Chapter 18

The sound of crickets permeated the air, their song resuming after the terrible shrieking of something inhuman tore through the night. The dark blue BMW that had skidded across the mossy grass and came to a violently loud stop against a tree sat like so much scrap metal. A hissing sound could be heard from where the radiator was protesting, and the smell of gas perfumed the area. Big balloons of white could be seen, filling the windshield and the driver's side window.

The passengers inside the car were unmoving, their forms slumped in various directions on the inside.

With a jerk, Johnny came awake, cursing the lights exploding behind his eyes, and promising God he'd never drink again if he'd just take the hangover away. It took a minute-after several, deep, steady breaths-for him to remember that he HADN'T been drinking. With a panic, his eyes snapped open, causing another explosion to set off in his head. He groaned and struggled to clear them before turning to check on the others. He batted aimlessly at the airbag in his face, and turned to look at the woman next to him.

"Tara?" The word was rasped, and he cleared his throat and tried again. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and gave her a gentle shake. The movement caused her head to turn towards him, and his heart stopped at the sight of the blood staining her face. "Tara, baby? Oh Jesus, nonono. Baby?" He leaned as close to her as he get, and raised shaking fingers to her throat. Relief hit him strong enough to make his heart start beating again when he felt her pulse, steady under his touch. But the gash along the side of her face had his stomach rolling dangerously. He looked over at her window, and noticed for the first time that her side airbag didn't go off. The glass had a spider web of cracks in it, from where her head had slammed into it. One long, jagged piece stuck out from the rest, the point of it stained red.

"Baby, wake up. Please. Come on, sweetheart, let me see those beautiful eyes. I really need you to wake up honey." He ran a finger down her undamaged cheek, trying not to succumb to the fear clawing around in his belly. His heart constricted again at the thought that she was hurt more seriously. Head injuries were tricky things. "Baby, please. I don't know what to do if you leave me." The thought of just that had tears springing to his eyes, burning them with their heat. "Baby, baby. PLEASE."

"Johnny?" Willow's voice filtered to him from the back seat, and his terrified gaze landed on her. She looked disoriented, but not hurt. "What happened?"

"I can't wake her up. She's hurt, and I can't wake her up." His voice sounded so small, so scared, that Willow shook off the remnants of her fog, unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood, and deep gash on the blonde's face. "Please," he whispered, brushing his lips across her forehead, her lips, her hair. He was careful of the cut, but needing to touch her. Tears slid unnoticed down his cheeks, as he desperately tried to wake her up.

"Johnny, where's your cell phone?" Willow asked, laying a calming hand on his shoulder. He looked back at her, his dark eyes blank. "Your cell?" she repeated, waiting for him to realize what she was asking. Comprehension snapped into him, and he reached down to the center console and came back up with it. He handed it to Willow, and went back to Tara, his anguish nearly making the redhead's heart break. Tramping down her own fear for her friend, she opened the phone and dialed 911.

~*~*~

"You'll be fine Mr. Lynch. Be careful walking on those carpets." The young intern smiled at Mark, the smile faltering at the icy look in those black eyes regarding him. "The nurse will be in in a minute with your discharge papers, and a prescription for the pain."

"Thanks," the brunette said, looking away. The line of his jaw was tense, and anger snapped through him like a live thing. The doctor left, leaving him alone. Not for long though. A few seconds later, Spike and Buffy came through the curtain, their worried eyes scouring over him.

"I'm fine guys. Just a few stitches," he told them, his long fingers gripping the side of the bed. His head throbbed from the injury, and his temper throbbed in response. He had no idea how long he was out before the blonde pair had found him, but it was enough to work him into quite a snit. He had told them, when he'd come to in the ER, that he'd tripped and hit his head on the corner of the wall. He couldn't really say why he had lied. He guessed it was because he hadn't actually SEEN anyone, and what was he supposed to say? The person came out of the wall and hit him? That was the only thing he could think of, since he'd never heard a door open, and he'd checked the room before he started to the kitchen. And it wasn't like they didn't know there were secret passages in the house. The one from the basement was the only one they had found.

"What happened?" Spike demanded, his eyes telling him he wasn't buying the tripped story.

"Exactly what you think happened."

"Somebody tried to kill you?" Buffy hissed, disbelief and horror flashing in her eyes.

"No. It was a warning," Mark told her, grimacing as his head throbbed again.

"A warning?"

"Yeah, pet. Stop looking or you'll be as dead as Faith," Spike clarified. "We're scaring somebody."

"But, how? We haven't talked about this with anybody but each other."

"Somebody was in the house, before they decided to use my head as a baseball. The paper with our little collection of info was moved." Mark fell silent when the nurse came in, carrying papers for him to sign, and a prescription slip. He listened while she gave him instructions regarding the head injury, and told him to make an appointment with his doctor in the next three days. The stitches could come out in a week. He signed, and thanked, and waited for her to leave again.

"So, someone was in the house snooping." Spike contemplated that for a minute, his mind touching on the image of Riley Finn driving away from the house. "Think we need to pay that locksmith a visit," he mumbled as they walked out of the cubicle, and started out the door.

"Why?" Mark asked, moving out of the way when the doors to the ER burst open, and a stretcher guided by two paramedics rolled in.

"Saw him on the road from the house. Coming away from it."

"Tara?" Buffy's horrified gasp stopped their conversation in its tracks, and they turned to stare at the stretcher that had just passed them. She took off after the EMT's, leaving the men to follow.

"I told you I'm fine! Get the fuck away from me. Where's Tara?" Johnny's voice had them whipping back around, to see the bright haired drummer, followed closely by the frazzled looking Willow and a couple of EMT's that looked just as frazzled. Apparently, he hadn't cooperated with them.

"Willow?" Her eyes locked with Mark's, saw the white bandage on his head, and took off at a run. He caught her, and hugged her close.

"John? What happened?" Spike fell into step beside the long legged man, and tried to get answers.

"Brakes failed. Hit a tree. Tara's hurt." Three concise sentences that were filled with fear. He burst back through the doors, followed by the rest, and rushed over to where Buffy was standing. She was staring down at her friend, her hands clamped over her mouth. Tara was still unconscious. An oxygen mask had been placed over her face and an I.V. was inserted into her arm. A large, white pad was pressed against her cheek, the thick material blood stained.

"Excuse me, you can't be here," the nurse said, coming in to get them out. "We need to prep her for surgery." She eyeballed the man with the purple hair gripping the girl's hand.

"Surgery? It's just a cut in the face," Johnny gasped.

"Look, I can't discuss this with you. Unless you're family. Are you?" She seemed to remember her bedside manner and smiled softly at him. The others just stood in a shocked silence.

"I. . ." Johnny fumbled for a minute. What the hell was he? "I. . .I love her," was all he could come up with, tears sliding from his pleading eyes. The way he said it, so full of wonder and fear, made the nurse's smile widen, and she nodded.

"You can sit here until we take her back. The rest of you need to go to the waiting room." Her steely grey eyes told them she wouldn't hesitate to throw them out if they argued, so they nodded and turned to go back to the waiting room. And found a pair of Sunnydale's finest waiting for them.

"Ms. Rosenberg?" the good looking younger one, whose badge said 'Doyle' asked.

"Y-yes."

"I have some questions about the accident. Could you step over here please?"

"You'll have to deal with me, cause I'm not leaving her alone," Mark snarled, tightening his arm around Willow's waist. She smiled at him gratefully.

"Or us," Spike had a hold of the shell shocked Buffy. Officer Doyle shared a glance with the other cop, whose name was Holtz, and gave a resigned sigh.

"Fine. Let's go sit in the waiting room." He motioned for them to proceed the pair, and followed them into the room.

"Now, Ms. Rosenberg. Could you tell me what happened?" Officer Doyle sat next to her, and listened intently while she spoke, taking notes. Officer Holtz kept a look out, making sure nobody came over to bother them while they took the statement. Mark, Spike and Buffy listened as well, feeling fear tighten their bellies at what had happened. First Mark, now this, and it was more obvious than ever that someone wanted them to stop their little investigation.

"Alright, was Mr. Lynch drinking this evening?"

"No," Willow answered firmly.

"Are you sure?" She hesitated a second, because, really she couldn't be sure. He hadn't drank anything at lunch, but she didn't know what he and Tara might have drunk while they were in her apartment.

"Pretty sure. Tara won't get into a car with someone who's been drinking."

"My cousin doesn't drink and drive, Officer Doyle," Mark offered, his eyes daring the cop to contradict him. Doyle didn't even blink, just made the notation in his book.

"Do you think he would mind submitting to a blood test?"

"No."

"Check the brake lines. He was slamming on them, and the car just kept going. There was something wrong with them," Willow reminded the man.

"We'll do that. The blood test is just a standard test we give when there are car accidents. I wasn't implying anything. May I ask why you three are in town? This isn't exactly a place stars like yourselves would come."

"We're working on our next album," Spike answered. He was still running a hand over Buffy's back, trying to soothe her trembling.

"We should have some people stationed at the doors. The reporters will probably be flocking here soon, once this gets out," Officer Doyle said to his partner. Holtz nodded and walked a step or two away, pulling out his hand held CB and talking softly into it. Mark and Spike exchanged a look at the word 'reporters,' and scowled. They resigned themselves to making phone calls after they were done here, to assure their families they were fine, and to keep the excitable Lorne calm.

"All right. I think that's all for now. If we have anymore questions, we'll contact you." Willow nodded, and curled against Mark's side, shuddering with relief and worry. The two officers looked at the four another moment, then turned and walked away.

"Ms. Rosenberg, are you sure you don't want to let us check you out?" She turned and looked into the kind eyes of the nurse who had approached them and shook her head.

"No, I'm fine. I wasn't hurt, I just fainted."

"Okay. But if you change your mind, let us know."

"Sure. Will they tell us if Tara's okay?"

"The doctor will come out after surgery. We're trying to contact her family now."

"She hasn't talked to her father in years. I don't think that's such a good idea," Willow protested.

"Well, we have to," the nurse said firmly, then turned and walked away.

"Oh, she's NOT going to be happy about that," the red head muttered, burrowing deeper into Mark's embrace. She finally noticed his trembling, and raised her head. "Hey. You all right? And wait, what are you guys doing here?" It had just dawned on her that they had already been there when their ambulance arrived. She then saw that bandage, and sat fully up. "Mark? What happened?" She tried to turn his head so she could see, but he refused to take his eyes off her.

"I'm okay," he said, raising his fingers to her cheek.

"No you're bloody not. None of this is alright. Somebody tried to take a piece of his head off, pet. And I'd bet that what happened to you three WASN'T an accident," Spike growled. Buffy pushed away from him then and walked outside, not looking at any of them. The blonde stared after her, then glanced at Mark and Willow.

"Go. She's probably pretty freaked out," Mark said. Spike didn't have to be told twice. He was after her without another word.

"Are you okay?" Willow repeated, once they were alone.

"I should be asking you that," he whispered, trying to fight the urge to yank her into his lap and hold on forever. His heart was bleeding for his cousin, who had looked so lost when they left the room. It hadn't surprised him that Johnny was in love with the sweet blonde girl. He always knew that when Johnny finally let himself FEEL, he'd fall fast. He just didn't think he'd admit it this soon. Of course, the confession was kind of forced out of him. It was amazing what you realized when that person was in danger. Like now, vivid, dark images were traipsing through his own mind. What if it was Willow in that room, and not Tara? He didn't even want to ponder the possibility.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, turning his lips into her hair.

"Sure."

"I think I'm falling in love with you." He unconsciously held his breath, waiting. She didn't lift her head to look at him, just pressed a hand to his chest, over his heart.

"Good. I think I'm falling in love with you, too."

"Good," he repeated, finally giving into his urge and pulling her onto his lap. They sat like that for a long time, just holding onto each other, until Johnny came out of the back, his ashen skin a sharp contrast to his bright, cheery hair.

"They just took her back," he said, and sank bonelessly into one of the hard, vinyl covered chairs, and placed a hand over his eyes. The three sat in silence as they waited.

~*~*~

"Buffy?" She didn't turn around at the sound of his voice. She just tightened her arms further around herself, to try to still the emotions swirling through her. "Pet? Are you alright?" A bitter laugh escaped her at that.

"Alright? No, I don't think so. Someone attacked Mark, tried to kill my two best friends, and Johnny." She took a deep breath, and tensed when she felt his hand rest on her shoulders. "Ya know, Faith might want us to solve her murder, but someone else definitely does not." She didn't want to be soothed by the thumbs drawing lazy circles between her shoulder blades, or the feel of his body against hers, standing behind her and lending her strength. She was scared, and wanted to run, far and wide to get away from this.

"We need to find him first, then."

"Aren't you scared?" She turned to look at him then, giving in when he draped his arms around her waist, and pulled her to him.

"Terrified, luv. I don't like the thought of any of us getting hurt." He paused and ran a thumb over her cheek. "Especially you. But, can you tell me, honestly, that you think whoever did this is going to stop, just because we stop?" She thought about it, and really wanted to say yes. But, if whatever they knew was enough to scare this person, it was enough to keep him coming back to kill them, just because they knew it. Regardless of whether or not they backed off.

"No. I suppose not," she said, leaning her forehead against his chest.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry you got tangled up in this mess."

"No, it's not your fault. I wanted to be with you, and that was apparently enough. Faith dragged us in. And I guess now we have to see it through." Buffy didn't sound exactly thrilled about it, and Spike certainly couldn't blame her. It wasn't his idea of a good time to have someone wandering around wishing them harm. And actively pursue it, as well.

"Come on, let's go back in. We'll worry about Tara tonight, and the rest of this nonsense tomorrow. Okay?"

"Yeah. I love you." It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, but she needed the security of it. Everything around her was going to shit, and she needed to know that this wasn't. That he was there, and solid, and strong. She looked up into his blue, stormy eyes, holding her breath. A look of wonder crossed his beautiful face, and he leaned down to place the sweetest kiss she'd ever received on her lips.

"I love you," he said softly, before swallowing her gasp as he kissed her again. Joy bloomed bright in her heart, and she kissed him back with fervor. When they broke apart, they were both heaving in breaths, their fear pushed aside for the moment. "We better go back inside," he said again, smiling down at her.

"Yeah." They turned together, and with linked hands, they walked back into the hospital to wait with their friends.

Chapter 19

It seemed to Johnny that the clock in the waiting room was broken. There was no way a minute could take that long to go by, he was sure of it. And that tick. Made him want to pick a fight with Spike just so there was something to do. Something other than this waiting! He was dying here. Every move of the second hand seemed like an hour to Johnny. An hour for him to agonize about the crash. An hour to go over everything he did wrong, everything he should have done to keep Tara from getting hurt. An hour for him to find another way to blame himself for her being in there, hurt.

Tears burned in the back of his eyes as he relived the crash yet again. He thought vaguely, that he had cried more today than he had in his entire twenty three years. He'd been too young when his parents died, and nobody since then had ever touched him the way Tara did. For years, he'd guarded himself, wanting to do nothing but have a good time. Play in a band, get the girls, party. He made sure the women he spent time with understood that. Then, he'd met her.

Quiet, shy, beautiful. Perfect. And she'd slid under his defenses and taken a hold of him. He remembered Anya teasing him, during the many 'after show kitchen raids' they did at the Giles' home. She would often say, "You just wait, John Michael Lynch. One day, you'll meet a girl who'll knock you on your ass, and you won't even see it coming."

A harsh chuckle that sounded awful close to a sob burst from his chest at that memory, causing the others to glance up at him. They saw him, sitting slumped in the chair, a hand over his eyes, his mouth twisted in despair. The pain emanating off of him, had them looking away, feeling like voyeurs to his misery. Their eyes shot up again when the wide double doors swung open, admitting a small, dark haired woman into the waiting room. Johnny didn't appear to notice, not looking up until he heard her say his name.

"Mr. Lynch?" He shot to his feet in a flash, his eyes begging her to tell him that Tara was alright.

"Is she okay?" He didn't relax when she gave him a reassuring smile. He wouldn't relax until he saw her. The others rose as well, forming a circle around him, to buffer him and themselves if the news was bad.

"She'll be fine. There was some minor damage to the nerves in her right cheek, just below the eye, but with therapy, she should have no problems with facial mobility. There will be a scar. If she chooses, plastic surgery could be an option. She was very lucky, Mr. Lynch. A trauma like that to the head, could have had a number of consequences. The most she'll have is a mild concussion." The small group let out a sigh of relief at that.

"Can I see her?" His dark eyes implored, his stance told her he wouldn't take no for an answer. The doctor studied the tall young man, with long, purple hair, ripped jeans, and an Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt, and saw past the package. It was the anguish and love she saw swimming in the inky eyes staring at her that had her smiling again.

"She's being taken up to a room right now. As soon as she's settled, someone will come get you."

"Thank you," he said, reaching for and gripping Mark's arm, so he didn't hit the floor with relief. The doctor nodded, then walked away. Johnny's eyes drifted closed, and he struggled not to break down like a baby. She was alright! Why the hell did he feel like bawling again? His eyes opened again, when he felt two strong arms slide around his waist, supporting him. He looked at Spike and Mark and gave them a sheepish smile, then allowed them to lead him to a chair. He sat, leaned forward to brace his arms on his knees, and dragged his hands through his hair.

"Thank god she's alright," Willow said, settling on Mark's lap, when he sat next to Johnny.

"Don't know what we would have done had anything happened to her," Buffy added, sitting next to Spike across from the other three. The two girls shared a look at that, wondering for not the first time this night, just what it would have been like without her. With happy finality, they dismissed it. She was going to be fine, and that was all that mattered.

"Willow, I am so sorry," Johnny said, looking over at her. The others stared at him, not sure what he was apologizing for.

"Why?"

"For the accident. I. . .I should have turned the car the other way. Popped the emergency break. Something."

"Hey, man. It wasn't your fault," Mark told him. The younger man shook his head, sending his bright hair flying.

"No, there was something else I could have done. I should have had the car checked out."

"Bugger that." Johnny's eyes shot to Spike's, a steely glint in their depths. "S'not your fault. Somebody tried to make sure you three couldn't play Jessica Fletcher anymore."

"What?"

"Didn't you notice your cousin's got new head gear? Course not, you were a bit preoccupied. Look now. That's not from a trip, like he tried to sell the doctors." The drummer looked up at Mark, and noticed the bandage for the first time.

"What the hell happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Somebody was in the house when I got home. Decided to see if my head would crack open like a melon."

"Well, whoever did it, doesn't know you very well. Bet that head of yours broke whatever he hit you with." His words were teasing, but there was no mistaking the dangerous edge to his tone.

"Funny." Mark scowled, and flipped off Spike when he chuckled.

"So, you see. The crash wasn't your fault. No need to be sorry. Okay?" Willow smiled at him, not liking the guilt she still saw lurking in his eyes.

"Yeah. You guys alright?" He turned to the blondes, inspecting them for injuries.

"We're fine. No brushes with harm for us. We found Mark," Buffy told him, resting her cheek on Spike's shoulder.

"Yeah, left a nice mess on the Aubusson rug. That ought to piss that Wyndham-Pryce tosser off."

"And after the way he was today, I don't want to give him the bill. Can I just send it to your manager?" Buffy whined, not wanting to have to deal with the Englishmen after his coldness of earlier. Spike chuckled, and raised her hand to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles.

"Call the cleaners tomorrow, luv. I'd rather pay for the bill myself. Lorne will already be having a fit as it is over the dishes."

"Yeah, can't nobody pinch a penny like him," Mark agreed.

"You've never met Wesley," Willow said with a giggle.

"You know, we're in awfully good moods for nearly getting killed tonight," Johnny observed, feeling a grin spread across his face. Tara was alright. That was all his mind seemed to want to register, and he was fine with that right now.

"Yeah, we are, aren't we? Guess we'll worry about it tomorrow," Mark agreed, holding Willow just a little tighter.

"It's funny what realizing you're in love can do for the mood," Buffy giggled. Johnny snorted at that.

"Yeah, no kidding. And to think, YOU were bitching when we rode into town." He poked his cousin in the shoulder, and grinned when he scowled.

"Didn't know what we'd find. And you weren't exactly thrilled to be here either," the guitar player reminded him.

"Can I heave now? When did this turn into a bloody Hallmark commercial?" Spike moaned, dropping his head to the back of his chair. "Ow." He jumped when Buffy slapped him on the stomach. He rubbed the spot and scowled at her, laughter dancing in his eyes.

"Mr. Lynch?" Mark and Johnny both looked up, but the drummer was the only one who rose to his feet when the orderly approached them.

"Right here. I'll see you guys later at the house?"

"I don't think we'll be spending the night there tonight," Spike said, looking at the others for confirmation. They all shook their heads 'no' emphatically. "Give me a call on my cell, when you're ready, and I'll come 'round and get you."

"Alright. I don't think I'll be going anywhere tonight either."

"Tell Tara we'll see her tomorrow," Buffy called out as he started away. A wave was all the answer she got.

"Well, I guess there's nothing more to do here. You guys ready?" Mark asked, rising to his feet and bringing Willow with him. He placed her on her feet, but kept an arm around her waist.

"I think so. We going to meet back at the house in the morning?" The others reluctantly nodded. "Then, I guess we can go. Just hope nobody pinches our stuff. Don't think we remembered to lock the door," he said offhandedly as they started towards the exit.

"Locks wouldn't stop anybody." Mark reminded him, pointing to his head. They all shuddered, the reality of how easily they could have all lost each other staggering.

"Right. Guess it's not good to be rich if you don't have theft insurance." They walked out to the car, suddenly realizing there was only one. "Don't suppose you want to go back and get one of yours?" They both looked at him with such owl-eyed expressions, he nearly laughed out loud.

"Will, you can use mine," Buffy offered, settling the matter.

"Thanks." That decided, they slid into the DeSoto and took off into the night, ready to forget about this mess for awhile.

~*~*~

That idiot! He fumed. Can't even get the simplest of instructions right. Botches up everything. With a single-minded intent, he stalked up the walkway of the small, two bedroom bungalow. The car was gone, so he knew the wife was out. He hoped the son was as well.

When the motion detector flared bright in his eyes, he glanced nervously around, not wanting anybody to see him. He sighed in relief when nobody seemed to be about. Wouldn't do to be seen in a neighborhood such as this. He rapped hard on the door, three times, and waited rather impatiently for said idiot to open the door. He heard some scuffling and a curse, followed by a sleepy sounding "Coming" in the seconds before the door swung open.

The scowl that had been on the man's face disappeared, once he saw who was standing on his front porch.

"M-Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. W-what are you doing here?" Wesley Wyndham-Pryce regarded the man in front of him. His cool, blue eyes took in the faded flannel, pajama bottoms, the white t-shirt, and bare feet that the other man was wearing and barely refrained from sneering.

"Hello, Mr. Finn. May I come in?" Riley stared numbly at him for a brief second, before seeming to register the question. With a brisk nod, he moved out of the way and gestured for him to come in. Wesley walked through the door and glanced around the cluttered living room with the scuffed, worn furniture, and the nightly news blaring on the television. His gaze flicked back to Riley, who was still standing by the door, holding it open and staring at him. "Close the door, Mr. Finn. We have business to discuss."

~*~*~

A thousand dazzling lights exploded against the blue darkness of unconsciousness, causing a moan to erupt from dry, parted lips. Warm, calloused butterflies drifted lazily down her cheek, soothing the ache behind her closed eyes. Soft music, the consistency of brandy called her name, something in the sound making her want to see what was causing it. With an effort, and no little nausea, her lids fluttered open, revealing an image so fuzzy and distorted, it couldn't be real. She blinked, trying desperately to clear her vision, so she could see who was so intently trying to get her to talk.

Once, twice she blinked, until the face became clear. She felt a smile pull at her mouth, and she tried to raise a hand to touch, to be sure he was real, only to find that she hadn't the strength.

"Johnny?" she whispered, her voice sounding choked.

"Hey, gorgeous," he whispered back, leaning forward to brush warm lips across her forehead.

"Are you real?" He smiled, which she tried to return. She didn't seem to have any control of her movements, yet, however.

"As real as this." When he leaned down to cover her mouth with his, the pressure gentle, but with an urgency just singing below its surface, she returned it, the speeding of her heart proving to her she was alive. He pulled back, a tear sliding down his cheek and more swimming in his eyes. She forced her hand to move this time, so she could catch the drop, and wonder at it. He leaned into her touched, placing his hand over hers to keep it there.

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," he answered, staring down into her still anesthetic hazy eyes. "So's Willow."

"Why am I here? Am I alright?" she asked, worry making her frown, which made her head hurt, turning it into a grimace. She felt his fingers smooth across her forehead, and relaxed with his touch.

"You got a little banged up in the crash. And you have a nice concussion. There's also a nice little cut on your beautiful cheek, but the general consensus is you'll live."

"Cut? How little? Will it scar?" His brow quirked at how quick these questions popped out.

"It's about this big." He held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, "and it's right here," now he ran a gentle finger across the area underneath her eye, "and yeah, it will scar." He saw the tears well up at that and silently cursed. "But, it doesn't matter. You're still gorgeous." When the anger flared in her pained eyes, Johnny frowned.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed, the blinking she was doing to stave off the tears making her head hurt worse.

"I thought we were past this discussion," he said, keeping a hold of her hand when she tried to pull it away.

"There's no way. . .you can think that now." The last part was so soft, he had to strain to hear it. Anger licked hot in his chest, but he kept it at bay, knowing she didn't need his temper.

"Listen to me Tara. Would it matter to you if it was me lying here, with a brand spanking new scar decorating my skin?" He waited a beat, and saw her almost imperceptible shake of her head. "Then don't assume I'm so shallow. I thought you were beautiful before, nothing has changed." He saw the want to believe in her eyes, unfortunately, it was clouded by the self doubt he hadn't seen in days.

"But, why? Why do you still want me?" A heavy sigh and a smile were her answer for the moment, as he struggled with the words he had said so easily a few brief hours before. This was for real, his mind screamed, no taking it back once he said it. But, the longer he looked down at her, the more it cemented the fact that he didn't want to.

Her heart shattered as she waited for him to answer, sure that he was going to tell her he didn't, that it had been fun, but he was moving on. What did a rich, handsome, young rock star need with a girl with a hacked up face? She turned her eyes away so she didn't have to see him when he ripped her heart out of her chest, because despite her big words to her friends, this was going to kill her. In the span of a few short days, she had fallen head over heels for him, and now, too soon, it was over.

"Tara, look at me," he said, realizing when she looked away that he had taken too long to answer. She shook her head no, the action threatening the fog to take over her brain again. She welcomed it, wanting to slip back into the black, where none of this would hurt. "Tara. Look. At. Me." He waited a second, to see if she would. When she didn't, he let go of her hand, and practically crawled into the bed with her-mindful of the I.V.- to force himself into her line of vision. "I love you." He watched the disbelief, followed by shock, then lastly by wonder filter over her face.

"What did you say?" she gasped, wondering if she HAD slipped back into unconsciousness, and this was just a wonderful dream.

"I said, I. Love. You." Easier this time, and it still felt wonderful, and terrifying, and most of all RIGHT. "I love you, I love you, I love you." Each time brought a new tear to her eyes, and a hard pound of her heart against her chest.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I do." He took his weight on one arm, and reached up to gather the moisture sliding down her unbandaged cheek.

"Wow." Her voice was a breathy whisper, her eyes a pool of glass. She raised a shaking hand to his face, cupped his cheek, rubbing her palm over the stubble she found there.

"Wow? Is that good?" he teased, happy when she gave him a tiny smile.

"It's good. You know why?" Now it was his turn for his heart to pound, and hope of what she was going to say bloomed brilliantly in his black eyes.

"Why?"

"Cause I love you, too."

"Wow." Two bright smiles mirrored each other, and purple hair spilled over her damaged cheek when he dipped his head.

"Yeah, wow," she whispered, the second before his mouth claimed hers.

Chapter 20

"Dad." A gentle prodding, hoping to interrupt. "Dad." This time said with more force, trying to stop the somewhat panicked British voice filtering through the phone. "DAD!" A heavy sigh, and a rolling of the eyes, indicated he had finally gotten his father to stop. Buffy giggled at the expression on Spike's face. "I'm fine. I wasn't in the car. No, Johnny wasn't drinking. Yeah, I'm sure. Yes, sure, sure. Mark's fine. Just a bump. It'll teach him to be careful where he puts those gun boats of his. Is Mum around? Can I talk to her?" The abruptness of the question, coated thickly with frustration, had Buffy pressing her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She lost the urge to laugh when the largest, most genuine smile she had ever seen settled over his mouth.

"Hi Mum. Johnny's fine. Yeah, she's got a concussion, and there's a scar, but she'll be fine. He's in love with her, Mum. I know, you were right. You told him. Sent him for a loop. You'll like her. No, I don't want you to come out here. We're fine. No. I mean it, there's no need for it." A deep breath, and Spike decided to change tactics. "I met someone." A surefire way to get Anya to change a subject. Unfortunately, it backfired. The prospect of meeting the new woman in her stepson's life had her ready to pack her bags and arrive on the next flight into Sunnydale. "Mum, I don't want you to come out here now. No, we're still working, and you'd be incredibly bored. I mean it. I promise we'll be home for Thanksgiving. I'll see if she can come, she has family, you know. I swear I will. Wanda's probably making Mark promise the same, as we speak. I love you, Mum." This was said so quietly, and with so much devotion, that Buffy knew she would travel back to Arizona with him and meet this special woman. "Tell Dad I'll call him in a couple of days. When he calms down. Alright, bye."

Spike threw the phone next to him on the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face. God knew he loved his parents, but they could drive him mad in the span of a fifteen minute phone conversation. He heard the soft snort come from the woman beside him and turned to scowl at her.

"What's so funny, pet?" he asked, his voice bordering on a growl. She arched a perfect, honeyed brow at his tone, and grinned wider.

"You, trying to deal with your parents. Your mom was ready to hop on the next plane to meet me, huh? Come check me out, make sure I'm worthy of her baby boy?" His eyes narrowed at her teasing, but they held no heat.

"Yeah, and you should bloody well be thankful I begged her off. She can be quite abrasive when it suits her. And she doesn't pull punches either. She'd walk right up to you, say you were too blasted skinny, and try to feed you. All the while pumping you for information, and making sure you weren't some gold digging looney." He smirked at that, briefly remembering the time he had brought Dru home to meet them. It had taken Anya exactly three minutes to decide the brunette was no good for her son, and drag him into the kitchen to tell him just that. She had backed off, though, when he'd gotten angry. Her hate for the girl was nothing against the love for the boy she called son. So, she'd waited, and been there for him when the inevitable had happened.

His respect for her was intense, his love for her constant. Where Giles would lecture and bristle, Anya would look at him with that keen insight, nail any problem he had, and tell him how to solve it, in the bluntest way possible. She wasn't squeamish, didn't shy away from the tough subjects, and had even been the one to take him to the store to buy his first box of condoms. His father may have wanted to bury his head in the sand when it came to the fact his son was growing up, but Anya had no such illusions.

"You'd like her," Spike decided after his retrospect. "And I know she'd like you."

"Well, I guess we'll find out at Thanksgiving, won't we?" She settled closer to him on the couch, and rested her cheek over his heart. They were sitting in her living room, the only light coming from the foyer. Mark and Willow had taken her car, and went back to Willow's place. They were supposed to meet at the mansion in the morning to wait for the cleaners to come. After she called them, of course.

Spike went completely still, hope blooming like a flower in his chest. Sure, they had said the 'L' word just a scant few hours before. But meeting the family was big. Huge. It screamed commitment, and he hadn't been sure she was willing to tangle with a rock star for long. Not that he thought she was lying to him when she said it. It was just that being with a musician was a full time job in and of it itself, and he didn't know if she was up to it.

"You sure?" He breathed, afraid to hear her answer, but also afraid not to.

"Let's see. I could go to Arizona with an incredibly hot bass player and meet his mother, who adores him, and his father, who sounds hysterical. Or, I could take the annual trip to my Aunt Martha's house and spend the week fending off her four persian cats, all of which I am desperately allergic to, pretend to like her lime jell-o mold, and gnaw on a turkey so dry it makes Death Valley look like a rain forest," she said, her tone light. Her own heart was pounding as well, wondering if maybe he had told Anya he would ask her just to get his mother off the phone. What if she was overstepping, here? Maybe he didn't want her to meet his family. With a deep, bolstering breath, she raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes. "Seems like an easy choice to me."

For a beat, there was silence. Neither moved as her words swirled through the air, wrapping around him and making him forget to breathe. Then, with a quickness that surprised her, he pulled her into his lap, and let out a laugh.

"Yeah, it does. I would love for you to come home with me, Buffy." He leaned down to capture her smiling mouth in a scorching kiss. As soon as their tongues tangled together, the horror of the past few days melted away, leaving only them. They were both breathless when they pulled back, two pairs of eyes darkened with desire and need.

Buffy raised a shaking hand to the sharp plane of his cheek, and stroked a thumb over the stubble roughened surface.

"I love you, Spike," she whispered, the force of her words choking her.

"I love you too, Buffy," he returned, his throat just as constricted with the emotion squeezing him.

"Make love to me." Her voice was as soft as a caress, the words having an immediate effect on his body. He searched her face, and looked deep into her eyes, pushing his want aside to see if she was sure. All he saw was love, heat, and desire.

"My pleasure," he said with a grin, swallowing her laugh with his mouth. He slowly pushed her back, until she was pressed into the cream colored cushions of the couch. One hand took his weight, while the other skimmed up her thigh, sending a shiver through her. She arched into his touch, her lips meeting his with urgency. Her fingers buried themselves into his soft, bright hair, and one leg hooked around his waist, pressing him against the very center of her.

Slowly, his hand made its way under her shirt to claim one, satin covered mound. She moaned into his mouth when his fingers teased and tugged at the hardening tip, while his tongue never stopped its battle with hers. She moved restlessly beneath him, wanting, needing to feel him. Her hand slid from his hair to his shoulders, and plucked uselessly at the cotton. Taking her hint, he pulled away, heaving in gasps of air as he did so. With one quick movement, the shirt was over his head and on the floor, baring his well sculpted torso to her appreciative eyes. She surged up to taste, running her lips and tongue over the hard muscles of his stomach, making him groan. He pushed her back, shuddering at the feel of her teasing his nipples, just the way he had hers.

Shaking fingers worked on the buttons of her shirt, fumbling once or twice when her touches got to be too much. She looked like sin right now, with her blond hair tousled and her body writhing wantonly beneath him. Her eyes were clouded with desire, her lips bruised from his kisses. Her skin was flushed, and slightly damp with sweat. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And she was his.

A chill hit her skin when the shirt came away, making gooseflesh bump over her skin. She didn't notice, because as soon as she was free from the shirt, his mouth was on her, sucking the hardeed nub through the satin of her bra. Her back bowed, pushing her breast against him. Her fingers scratched lightly over his back, making him moan. He was nestled securely between her spread legs, his hard length pressed intimately against her. She gyrated her hips against him, rubbing the denim clad steel into her heat. She whimpered at the feel, wanting more.

She slicked her hands over his flesh, working them between their bodies to find the button of his jeans. With a flick of her wrist, they were open and she was worming one tiny hand inside, to enclose him in her tiny fist.

"Jesus," he breathed against her skin, rocking into her touch. His eyes drifted closed as the sensations poured over him, pushing him towards the edge before he was ready. With great reluctance, he pulled away from her, smiling at the whimper of loss she let out. "Sh, kitten. There's no rush," he whispered, reaching down to yank open her jeans.

She dutifully raised her hips when he slid them down the sleekness of her legs. She was spread out before him, clad only in a black thong, a matching bra, and her wide open shirt. "So beautiful." He reached down and slid his hand up her thigh, feeling the trembling muscle beneath the smooth skin. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her stomach, nibbling and licking the flesh, letting her moans of pleasure spur him on.

Her hips thrust up at the first brush of his long fingers against her core. When they slipped past the barrier of her panties and stroked the soft wetness of her center, she mewled in pleasure, her fingers diving back into his hair, and silently urging him lower. He took his time, though. With an agonizing slowness, he worked his way down, laving her skin with his tongue, making her weak. Butterflies were running rampant in her stomach, and fire coursed along her veins. Three words kept playing out in her mind, almost in a continual loop. Want. Need. NOW.

Spike settled himself on the floor on his knees, and looked up at her. His eyes locked with hers, two pools of molten lava, burning her with their intensity. When he started to pull down her panties, her mind screamed FINALLY. But he had other ideas. As soon as they were clear of her feet, he lifted one, sleek leg and started to rain kisses along the ankle and calf. His teeth nipped gently, his tongue licked lazily. Each action causing the ball of heat in her abdomen to flare that much hotter. His eyes never left hers as he did this. He wanted to watch her face twist with pleasure, her eyes cloud with it. He wanted her to the point of begging before he finally gave them what they both wanted, and buried himself in her depths.

Buffy nearly howled in frustration when he reached her inner thigh, within a hair's breadth of the center of her ache, and bypassed it instead to repeat his actions on her other leg. He nibbled on her ankle, and rubbed a hand over the other limb, bringing his fingers closer and closer to the place she needed him most, before pulling away. She was trembling with need, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps. Her head tossed on the cushion, spilling her hair around her like sunshine.

"Goddammit, Spike," she hissed when he did it again. His chuckle was cut off when her ankles locked around his neck and she tugged, making him lose his balance and tumble forward. She was bent practically in half, her limberness shocking him briefly. Then, the feel of her fingers pushing at his jeans registered, and he decided she'd had enough. He reached down to help, and soon he was free of the last barrier between them. She practically purred, when she felt the head of his shaft slip between her folds, and poise at the entrance to her body.

"Look at me, Buffy," he said, his voice thick with lust. Their gazes locked, just as he started to push inside. He reveled in the sensation of her yielding to him, taking him in, accepting. A long, broken sob sprang from her lips at the feel of him stretching her, filling her. He seemed made for her, his lean body a perfect match for hers.

He paused when he was completely inside, his muscles vibrating with his fight for control. She was so tight, so wet, and damn perfect, he almost lost it. He lowered his upper body, until his forehead rested against hers, and took a few deep, calming breaths. The shift in their positions drove him further still, making her moan. She tried to wriggle under him, desperate for friction, but his weight held her still.

She cried out in pleasure when he started to move. Long, slow strokes that sent ripples of sensation cascading over her. With each thrust, he angled his hips to stimulate her clit, adding little darts of bliss into the mix. She moved beneath him, in perfect time to his rhythm, urging him faster, harder. Soon, they were coming together in a frenzy of movement, their bodies needing the release that dangled just out of reach.

Moans, pants, and desperate cries for more filled the air. Sweat slicked both their bodies, the moisture adding to the friction. His chest slid across hers, stimulating her nipples in time with his thrusts into her womb. His mouth crashed over hers, demanding, ravenous, and bruising. Buffy's cry was lost in the kiss, as the ball finally unfurled, releasing its fire into her system, and making her plummet. Bright colors sparked behind Spike's eyes when he felt her clench around him, forcing him over the edge with her.

She clutched him tight, riding out the waves of pleasure that coursed under her skin as she felt him empty his seed deep inside her womb. He collapsed fully on top of her, his weight comforting, not stifling. They lay trembling together, for a long time, each amazed at the power of the orgasms they'd just had. It had never been like that for either of them, ever.

After a bit, Spike raised his head and looked down at her. He returned her contented smile with one of his own and pressed a gentle kiss to her slightly parted lips.

"I think it's safe to assume that we were just as involved with that little play in Faith's room," he joked, his eyes serious. She let out a laugh at that, and nodded.

"Yeah. I definitely think we gave them a run for their money." They shared a chuckle at that, the sound muffled by the soft kisses they shared.

"Got the energy to take this upstairs?" he asked, feeling himself harden again, inside her depths.

"No," she breathed, thrusting herself up onto him.

"Guess this couch is going to get a good workout then, ay pet?"

"Oh, yeah," she keened, sliding her legs off his shoulders and wrapping them tight around his waist. They started to rock slowly together, letting their climaxes build slowly, not needing to rush now. Hands molded flesh as mouths tasted, teased. Hips moved in time, angling just right together.

As their cries of release filled the air once more, neither noticed the stunned face of Riley Finn in the window, before he turned quickly and fled into the night.