Author's Notes: Thanks to Teri for all of our knowledge on the subject of NASCAR as well as the hunks who drive those fast little cars.

Despite the two and a half miles of track and two hundred laps to go, Patrick looked cool as a cucumber in his Wonder Bread colored fireproof jumpsuit of white, blue, yellow, and red. During their downtime, Doug had assured Robin that they had taken every precaution possible. He was expected to wear a full face helmet, fireproof gloves, fire resistant shoes, and heat shields to protect the heels of his feet.

Then they moved onto the car. Since Doug wasn't in a bargaining position, after talking with Robin months before, he had arranged to have the car of Patrick's dreams as his car for the race. It would, he had warned, have to go back to the original owner afterwards—she had underestimated just how many people wanted to see him on the track—but she wouldn't have been surprised if he got to keep it a tiny bit longer if he were so inclined. Due to the ever-changing modifications and numerous tests cars were put through year after year, it had taken some doing to get the 1969 Racer into tiptop shape. Robin would never forget the look on Patrick's face when Doug brought the sun-fire yellow beauty out to reacquaint itself with the track.

Moments before he went to speak with the pit crew, Patrick tried to explain about the impressive V8 engine and the six hundred and forty-six horsepower, but he might as well have been speaking Mandarin for all the sense it made to her. She proceeded to take Nathan away from his Aunt Elizabeth just long enough to show his daddy that today, at least, they matched. Of course, Nathan's uniform was a simple one-piece sleeper along with a white and blue jacket—the wind was a lot different here, she noticed—and he didn't have any protective gear, but she thought she might have noticed Patrick tear up a little bit anyway.

When Doug had called and asked how many seats he should reserve for the family, he had been mighty surprised. Since no one wanted to stay home and miss the up close and personal experience, she had told him that they would need a dozen seats. Audrey had Gracie and Jake while Alexis had volunteered to take Majandra since she and Kristina were staying at home today anyway. She had offered to watch Nathan as well, but something about today wouldn't allow Robin to let him out of her sight. Laura had brought her camera which meant Luke was expected to bring ten rolls of film at least. Bobbie had brought her digital camera so Cruz had brought a dozen or so batteries. It was quite a nice little setup. Lance, Cameron, and Morgan were sitting together, all of them chattering away while Dillon and Lucas pretended to not listen in on what they were talking about.

The air was thick with anticipation and Robin felt like she could almost reach out and touch the scorching engines. Over a hundred laps in and the stubborn drivers, her husband among them, were hesitant to stop at all. She watched in horror, and fascination, as the rear right tire on Kyle Busch's car spun off. He didn't even slow down, probably didn't even notice at first. Dale Jr. had, almost consistently, stayed in the number two spot, only Tony Stewart passing him up. Following behind was Jeff Gordon and Carl Edwards. Desperately, she tried to find the ninety-nine car. If not for its vibrant yellow coloring, she never would have spotted it in the maze. From what she could tell, and she didn't pretend to be a mechanic, his car looked in pretty good shape.

She tried to relax, reminding herself that this was Patrick's dream. He had been smiling the moment he pulled onto the track for that first lap and she bet he still was. It might be a strained smile. After all, she figured his muscles were probably protesting. She wondered what he was thinking about. Did he feel at one with the car as she had seen in so many movies, read about in so many books? He had teased her relentlessly when he found her hiding at the public library with a wide assortment of racing books spread out on the table in front of her. Exasperated, she told him that if she was supposed to trust his safety to a stranger then she wanted to be able to notice if something was off before she had to be told.

Her eyes returned to the car. What lap were they on? She had lost count. She nudged Elizabeth. "Do you know what number we're on?" She hated asking the question because it made it sound like she hadn't been paying attention when she knew it was all she had done over the last four hours.

"I lost count at a hundred." Elizabeth admitted sheepishly.

"One eighty-eight." Cruz told them without looking away from the track.

"Thank God." Robin mumbled, mentally willing the race to be over.

"He's doing great. I think." Elizabeth tried to reassure her.

"He really is." Robin nodded, feeling numb all over. Of the fifty cars on the track, only seventeen remained. How Patrick had managed to dodge all three crashes Robin didn't know, but she was thankful he had. When would it be over? She wanted it to be over.

"Shouldn't be long now." Lucky said as if reading her thoughts. "Two more hours tops."

Robin wasn't sure what drew her attention away from the ninety-nine car, probably nerves more than anything. Before she knew it, she was watching Dale Jr.'s car pass his pit stop and continue on down the road. She thought this to be strange. The poor guy didn't seem to be having a lot of luck today. He had lost one tire already, almost been driven off the road by Kyle Busch's wayward tire, and now he had to go all the way around again before his car could be serviced.

Yellow and red flames suddenly appeared and her eyes strayed as she tried to figure out which one it was. The billowing black smoke kept her from seeing anything too clearly. Warily, the other race cars sped past while it seemed every member of every pit crew was suddenly on the racetrack heading for the wounded car. A white caution flag sent them all to a crawling pace but, in Robin's mind, they were still going too fast. Why had none of them stopped to help the car?

"Is that his car?" The words were painfully ripped from her throat. She looked around, hoping anyone could tell her for sure, but no one said anything. As a process of elimination, she looked past to the other cars to see if maybe she might notice the yellow one. "Is it?"

Until she noticed Doug Bellamy hurry toward the wreckage, she had kept an irrational hope that maybe she was wrong, that maybe it wasn't Patrick's car at all. "Patrick!" She screamed, handing Nathan to Elizabeth and jumping out of her seat. "Patrick!" She could hear the heavy footfalls of her own feet as she rounded the corner and headed straight for the car.

A pair of strong arms stretched out to stop her. Rearing her head back to see who had her caught in his restraints, she tried to push him away. "Let me go. Lucky, let me go." Whimpering and clawing at his arms, she let her legs go out from under her and felt his hold loosen slightly. A second was all she would get, one chance. "Patrick!" Lucky followed after her but she wouldn't let him catch her. She had to make sure Patrick was alright. Of course he was, a tiny voice spoke up. He had to be.

Doug Bellamy, Greg Friedman—the driver Patrick had replaced—and a handful of crew members were dragging him out of the driver's side window when she finally reached the car. She skidded to a stop and Lucky barely kept from running right into her back. Lifting her wobbly chin, she refused to let herself cry. She wouldn't give up on him. Not now.

"Come on!" Until the words registered in her ears, she hadn't realized she had spoken at all. She watched them roll Patrick onto a gurney and hurried to keep up with their much faster pace. "Open your eyes." She demanded when she finally got close enough to be heard. "You have to open your eyes."

When she leaned over to grab his hand, a man she assumed was a doctor pushed her away. "Wake up please." She wanted to touch him, but would that hurt him more? His face was covered in at least two layers of black soot and the fire had burned away part of his gloves so his hands were visible. Visible and vulnerable. Already, she could see harsh burns springing up over his knuckles. "You can't leave me. Not now. Not now. We've been through too much. Open your eyes."

If he would just open his eyes, or cough. If his chest would lift. That's all she wanted, all she demanded. Somehow in the confusion, she had been pushed to the back of the line again; this time she didn't fight them. This time she collapsed in Lucky's waiting arms as they put Patrick in the ambulance. She hadn't even seen it drive up but suddenly there it was. Numbly, she made a move toward it, but Lucky held her back. "Please." She moaned, but she wasn't even sure what she actually wanted him to do. "I can't do this without him. I can't." Shaking her head, she shut her eyes tightly wishing it all away. "I can't." Darkness settled over her and she gave in.

*****

"I need stats...what's his pulse?"

Patrick tried to turn his head, sure the person was speaking to him, but he encountered only pain. Keeping still, he realized two things: he had been in an accident and he was en route to the hospital. How else could he explain the constant jostling of the bed he was lying in? Licking his bottom lip, he nearly cut his tongue on the sharp, broken skin and sucked in a breath, a machine beeping loudly. More talking. More jostling.

"Pulse is thready." The paramedic rattled off, keeping track of the time on his watch.

Thready? He might not be a doctor but he knew that didn't sound good. Where was Robin? He couldn't hear her. If she was here, he would have felt her hand in his. Her absence made him nervous. Why wouldn't she be with him? They must have prevented it. How bad off was he? They knew he was still alive, didn't they? He had thought he had been moving, but maybe that had been an illusion. What if they didn't know? He tried to talk to them.

"He's conscious." A second paramedic leaned over him, shining a light into his eyes. "Patrick. Can you hear me?"

He rubbed his lips together, trying to break through the thickness that had been steadily building in his throat over the last few minutes. Minutes? Or had it been hours? Surely they wouldn't be driving around aimlessly for hours with him in this condition. He felt his left hand raise and fall and he cried out when his palm collided with something cold and hard. A clipboard maybe? Whatever it was, it made a sickening sound when it hit the floor.

"Don't move." The voice instructed him. "You were in an accident. Do you remember that?"

"N-n-no. Where's my wife?"

"She's behind us."

"How bad?"

"We'll know more when we get you to General. Just rest. Don't try to move."

"I don't want to go to the hospital. I hate hospitals."

"No choice. You're going. Try to rest."

"Should...g-g-get a disc-count for all the times I've been there."

"I'll make sure to ask the doctor about that."

Patrick gave up talking, gave up doing anything but willing his heart to keep beating. He was vaguely aware of being lifted off of the stretcher and thrown into a hospital bed. His body crumpled in pain and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from making a sound. A door opened and closed. He drifted in and out, catching a sound here and there and then letting it slip away from him.

*****

"I told you this would happen. Would it actually kill you to listen to me once in awhile?"

Patrick brought his hand to cover his eyes though he had made no effort to open them. "How do I look?"

Lucky regarded Patrick carefully. Black eye. Stitches. Most of the blood had been washed away but a few dried bits still clung where the doctors had done their work. "Like hell," he answered honestly.

"Where's Robin?"

"She's outside with Mom and Elizabeth talking with the doctors."

"What did they say?"

"You crushed your left leg and your right one isn't doing much better."

"Am I paralyzed?"

"No. But you came close enough to scare Robin half to death."

"Is she alright?"

Lucky shook his head. "She's ready to kill you so I'll go with, yeah she's fine."

"How long do I have to be here?"

"A few weeks I think."

"Who won?"

"Not you."

"Who won?" A voice shrieked, pushing into the room. "I'll take it from here."

"Good luck." Lucky smiled as he stood up from his chair. "I think you'll be wishing for that coma."

Robin took the chair Lucky had vacated. Idly, she grabbed Patrick's hand. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Yes." Patrick whistled through his teeth.

"Good." She answered matter-of-factly.

"I don't know what you want me to say." He admitted quietly.

"That you won't race again."

"Well Lucky tells me the odds of that happening are next to none, so you get your wish."

"Do you think this is funny? You almost died tonight!"

"I didn't die. I'm fine."

"You're not fine! What makes you think you're fine? You're covered in bumps and bruises, not to mention third-degree burns." She rattled off hysterically.

"Robin." Patrick lightly rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

"Don't."

"Robin."

"Don't. I'm so mad at you right now...let's just say it's good you have around the clock medical care at the moment." Robin growled back at him.

"Where are the boys?"

"Where do you think? With Laura."

"Robin I—I'm so sorry."

"The guys are never going to let you live this one down. You do know that, right?"

"At least I'm alive for them to rag on."

"That's not even a little funny."

"I'm going to sleep for now. Will you be here when I wake up?"

"I promised for better or worse. What do you think?"