sorry for taking forever to update. One thing I have always struggled with on fanfiction is updating, and updating regularly. However, thanks to a lovely someone for deciding to collaborate with me on a different fanfiction, I have decided to try and keep my updates more regular.

Second: I want to thank all of the awesome readers and reviewers who are still hanging in here with me. I've put so much work and effort into this story, and to see all of the reviews and receive the private messages, knowing that you all still love the fic and want to see more chapters, makes me feel so grateful.

So, without further ado, here is chapter 19 of Teenage Icon! Enjoy~

Georgia raced up to the Wheel Well, edging as far past the speed limit as she could without risking getting pulled over. She felt stupid for not having thought to check up here earlier, and while she was sure he was here, there was still a nagging, sinking feeling in her tank. What if he wasn't?

She tried not to think about it.

The Plymouth settled lower on her tires, taking the curves smoothly, green foliage whizzing past her. There were few cars now, and the rain was coming in soft and steady waves, beating against the road and her hood rhythmically. It helped to drown out her thoughts and allowed her to focus on eating up the road. She let her mind latch onto the way the road turned and bent through the trees, and she found herself working on how precisely she could take a curve, how she could maintain her speed. With the rain and the sound of her engine and the blurs of green beside her she fell into a pattern, curving, lowering herself to the ground, taking everything tightly and with control. It was soothing, made her feel child-like again.

She continued on like this for a while, until a voice broke her concentration.

"Weathers!"

Georgia lifted slightly, braking, her tires skidding on the slick pavement. A few yards down the road another car had braked and was straddling the line halving the road. His eyes were narrowed, his grill set in a thin line.

"Mr. Stamose?"

He stayed where he was. "Are you headed to the Wheel Well?" But the politeness that had been in his voice earlier sounded forced now.

She rolled back on her tires a little, wanting to keep distance between them, because suddenly the air felt a little hostile.

"I am."

"Any particular reason," he started, rolling forward a little, "that you're headed up to the Wheel Well?"

Georgia debated whether or not she should lie. She had a feeling that this sudden hostility had to do with Chick.

"There is," she answered after a pause, giving him the truth-sans-details.

"Mind if I ask what it is, Miss Weathers?"

"I do mind, actually."

Stamose's brow rose unchecked. "Oh?"

Georgia offered a polite smile. "Not to be rude, Mr. Stamose, but my business is my business. If there's somethin' that you want to talk to me about, I'd be more than happy to talk to you, but not in the middle of the road."

He rolled towards her again, but she didn't budge backwards.

"Actually, I would like to talk to you about something. Or someone, rather." He rolled right up to her, parked a few inches from her grill.

Georgia set herself steadily, leveling her eyes with the aide's, but her smile remained polite. "Again, I'd be more than happy to, but not-"

"You're going to see Chick, aren't you?" His tone was accusing. "Did you know he was up there all along?"

So he is at the Wheel Well! "No, I didn't know that. I-"

"You did. You're going up there now to see him." Stamose rolled back slightly, his eyes harsh. "Did he ask you to lie?"

"Mr. Stamose," she said flatly, "I have no idea one way or the other if he's at the Wheel Well. Chick hasn't asked me to do anything, let alone lie."

The car scoffed. "Bull. I should have known you would know - hanging around his cone like that, and the way he covered for you up there? I should have known it had to do with you. He's not doing his damn job at all."

"That's his affair, not mine."

"Don't try to wash your tires of this, Weathers!" Stamose glowered. "I dragged my axel all the way out to this hell hole just to check on that waste of metal, and it's because you're interfering. What do you want with Chick, anyway?"

Georgia's grill was set into a thin line, and in that instant she hated Stamose. Her engine was hot beneath her hood, and there was a fear creeping up inside of her, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she pulled herself together, and coolly replied, "We're friends, that's all, Mr. Stamose. Friends keep an eye out for each other."

A moment passed between them that was steely and cold, Stamose trying to read this Plymouth, disbelieving that she was "friends" with him, and Georgia's tank churning, all the sheeting on her metal frame prickling at his accusations and the way he spoke about Chick. She knew now that she didn't - couldn't - trust him. And underneath her anger, the fear crept further, and she felt that she was entering into something that she would not be able to back out of, all for a car who had almost killed her father. But it seemed far away now, that memory, and she had no doubts that whatever she was getting herself into was bound to happen now regardless, and she would lay her cards down on Chick's side of the table.

"I'd like to go now, Mr. Stamose." Georgia started to back away, to turn to continue towards the Wheel Well, but his final words made her pause.

"I suggest you watch yourself, Weathers. Your daddy and that damned Cadillac can't protect you forever."

Chick was getting restless waiting for Georgia. Surely she would come, wouldn't she? Stamose had indicated that she had been asking around for him...

Come on, Weathers, don't get stupid on me now... He rolled forward and backwards on his tires a little, letting loose some of his anxious energy. He could hear tires whirring past outside, bustling through the rain, which sounded as if it hadn't let up at all, and he wondered vaguely if the rain had held her up - or if she had met Stamose on the road coming up?

Thinking of which, he wondered if Georgia was going to get into any trouble with Malone, or if he was going to get into trouble. Chick assumed he had been convincing enough. Besides, in all the years he'd worked for Malone, the big man had never made good on his threats. After all, Chick was still the face of htB, wasn't he?

He shifted on his tires with a disgruntled sigh. Yes, he was still the face, but Malone had never been this persistent, either.

So really I have no way to know what the hell will happen at this point. Though he could guess.

Before his thoughts could go any further, there was a rat-a-tat at his door, and he jumped a little, his eyes narrowing.

"Who is it?" he called, not wanting to open up to find Stamose again.

"Guess," the voice replied.

His engine lurched - Weathers, you are one hell of a woman.

And there she was, idling with her weight shifted to one side when he opened the door. Her rust-colored eyes were narrowed at him, and her grill was scrunched up in an expression of mingled relief and distaste. "Sam and I have been looking everywhere for you!" She immediately drove forward, her nose in the little garage, and punched his tire.

Chick pretended to be hurt, hiding his pleasure at her arrival. "Ow! What are you doing - what do you mean you've been looking everywhere? Can't a guy catch a break?"

"Not when you disappear like that!"

The stock car couldn't tell if she was really serious, but her eyes seemed to be, and his tank churned pleasantly at the thought that he had aroused so much feeling in her.

Chick played it off coolly, relaxing on his tires and gesturing with one casually. "Were you worried about me, Weathers?"

"Sam was," she said slyly, dodging his question. After her meeting with Stamose, and the search she had been on to find this Buick, she was not in the mood to play games with him, although it was hard not to participate. The anxiety she felt about her encounter began to dissipate now that she had found Chick, and while she knew she should say something to him, she sensed that he was in a good mood and didn't want to ruin it for him. The Plymouth decided to push it out of her mind and let herself be relieved.

"Just Sam?"

"Maybe," she said again, her voice vague, her gaze coquettish. Chick gave her a quick once-over, and in the pale grey light of the rain, her powder blue frame looked like a much-needed splash of color against the tan walls of the Wheel Well. Her tail fin was also looking extremely appealing - maybe it was a trick of the light - but he had never realized how tasteful a tail fin could be.

"So why didn't Sam come all the way up here, huh?"

"I can leave if you want," she interjected, her expression pointed, but there was a gentle joking gleam in her eyes.

Chick raised a tire grudgingly, pretending to concede, because secretly he didn't want her to go. "Fine, fine. What do you want from me?"

"Well, I don' think hiding out up here alone has been very interesting, so how 'bout you and I go get a drink? We can catch up."

"Only because I was getting bored."

So the pair found themselves in a mostly-deserted section of the Wheel Well where they could talk at least semi-privately, though the glances from other cars were already getting on Chick's nerves. He could imagine that they were questioning why the Weathers' daughter was hanging around at a private table with Chick Hicks, worst car of the century, bastard that almost killed The King, green with envy; the car who -

"Chick?"

His eyes snapped back to her. "Huh?" he grunted.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine," he replied shortly, dismissing his thoughts as he turned to the canister of oil in front of him.

If she knew what he was thinking, she let it slide. "What have you been doing up here these past two days?" Her tone was less accusatory and more curious.

"I needed a break from all that," he said, his attitude dismissive.

"I feel that. Your aide or whoever he was was down in the town poking his nose everywhere lookin' for you."

Chick rolled his eyes. "Oh, I saw him."

Georgia's eyebrows rose, but she tried to play it off and seem less surprised than she was. She gave a small, half-amused smile to help her facade. "Did he say anything?"

"The usual bull," the Buick replied. Then after a moment, "I'm not going to lose any sleep over it."

The Plymouth nodded. She thought again if she should say something about her encounter with Stamose. I don't know why I feel the need not to tell him. She thought for a second, trying to chock it up to wanting to keep Chick in a good mood, but she felt like she was lying to herself. Yes, she wanted him to be in a good mood, but it went against most of her better judgment not to tell him.

Chick observed her quiet uneasiness, and it made him uncomfortable. Should I ask her if she's okay? So far, Georgia had been the one checking up on him, tending to his varying emotional state with the characteristic (and sometimes annoying) patience of a Weathers. And here she was now, unlike any Georgia he'd ever seen before this, and he struggled to bring himself to ask her if she was okay. He couldn't really think of a time in the past ten years when he had asked someone else if they were okay.

Just do it! he told himself. She came all this way to find you and you're going to mess everything up now because you can't say three words.

Just tell him, Georgia, she thought, grappling with herself. You've worked so hard and put so much effort into earning his trust. If you don't tell him, and he finds out later, you might not like the consequences.

They both made the decision at the same time, but Chick was louder: "Are you okay?"

Georgia did not even finish her sentence. She fell back on her tires a little, staring at him, wide-eyed. Did he...? She had never heard him ever say that, never. He couldn't even be bothered to say it to her father after the accident. But he had the decency to ask her if she was all right now, when it was clear that she didn't seem like her normal self. Georgia could hardly believe it. She softened a little, smiling.

"Yeah man, I'm all right now, I think."

Chick looked relieved, less because she was okay, and more because she had responded well. He felt better having asked, but he didn't want her to get any ideas about the implications behind his kindness, so he changed the subject quickly. "Were you saying something?"

She paused.