Chapter 20, here it is! Thank you to the readers and reviewers who have stuck with me through this and waited out the year that I didn't update, with a big thank you to MrsChickHicks and CC333. You make it so much more rewarding to write this fanfiction.

Enjoy!

Georgia was awoken in the middle of the night by the ringing of the in-cone telephone. She scrunched up her eyes as she flicked on the lamp, momentarily blinded by the light as she felt around for the phone. She wondered who would call her at such an early hour.

She answered groggily, "Hello?"

"Georgia! Thank Chrysler - I'm sorry I had to wake you, but the earlier I call you, the better."

She looked at the clock with a yawn. 4:30 a.m. On the other end of the line was her co-worker, Jeremy Tate.

"You're good, J. What's up?" She closed her eyes, listening to her engine throb under her hood at the sudden wake-up call.

"Amy had her baby an hour ago, and Janice quit yesterday, so nobody is here to cover your shift, and we'll be running the shop a car down without Janice. I know you're on leave for a while, but is there any way you could come back in for the rest of the week until we get things sorted out? The boss said he'd pay you double and keep your hours at a minimum, and give you extended leave afterward," Jeremy explained.

Georgia sighed, partially out of exhaustion and partially out of disappointment. She didn't want to leave, not now - not when she was getting so close to Chick. To up and run now seemed like terrible timing. But I need the extra money if I'm going to be moving... She couldn't really say no, either. The boss was being extremely generous, and to turn him down might be to lose her job.

"Yeah, I'll drive home this afternoon," she finally said. She was still disappointed, but she was used to doing what needed to be done and knew that she was doing the right thing. "And there's no need to apologize, J. I'll have time to see Amy and the baby." She yawned again, stretching out a little.

"Thanks Georgia, you're the best. I'll let you get back to bed. Later!"

"Later, J."

She hung up, but she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She stole a glance out of her window and saw that Flo's lights were already on, and there were a few big rigs mulling around getting their oil before it was time to hit the road.

Georgia decided that she would go and get some good old hot caffeinated oil. Over her cup, she could turn over how she was going to break it to Chick that she was leaving in only a few short hours. There was also the prospect of telling her parents, but she knew already knew that they would understand.

The Plymouth wandered out of her cone with another yawn, her eyelids drooping still. She stretched out her tires, taking the short drive slow and steady to get the oil pumping through her pipes. She had a vague feeling of anxiety at the thought of talking to Chick, because the two had agreed the night before to have dinner together, and that was when she planned to tell him about her encounter with Stamose.

I should have told him last night, she thought, squinting against the lights as she pulled up to a pump.

The big rigs cast her glances, seeming surprised to see a regular citizen at the pumps so early in the morning.

"Good mornin'," she said in a friendly but sleepy voice.

"Good mornin'," they echoed, some of them laughing.

A waitress that was not Mia or Tia drove over and took her order. She seemed as tired as Georgia, if not more so.

The Plymouth settled on her tires, content to listen to the rumbling of the engines, the night breeze still cool against her frame. She closed her eyes for a few moments to savor the moment.

"What's got you out here so early?" a familiar voice asked.

She opened her eyes to see a huge mass of green in front of her.

"Sam!" she said, surprised but pleased. The htB big rig chuckled, shifting so that the waitress could get through to deliver Georgia her oil. "I got a call from home. I have to drive back and cover for someone who was covering for me."

Sam's eyelids rose. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know. It's just until the end of the week." Georgia took a sip of the oil, soothed a little by its warmth.

Sam shook his hood. "Chick's not going to be happy about this."

She sighed. "I know. I don't know how to tell him."

"It's not that I'm worried about. He was going to ask you to come to his race on Friday."

Georgia practically spit out her oil. "He was what?"

Sam nodded, suddenly breaking into a smile. "You heard me. Chick Hicks was going to ask Georgia Weathers to come to his race."

She sat there completely struck, staring at Sam, her engine fluttering. Chick was going to invite her to his race. Personally invite her.

Georgia broke into a grin. "Chrysler, Sam, do you know what that means?"

"I do, but do you?" The big rig gave her a pointed look, but the smile was still on his grill.

She sat for a few moments and thought about the implications. It meant that all of the effort she had put in was paying off. Chick actually did like her, so well that he wanted her to be at his next race. She felt her engine flutter again at the thought, and she couldn't help but smile. She felt a little silly, like a teenager.

"We should be so proud of him," Georgia said teasingly.

Sam nodded. "So I think you should consider saying yes when he asks you."

She answered without hesitation: "Of course I'm going to say yes! I want to be there for him."

The big rig eyed Georgia fondly. "You know, I haven't thanked you properly, Miss Weathers."

"No need to, Sam. I should thank you for asking me in the first place. I think Chick needed it."

As noon was approaching, Georgia left Sam to go and get Chick out of his cone. The two had spent several hours working out the best way to tell Chick, and in between, Georgia had had breakfast with her parents and told them that she needed to go home.

"I'll be at the next race, though," she told her father as they were finishing their meal.

"Yeah? Got the itch?" Strip asked, grinning lopsidedly.

"Maybe." She shrugged her tires vaguely, but The King knew his daughter well enough to be able to see the excited look in her eyes. He narrowed his own eyes and she suddenly looked sheepish, avoiding his gaze. Strip had a feeling he knew what it was.

"I'm not gonna have to go have a talk with that Buick, am I?" Of course he was joking, but the reaction was priceless. Georgia's eyes widened and she frantically waved one tire.

"No! Dad! Why would you-? I'm not just-" She stopped, flustered. He was laughing, although Lynda did look a little alarmed at the word 'Buick', but she didn't say anything.

"Georgia Rian, you are too easy." Strip winked at her knowingly. "Anyhow, should I tell Tex that you're comin' to see him?"

"Please do. It'll be nice to see the old crew again."

"All right darlin' I will." Coyly the older Plymouth added, "You know, I'm pretty sure he wanted to talk to you about somethin', now that I'm thinkin' about it."

Georgia's eyelids rose. "Yeah? Do you know what it is?" She had the vague notion that she was being set up in some way by her father and uncle.

Hastily: "Oh nooo, Georgia, I ain't got a clue. You'll have to ask him, I guess."

"Is that a hint?"

Strip shrugged, and Georgia caught her mother rolling her eyes.

Georgia thought about this conversation as she was driving over to the Cozy Cone at noon. Her father had clearly known that she was going to the race with Chick in mind, and yet he had joked about it. There had been no scoldings or disappointed expressions or anything that any normal car should have displayed. Then again, he's not exactly normal. She smiled fondly at the thought of her father.

He had never once said anything hostile about Chick. Not even right after the accident. He had never said anything to the media, either, as much as they badgered him, even now. Strip had only ever claimed to want one thing: to talk to Chick. He wanted closure. And so did she, at one time, for that matter. But her father was a patient car. Seven years now, and still not a word from the Buick.

And still, Strip had no hostilities. In fact, he seemed almost amused that she was going around with Chick Hicks. He had no obvious qualms about his daughter and the car that had caused his infamous accident becoming more and more friendly towards one another.

Georgia shook her hood. It was trademark Strip Weathers. For as long as she could remember, her father had always been patient. She wasn't even sure if he had ever yelled at her in anything more than encouragement during a race, or maybe if she had done something stupid on the track, he would shout out a correction, but it was always calm. And she respected him for all of this. She didn't know any other cars who could have taken that accident with such grace.

The Plymouth pulled up to Chick's cone, taking a deep breath and pushing all other thoughts out of her mind. Time to tell him she had to split.

She knocked on the garage door with her tire once, twice, three times, and then pulled back a little. She wondered: Does he sleep late?

Georgia waited patiently, listening as he moved behind the door, and judging by the groggy and irritated way he called out, she decided that he was probably a late sleeper.

"It's Georgia," she called back, feeling a sense of deja vu at having to rouse him out of a motel room for the second time in the past 24 hours.

Chick appeared a few moments later. "I thought I was meeting you later. Why are you here so early?"

"It's noon," she said with amusement.

He rolled his eyes at her, shifting his weight to one side, his gaze lazy with sleep, eyes half-closed.

Georgia was eyeing him, and she thought that he happened to look ridiculously attractive posed like that. So much so that she thought it was unfair.

Then she caught herself, and settled back on her tires coolly.

"What do you want, Weathers?" The Buick's tone was teasing.

Guess I better get it over with... "I have to talk to you about something."

"It can't wait?" She saw that he tried to keep the teasing tone, but his eyes flashed a little.

Georgia remained relaxed. "I wish it could, believe me." She was sad to see him shift positions, all pleasantness dissipating.

He stayed in the door to his cone. "All right. What is it then?" He sounded apprehensive.

The Plymouth rolled forward a little, reaching out with one tire. "Come on down, babe. I won't bite. It's nothin' earth shattering."

Chick had been awake for a while, but kept dozing in and out. Although he would never admit it, he did like the Cozy Cone. It was quiet and secluded, and he felt that he had privacy in it. One good thing about being the most hated racecar in the history of ever was that he could usually spend his private time undisturbed. Nobody came knocking for him.

Except for Weathers, of course.

He had a feeling it was her knocking even before he could ask, and in spite of this, he still felt weary about opening the garage door up without asking. With Stamose running around, it wasn't exactly desirable to just pop open the door without checking.

"It's Georgia."

So he opened his door, albeit groggily. He found that he was pleased to see her face first thing in the morning.

Er, well. Is it morning? Don't know, don't care. "I thought I was meeting you later. Why are you here so early?"

"It's noon." She was smiling a little, and her rust-colored, trademark Weathers eyes were resting on him in what he thought might be appraisal.

He rolled his eyes, not at her comment, but at the thought. She's checking me out. He leaned against the side of the door frame and looked down at her, feeling the sensation of being looked at like that for what felt like the first time in a long time. And he shamelessly enjoyed it, so he let her look without saying anything, until he saw her sit back on her tires. He wondered if she knew that it was obvious that she was looking.

"What do you want, Weathers?" He liked this. He liked this a lot.

And then she paused and said, "I have to talk to you about something."

Suddenly his tank felt like there was a rock in it, but he kept up the facade. "It can't wait?"

Her response bothered him. "I wish it could, believe me."

Chick felt uncomfortable now, so he stayed where he was. Skeptically and with hesitation, he prompted her. "All right. What is it?"

He was surprised at what happened next.

Georgia moved forward, coming up the ramp a little, reaching out to him with her tire. "Come on, babe. I won't bite. It's nothin' earth shattering."

Chick felt a rush under his hood. She looked so steady and calm, and her voice was so gentle and so soothing. And she had called him babe. He didn't know how he felt about it, but he knew that it didn't feel bad - or at least that it felt genuine, and he almost liked it. He had never heard her say it before, and he wanted to think that she had reserved it specifically for him. The Buick felt inclined to go towards her, to touch her.

But he caught himself and felt a surge of panic.

"Just tell me what it is!"

Immediately he regretted his words. They were too harsh, too sharp. He was sure that she would flinch away.

Again he was surprised, because Georgia did not move away. She reached out to him still, her eyes gentle.

"Trust me. I haven't done anything to hurt you, and I don't have any intention to. I'm here because I want to be fair to you."

Chick felt another rush under his hood, but this time it was so strong that it scared him and excited him all at once. No one had looked at him like this in so long, and it felt liberating to be treated the way she was treating him. And he knew that he couldn't screw it up, not now.

"I'm not really into the whole tire-holding thing."

"That's all right, no harm. Will you come down, though? I want to level with you."

Chick knew that it was the right thing to do, but Chrysler was it hard. He had to leave his comfort zone. Are you really doing this? he asked himself, feeling out of his element. Never did I see myself on the same level as Georgia Weathers. He questioned whether or not he had gone soft in the hood. Maybe, but that's just the effect nice-looking women have on you. You've always been a sucker for lookers.

So he went down to park with her.

"Okay, you got me down here. Now are you gonna tell me what all this is about or not?"

Georgia looked at him almost exasperatedly, and he noticed how tired she seemed. "I got a call at 4:30 this morning from one of my co-workers back home. I gotta go back and cover for someone who was covering for me."

He didn't like this at all. "Well how long will you be gone?"

"Just for the rest of the week. Then I'll be back."

Chick felt a subtle irritation form towards the co-worker. "So will you be back on Friday?"

"Depends. Do I have a reason to be back on Friday?"

Georgia, you coy little - she winked at him, the sun flashing off her tailfin.

Chick sat back on his tires, the feelings of apprehension and discomfort ebbing away. "Should I give you a reason to be back on Friday?"

"I think you should."

She's teasing me! And that excited him.

"Yeah? Why is that?" He settled to one side again, giving her that half-lazy look again.

The Plymouth shrugged her tires. "Guess you'll have to find out."

"Brat." But he felt so fondly towards her right now that he couldn't mean it any other way than affectionately. "Fine. You want your reason? There's a race this Friday."

"Yeah? I take it you're saying I should come."

"If you want to see me again, then yeah, you should come."

"I guess that means I've gotta be there then." And she winked.