Chapter Thirty Four






By the end of the night Spike could admit, at least to himself, that the movies were pretty good. Dawn had headed upstairs as soon as the credits started to roll on the second one, her reprieve on her homework over. He and Buffy were sitting on the couch, just enjoying each other's company as the news played softly across the screen.

"Pet," Spike began, feeling his heart start to trip in his chest.

"Mm, yeah?" Buffy's head was resting against his chest, her arm draped across his stomach. She'd changed out of her work clothes, and sat next to him in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

"I have something I need to talk to you about." She raised her head to look at him and saw the nervousness in his eyes.

"What's up?" She pushed herself into a sitting position, a frown marring her brow.

"Well, you see. It's like this, there's something that I really want to do and I don't know how you're going to feel about it. Just know that I'm not going to do it if you don't want," he rambled, his fingers playing idly with hers. Buffy just stared at him, confused beyond words.

"Spike. Just tell me," she urged, scooting closer and running her fingers lightly through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards her, locking his eyes with hers.

"I want to race again," he said with a rush, his eyes never leaving hers. She was silent for a few minutes, as if expecting more. "Did you hear me?" he asked her.

"Yeah, I heard you. But the way you were acting, I thought there might be something else."

"You're not surprised?" He sure was. He didn't expect her to be so calm. She smiled at the dumbfounded expression in his face.

"I knew it was a possibility," she told him, smiling. "I mean, once a race car driver, always a race car driver, right?" Wonderment drifted over Spike's face at her words.

"And you still. . ." he let the sentence hang, his deep blue eyes searching her face.

"Don't get me wrong. It doesn't thrill me. But I know you love it and I love you, so that's really all there is to it." She leaned in and kissed his slack mouth, giggling at the shock on his face. "The only thing I'm worried about is your eyesight." She tilted her head to the side and studied him, her fingers in constant motion over his face.

"I love you," he breathed, gripping her hand and kissing each finger.

"I love you too. So, what do you have to do? I'm pretty sure you've already been checking around, so let me have it." His shock was doubled at that.

"Uh, there's some modifications I have to do to the car, as well as petition the licensing board for consideration. Are you sure?"

"I said I was. Spike, we wasted too much time already. Everybody's right, I never let you go, just told myself I did. I still watched, and I know myself well enough to know that I still would. So the only option left is to support you." She squealed when he hauled her against him, raining kisses across her face.

"I was prepared to grovel and ultimately agree not to do it. You are wonderful," he exclaimed, feeling tears prickling behind his eyes and his love for her swelling in his heart. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips.

"I know. Just keep telling me that everyday."

"Every hour." He kissed her deep, his tongue sliding lazily over hers. "Every second." She moaned into his mouth as he kissed her again, moving herself to straddle his lap. They tore apart at the sound of Dawn's footsteps on the stairs.

"Guys, turn on the news."

"It's on. Why aren't you doing your homework?" Buffy asked, annoyed. All she got in response was the sound of the television volume being raised. She was about to speak again, when she heard a familiar name. Her eyes widened in shocked dismay when the picture of Johnny flashed across the screen. Three pairs of eyes were riveted to the screen, a collective gasp filling the air when Mark's face filled the screen. They listened intently as the reporter spoke, shock and horror surrounding them.

"All involved were transported to Sunnydale Trauma Center." This sentence spurred them into action, no words being spoken as the trio collected shoes and headed out the door.




~*~*~




Willow ran into through the emergency room doors breezing past the reporters hovering outside. Cordelia and Xander, who was cradling Jazz in his arms, were two steps behind her. She wildly searched the waiting room, her eyes falling on the triage desk. She hurried over there, her eyes wild. She had been curled up on the couch in one of Mark's t-shirts and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, steadily working through her ice cream, and her psychology homework, when the phone and the doorbell rang simultaneously. She cradled the phone against her ear, throwing the door open at the same moment. Cordy and Xander's smiles faded at the look of dread that hit her face. Jazz watched the adults with confusion, not understanding the funny way her aunt was talking. As soon as Willow hung up, she flew into motion, throwing on her shoes and grabbing her purse, telling them to take her to the hospital. Her heart hadn't stopped hammering since then.

"Where's shock trauma?" she demanded, listening intently to the directions, then taking off again. They burst through the doors, eyes searching. "Oh, God," she gasped, making a beeline for the figure slumped low on the couch, wearing the top half of medical scrubs. It had only been three hours since she saw him, but he suddenly seemed older than his twenty six years. He looked up when the doors burst open, relief mixed with agony on his face. Mark pushed himself up and moved to her, his long legs carrying him there in three strides. They gripped each other tightly, their bodies shaking. The tiny family stood by, tears in Cordy's eyes, and angry fear in Xander's. Jazz clung tight to her father, scared at the emotions she was feeling from the adults.

"I was so scared," she whispered against his neck, her arms tightening around him. Tears flowed free from her tightly shut eyes. Mark couldn't say anything. He just held onto her, his grip bruising. She didn't care, he was safe and alive. She would experience the worst pain possible if it meant he was alright.

After a few minutes, Mark felt calm enough to pull away a bit, resting his forehead against hers. Neither looked up when the doors opened again, this time admitting Spike, Buffy and Dawn, as well as Giles and Anya. As soon as the reporters had seen Spike, they pounced, making it hard for them to get inside. He'd finally had to threaten one with bodily harm to get the others to back off. Now they were here, their hearts breaking at the sight of their friend so devastated. Nobody thought it odd that they enmassed to the hospital. One of their own was in trouble.

As soon as Willow stepped out of his arms, her hand clenched tightly around his, Cordy and Buffy moved in. He accepted their embraces, relieved that he had these people on his life. He exchanged glances with the men, their support communicated through the brief eye contact. Dawn flung her arms around his neck as soon as the older women moved away, her own tears sliding down her cheeks.

"How is he?" She asked the question nobody else had been brave enough to.

"I don't know. They're operating. He lost so much blood." His words trailed off, emotion clogging his throat.

"Why don't we sit down?" Cordy suggested, motherly instinct kicking in. She ushered the group over to the waiting area, made sure they were settled.

"Dawn, let's go get some coffee and snacks. I think we're in for a long night." Dawn nodded and went with her, leaving the rest of the group in silence.

"Mark." Spike leaned forward, his soft, accented voice pulling his friend out of his daze. "What happened?" Mark blinked rapidly, trying to recall exactly what happened. He told them about the conversation, then the car that hit them. His voice never faltered, until he told them about seeing Johnny, sprawled out on the pavement, his life slipping from him in a thick, red river. He fisted a hand in his lap, his knuckles nearly turning white. Willow ran the fingers of her free hand through his inky locks, her green eyes luminescent.

"When she started to fall, I grabbed for the gun. It was turned around on her, and she got hit. In the shoulder. She'll live." This was said with so much bitterness, that the other adults flinched from it. "They've got her under guard in the psychiatric ward." The cops had already been around to talk to him, asking their questions and leaving him alone. They then put guards up on the entrances, to keep the reporters out. Cordy and Dawn walked up at the end of this, several cups of hot coffee on a tray Dawn was carrying, and a handful of snacks piled in Cordy's. They set the stuff down on the table between the couches, then moved to sit down, a heavy silence settling over the group.




~*~*~




Three hours later the small group was still waiting, drinking what seemed like their millionth cup of too hot, bad coffee. Cordy had left the hour before to take Jazz home, while Ralph and Charlene showed up with the band's manager. Willow had called Mark's and Johnny's grandmother, then proceeded to help her make arrangements to fly out. Mark had stayed sitting on the couch, black eyes trained on the fake wood table in front of him. His blood was singing for nicotine, his Apache soul screaming for revenge. Already, he could feel the call of his ancestors to hack his hair, and scream the death cry for his cousin. He normally didn't practice the traditions of his tribe, but this one seemed to be ingrained in him, calling to him.

Every time the heavy doors leading to the operating room would open, all eyes save his would shoot up to the person walking through. Each time they weren't approached, they would sit back and wait again, tension coiled tight through each of them. Buffy, Dawn and Spike sat huddled together on the couch opposite the stoic Indian, Dawn's head resting on Buffy's lap, Buffy's resting on Spike shoulder. She had her fingers tightly laced through his, her other hand absently stroking her sister's head. Xander had gotten up to pace, for the dual purpose of working out the kinks that were starting to set in, and to expend some nervous energy. His eyes kept darting to the silent man, wondering just what was going on inside of his head. Anya and Giles sat close to each other on one of the other couches across the room.

"Your grandmother's on her way," Willow said softly, sitting next to him and pulling her legs up onto the couch next to her. He nodded, not turning to look at her, but winding his hand around hers. She went back to lightly stroking his hair, her heart threatening to shatter. Johnny was as close as a brother to Mark, and nearly that close to her. She couldn't imagine their life without him, anymore than she could imagine their life without the people surrounding them now. This was her family, their family. If anything happened to any one of them, it would leave an irreparable hole.

Once more, all eyes shot to the door when it opened, a young, dark haired man in scrubs coming through the door. He glanced around the room, making eye contact with each of the people staring back at him, his gaze finally settling on the tall, brunette sitting next to the redhead. He hadn't looked up when he came through the door, his entire body rigid.

"Mr. Lynch?" he questioned, pulling off the cap covering his head. Mark's eyes drifted closed briefly at the sound of his name, before he took a deep breath and stood, pulling Willow with him. The three walked down the hall, just out of earshot. All attention was riveted to them, each taking in the kind, remorseful face of the doctor. They saw him shake his head, his hands punctuating the point he was trying to make. Willow's hand shot up to her mouth, her eyes brimming. She touched her forehead to Mark's arm, her shoulders shaking slightly as she cried.

Dawn and Buffy were already crying quietly, the thought of such a vibrant person being taken before his time breaking their hearts. Spike gathered them close and waited for confirmation, eyes locking with his father's. Tears shone bright in the blue depths of their eyes, their souls aching for the man who was more than a friend. Mark was family, Johnny an extension of that.

Xander stood, shell shocked, watching the trio down the hall. His mind was having a hard time processing that somebody he knew, someone so young was gone.

Ralph cradled his pregnant wife against him, his crystal colored eyes red rimmed with grief. The three of them had grown up together, moving out here with dreams of grandeur that had amazingly come true. Where would they go now? How could they go on?

Mark said something to the doctor, nodding when the man answered. The doctor studied the man in front of him for a brief moment, then turned away. Willow and Mark stayed at the end of the hall, the Indian's stance stiff. Willow stepped in front of him, her tiny hands cupping his face, whispering to him.

None of them heard what she said, but they averted their eyes when a sound that pierced their hearts erupted from the man's throat. He sank slowly to his knees, burying his face in the soft pillow of her breasts, arms banding tight around her. She held onto him, her gaze drifting over to her friends.

"He's gone," she rasped, confirming what they already knew. Her grief stricken eyes went back to her love, her soft voice doing nothing to soothe the savage ache in his heart.




~*~*~




"Mr. Giles, is it true you knew the shooter?"

"Was she an ex-girlfriend?"

"Did she shoot Johnny Lynch in a fit of jealous rage?" Spike ignored all the questions being flung at him as he concentrated on getting his girls away. Xander trailed behind him, pushing a couple of the more overzealous reporters out of the way. Rupert and Anya brought up the end. Flashbulbs went off all around them, making it difficult to see. The six of them were running interference, while what was left of the band and their women slipped out the back with their manager.

"Is it true he left her for Willow Rosenberg?" Spike stopped at that one, and without a word, sent his fist flying into the reporter's nose, the satisfying crunch bringing a bitter smile to his face. He left the man on the pavement, sputtering about lawsuits, while he led his family away.




~*~*~




Cordy sat at the dining room table, trying to lose herself in busy work. Jasmine slept peacefully in her bed, after praying diligently to God that the man with the funny hair would be alright. She hadn't heard from Xander yet, and she didn't want to turn on the news and find out that way. Every time the phone rang, she jumped, her response less than pleasant when it was a sales call, or worse, a reporter. *They certainly did their homework,* she'd thought, after she'd hung up on the last one. Johnny had been a good friend, someone that she teased mercilessly about being a dog. He would merely grin at her and say it was because she kept refusing to run away with him. It hurt to think that she might not be able to have that conversation with him again.

Her eyes shot up to the door when she heard the key in the lock. As soon as she saw him, she knew. Tears rushed to her eyes, and she ran to his open arms. They stayed like that, for a long time, neither knowing what words to say to ease the ache.




~*~*~




"Hey," Connor said, leaning back on his bed to talk. He was in an unusually good mood, what with Angel hightailing it out of Dodge this afternoon with nary a word for his abrupt departure. His mother had been beside herself after he left, leaving the remaining McKenna men to their own devices.

"Hi." He immediately heard the thickness of her voice, like she had been crying.

"What's the matter?" He heard her sniffle and shift on her bed. When she spoke again, she was obviously talking around tears.

"Remember that girl from Mark's party?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"The one that looked like a hooker?" He was happy to hear her giggle, no matter how forced it sounded.

"Yeah."

"What about her?"

"I take it you haven't watched the news?"

"No. Been kinda enjoying the quiet with Angel gone. Baby, what's wrong?"

"She killed him," Dawn forced out. Connor's eyes widened at that, thinking she meant Mark. Or Spike.

"Who, who did she kill?"

"Johnny." The word was barely a whisper, but he heard her and shock permeated his being. He didn't know Johnny very well, other than as the guy with the funky hair. But he knew that he was in Mark's band, and that he was pretty good friends with the rest of them.

"What? How?"

"She shot him. All to get to Mark. She just. . .shot him. Like he was nothing. Like he wasn't human." Bitterness suffused the young girl's words, making his heart hurt for her.

"I'm sorry, baby," he told her, knowing the words wouldn't do much, but feeling the need to say them.

"Would you come over?"

"Consider me already there." They hung up at the same instant and Connor rose to get dressed. He'd never known anyone that had died like that. It was scary. Scarier than anything he'd ever had to deal with in his young life. And if it was like that for him, he could only imagine what it was like for her.

Silently, he opened his window, slipping onto the roof, then jumping to the roof of the shed. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he was off, his only thoughts of getting to her.




~*~*~




"I can't believe he's gone," Buffy said, running a hand over the smooth plains of Spike's chest. His fingers played lightly in her hair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was remembering a time a couple of years back, when he, Mark and Johnny had met at a little roadhouse bar, then got in a fight with the locals. They had been the only three left standing, and Spike had gone on to win the race the next day with the second worst hangover he'd ever had.

"Me either," he said, pulling her nude form over his. She immediately slid onto his shaft, needing him to make her forget, if only for a little while. They moved together slowly, not needing to rush, just needing to feel. They'd both had people they loved die, but that was from a disease. Something that couldn't be helped. This was so. . .violent. So senseless. And it left them both feeling a little lost.

Buffy rose above him, her golden skin bathed in the moonlight from the open window. They whispered words of love to each other, slowly cresting over the peak, and settling on the downside slowly. When she collapsed against him, he held on, feeling the warm saltiness of her tears hitting his chest. He ignored his own and stroked her back, kissing the fragrant silk of her hair.


~*~*~




Willow opened the door to their apartment and pulled Mark quickly inside. She happily slammed the door on the reporters at their heels, a nasty smile on her face. After flipping all the locks, she turned on the light, then faced Mark. He was standing in the middle of the room, his dark head hanging low, his hands fisted at his sides. He hadn't said a word since they left the hospital and she was starting to worry. He wasn't one to internalize.

"Mark, baby?" she called softly, walking over to him. He didn't answer or show any sign that he had heard her. She bit her trembling lip and took his hand again, leading him towards their room. He followed her, like a child, his tall frame sagged over with grief.

Once she got him in the room, she started to undress him, like she had so many other times. Only, this was different. This had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with love. Her gentle fingers slid the ugly green scrub top off his muscular arms and tossed it on the floor. She then sat him on the bed so she could pull his boots off. Once that was done, she stood him back up and unbuttoned his jeans, coaxing him to step out of them. When he was nude, she managed to get him into bed, where he lay, his eyes staring unseeing at the pictures on the wall.

She quickly stripped, then slid into bed next to him, winding her arms around him and spooning herself against his back. She got up once, to turn the ringer off the phone, knowing her friends would understand when she didn't answer. Then she settled back next to him, talking softly to him, silent tears running down her face.




~*TBC*~

 

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Five








It was amazing how many people crawled out of the woodwork when someone died. People that Mark was sure he hadn't seen since elementary school were suddenly talking to the press. Psychologists were putting labels on Crystal's actions, and saying how it really wasn't her fault. Mark had a few choice words for those assholes. Most of which couldn't be said in polite company.

When it came out that Spike had also been involved with her, that just doubled the shit that hit the fan. She had exhibited stalker tendencies in the past, clearly shifting her attention between the three men. Suddenly, the 'friends' that were making their rounds on the airwaves, were trying to blame the trio, saying that they must've made promises to her. The real kicker, to Spike, was when Druscilla showed up on Good Morning America, telling the country how he had left her pregnant and alone. One phone call from his lawyer had her retracting her story, and an official apology was issued by the network.

MTV did a tribute show, playing their six videos and airing old interviews with the band. The new album had been released by the record company, because after all, death sells. The cd's and tapes flew off the shelves, and in the week since he died, it was in its third pressing. Ebay was doing a hopping business, with people eager to sell their Native Soul shirts, records and memorabilia. Reporters were constantly calling, camping outside the houses of the friends, and making their usually quiet lives unbearable. For Spike and Mark it was a step above the norm. For the rest of them, it was like they were on another planet. Rehashes of the shooting were airing on CNN, with reenactments and play by play descriptions. Johnny's life was being picked apart on air, his every action scrutinized.

Flowers, stuffed animals, letters and other things were piling up outside of Johnny's townhouse, the exit ramp where he was shot, and Mark and Willow's place. Fans were sending cards in droves, making donations to charities in his name, anything to make themselves feel better. The outpouring amazed all involved, all of them finally realizing how many people the band had touched.

The funeral was set for Saturday, with a memorial service in the morning, followed by the burial at the cemetery. Mark and his grandmother, Wanda, had gone rounds on where to bury him. Luckily, Johnny's lawyer had stepped in, with a very detailed list of everything Johnny had wanted. And that included a burial in Sunnydale. Wanda had been disappointed, but she hadn't argued anymore.

Mark hadn't improved much since they came home from the hospital. Besides the argument he'd had with his grandmother, he had hardly spoken to anybody, not even acknowledging his family when they showed up. He clung to Willow like a lifeline, counting on her to make most of the decisions. She watched over him like a hawk, keeping anyone and anything away that might cause him more pain. She was worried about him, and would more often than not, find him at his piano, beating out his grief on the keys. She wondered how long it would be, and just what it would take for him to finally break.








~*~*~

Spike looked down at the metallic blue surface of the race car, his hand stroking the surface adoringly. Grief settled through him, causing him to blink his eyes against it. This, this machine, and the racing, that's what he understood. Not the death of a friend, not the fact that he should be getting ready to go to that friend's funeral. Or how the person that killed him could be sitting, very much alive and well, in a jail cell, selling her story to the National Enquirer.

Buffy walked into the garage, the skirt to her plain, black dress swirling around her knees. He didn't look up when he heard her heels clicking across the pavement. She took in the unyielding lines of his body, dressed appropriately in a well fitting black suit, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, and the tie hanging loose around his neck. The sharp line of his jaw held a couple of days worth of stubble, and his hair was a wild disarray of white curls. He had barely slept in the last week, his temper growing shorter with each reporter that called, and each photographer they found hiding in the bushes. She and Dawn had gone to stay at his house, it being easier to hire guards for the door.

"It's funny, you know. I still expect him to call out of the blue and drag me out to get into trouble." She smiled at that, coming to a stop in front of him. "I mean, we only saw each other a couple of times a year, with our schedules, but whenever we got together, it was like no time had passed."

"I know. Johnny had that way about him. He and Mark both do. Or did." A frown marred her brow. "I don't know how I'm supposed to talk about him anymore," she said quietly. She thought about seeing him at Mark's party, and leaving so early. Because of that bitch. And now, she had taken away someone that deserved to live a long happy life. If Buffy had known, she would have kicked the bitch's ass before they left.

"I know what you mean," Spike agreed, taking her hands and pulling her to him. "Did you talk to Willow?" She nodded, closing her eyes and taking comfort from him.

"The limo's coming soon. We should get back and make sure Connor and Dawn are ready."

"Yeah, I suppose so." He pulled away from her and brushed his lips softly across hers. He gently ran a thumb under her eye to collect the tear hovering there, then took her hand. "Let's get this bloody circus over with," he growled, walking with her out of the garage, taking one last look at the car before closing and locking the door.




~*~*~




"Are you almost ready?" Cordy walked into the bedroom, dressed in a trim, black suit. Xander stood in front of the mirror, struggling with his tie. She walked over to him, brushed his hands out of the way, and took over. In less than a minute, she had it tied and was smoothing the ends over his chest.

"You alright?" She nodded, raising her dark eyes to his.

"Yeah. Still a little disbelieving, I think." He sighed, and ran his hands over her arms, linking their fingers together.

"I know. Me too. Can't imagine how Mark's handling it."

"Not well. I think the only thing that could be worse for him, is if it had been Willow. I don't think Crystal would still be alive, if it had been." Xander grunted in agreement, thinking along the same lines.

"I guess the limo will be here soon?"

"Should be. Do you think it'll be a total madhouse?" She turned and pulled him out of the room, grabbing her slim purse off the dresser as she went.

"Not total. Our parents won't be there." She rolled her eyes, and let out a huff of air.

"You're sure you don't mind my parents watching her tonight?" She'd hated to ask, but she didn't know how long the service, then wake, were going to last and they couldn't afford the price a babysitter would charge for an overnighter.

"No. As long as she doesn't come home with the deed to Disneyland." She smiled at his joke, loving him more for the attempt to put her at ease. She glanced over at the door when the knock sounded and sighed.

"I guess this is it," she said, double checking her purse one more time. Then, she took the hand he held out to her, drawing from the strength he held, and followed him out the door.




~*~*~




"Are you sure you want to go, dear? You don't have to," Rupert said, looking down at the woman who had worked her way into his heart. She just smiled, and helped him straighten his tie, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket.

"Yes, I do. These people are your family. And I want to be your family, too," she told him, her voice thickening with emotion. Even though she had only met Johnny the one time, he had made quite the impression on her. He was so much like Mark, yet not. A joke was always falling from his lips, and he was quick to smile. She didn't think it was right that he was dead. And it bothered her more than it should have.

"You are," he said quietly, looking away shyly. Tears brimmed in her eyes at that, and she brushed a kiss across his mouth.

"Let's go," she whispered, smiling at him again. He nodded, taking off his glasses to clean them, following her out of the room.




~*~*~




Buffy felt her heart hammering in her chest as they pulled up in front of the church. Surrounding the entrance, in an area that had been roped off, were throngs of weeping fans, reporters and photographers. A long black carpet had been laid out to the entrance, giving the mourners and unfettered path inside.

Spike squeezed her hand reassuringly, giving her a tight smile before the door swung open. Screams from the people who had just shown up to see who would come, rose loudly through the air when his white head emerged from the car. He didn't even spare them a glance, just turned back towards the limo and held out his hand to help Buffy from the car. She turned and shared a wide eyed look with Dawn, before taking his hand and stepping out. Connor followed and helped Dawn out, then they turned and walked together into the church.

Buffy let out a gasp as she walked inside, the people in the church a who's who of the LA music scene. She tried like hell not to look like a simple fan, gaping at all the famous faces she saw. A few seconds later, she was jolted back to reality, when Spike led her up the aisle, and the casket came into view. Tears welled up in her eyes at the sight of the gleaming black surface, the interior the color of sapphires. Next to it, on an easel, was a blown up glossy of Johnny, his long form braced against a brick wall, a huge smile on his face. Brightly colored flowers of all kinds were arranged around it and a bouquet of orchids was draped across the closed portion. She kept her eyes on the rich colors surrounding him, not ready to see his face yet.

Spike walked slowly to the front, nodding to the occasional familiar face, keeping his own eyes averted. He hated this part, feeling like he was some sort of voyeur. His father had thankfully chosen to have a closed casket when Rosemary died, but he had been to others where that wasn't the case. As they moved through the line, they saw Mark and Willow seated in the front row. Next to them was Wanda, Johnny's sisters Trisha and Kelly, and their husbands. Ralph and Charlene were seated behind them with Carl Monroe, their manager, and his wife. Cordy and Xander were already seated, talking quietly to each other.

Willow and the rest of Mark's family were speaking to the mourners that came to offer their condolences. Mark just sat, looking straight at the floor, his usual proud stance slumped. He didn't seem to realize where he was, or care. Buffy caught Willow's eyes, giving her a small smile. The redhead returned it, staring at her best friend for a long time before turning back to the people in front of her.

"He looks like shit," Spike said, his voice rough. Buffy just nodded in agreement, raising her tissue to her eyes to catch the tears there.

"Are you okay?" she asked her sister, who was clutching Connor's hand like he would disappear if she let go. Dawn nodded, her huge, azure eyes riveted to the front of the room. Buffy squeezed her hand, then turned to follow Spike, her grip tightening on his hand. A few more steps and they'd be there. Her stomach started to roll dangerously, and she prayed she wouldn't throw up. Not only would it be mortifying, but she was pretty sure it wasn't the most respectful thing in the world.

She felt Spike take a deep breath and glanced up at him. His eyes moved to hers, the bottomless depths swirling with everything he was feeling.

"Ready?" he whispered, when it was their turn. She nodded, her lips compressing into a thin line. "Right then." Together, they stepped up to the casket, the lame thought *He just looks like he's sleeping* running through both their minds.

Another bone of contention between Wanda and Mark was what Johnny would be buried in. Willow had told Buffy that Wanda wanted him to be buried in a suit, his hair died back to his natural color, and cut. Mark wouldn't hear of it. Johnny was going to look like he had in life. With his pink hair, and ripped jeans. A Native Soul t-shirt adorned his chest, as did the arrowhead necklace he always wore. In his ear dangled a gold hoop. In his hand he clutched a set of drumsticks.

Buffy eyes started swimming as she looked down into his face, half expecting him to sit up and start laughing at all the hullabaloo he had caused. She turned away when she felt the tug of Spike's hand, moving blindly with him, knowing he wouldn't let her fall.




~*~*~




Wanda Lynch sat on the bed in the guest bedroom of her grandson's apartment, a picture of her two boys clutched to her chest. Tears that she wouldn't allow to fall at the services streamed down her weathered cheeks, falling unheeded from her chin. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She had already lost her two sons, why had God seen fit to take her grandson?

She pulled the picture away and looked down at it, tracing a finger over his face. It didn't matter to her that he wasn't really her blood. He had only been a year old when his mama had married her youngest, and from that day on, he was family. When the car accident had claimed his parents and Mark's, Wanda had taken on the Herculean task of raising four children, at an age when she should have been living out her own life. It had never even crossed her mind to try to find Johnny's other kin. He had been part of the package, and she had accepted it gladly.

Not that he hadn't been a trial. Oh no, her Johnny thrived on testing the boundaries, always trying to gain that extra inch. He'd been suspended from school more days than he attended, and he often led the other children when it came to acts of mischief. It had seemed odd to her that he would choose to play the drums, an instrument that would take him away from the spotlight. But he had managed to be just as much a part of it as Mark or Ralph.

Now, he was gone. A light snuffed out on Earth, only to shine eternally in the heavens.

Wiping the tears away, she stood, placing the picture back on the nightstand. She kissed the tips of her fingers, then touched them to his smiling face, saying a final goodbye. She had buried her husband, her two sons, and her grandson. She still had another grandson, who was lost right now, and two granddaughters that were heartsick at the loss of their brother.

Straightening herself up, she smoothed down her skirt and left the room. Now was the time to deal with the living.




~*~*~




Mark sat at the piano, his fingers playing idly over the keys. He was aware of the people around him, his friends and family, but he couldn't seem to make himself do the things he knew he should be doing. None of them seemed to want to disturb him, but he could feel Xander and Spike hovering around him, waiting, but not pushing. That's why they were his best friends. They could offer support without saying a word, allowing him to come to them in his own time.

He knew that Willow was watching him from the kitchen, on guard for anyone that may upset him. He couldn't count the times she'd taken on Wanda, in an effort to keep him from having to deal with her. He knew that Trisha and Kelly were looking to him to give them comfort and support, but he couldn't, not with this blanket over his emotions.

He wondered, as he switched songs, just when this numbness that had settled over him was going to fade. He hadn't felt much since Willow led him home from the hospital, undressing him and tucking him into bed like a child. Everything seemed hollow and out of place. It almost seemed like he was seeing everything through tunnel vision. Or like it was all happening around him, not TO him. His cousin was dead. The only brother he'd had, and he didn't feel anything. When would it stop? When would it hurt, so he could be sure that he was still alive, instead of this shell?

He'd thought of asking Willow, or Wanda, but he didn't think they would have the answers. Wanda would spew off something about God's Will, and Willow would just take him in her arms, and tell him she didn't know. He'd prefer Willow's, since it was at least honest. She would hold him until he started to feel again, then hold him until it stopped hurting, but he wanted all these people gone before he allowed himself that luxury. Then, he would curl up with her and forget about the world.

The people around him continued to talk softly, their eyes occasionally drawn to the man at the piano. He never seemed to tire, just continued to play, eyes staring intently at his hands. Nobody bothered him. Nobody tried to approach him. They just listened to his songs, the notes telling them of his heartbreak better than his words ever could.




~*TBC*~

 

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Six






With a tired sigh, Willow closed the door behind the last of Mark's family. She rested her forehead on the door, and took a minute to collect herself. It had been a hectic eight days, starting the night Johnny was shot, and finally ending now. Well, not totally ending. It wouldn't totally end until those reporters stopped hiding in the stairwell, trying to get a glimpse of them. As it were, they'd had to hire a guard to escort his grandmother, and the rest, to the airport.

Maybe now, Willow thought, closing her eyes. Maybe now that it was quiet, and the people were all gone, maybe Mark would finally start to grieve. He needed to, keeping it all in was going to drove him crazy. He'd barely said a word when Wanda kissed him goodbye, a sad look in her dark eyes. Trisha and Kelly hadn't even tried, the two feeling slightly resentful at how he was acting. Willow hadn't had any tolerance for any of them past the funeral. She loved Mark's family. She really did. But the only one that she could stand to be around for longer than an hour was dead.

Another sigh erupted form her at the thought, and she let the tears that burned her eyes fall free. She'd been running around like a crazy woman for the last several days, pushing away her own grieving to attend to everything else. Now that it was over, she could finally let go. Memories of Johnny flittered through her mind, like so many leaves blowing in the wind. The last time she'd met them on the road, and he had witnessed a fight between her and Mark. He'd been one of the many that thought they didn't argue. He'd been wide eyed and stunned to see Willow rip into him because Mark had signed a girl's breast. Okay, so she'd had a bra on, but it was the point. He'd then been even more stunned when, not two minutes later, the fight had been forgotten, and they were snuggled together on the couch, watching tv.

Or the first time a reporter had suggested that there was something illicit going on between them, because he had taken her out while Mark was stuck in an interview. That particular reporter had seen the wrong side of Johnny's fist that day. Of course, that had only fueled the reporter on, as well as land Johnny in a civil suit, but Willow had thought that it had been sweet that he was defending her honor. No matter how much she abhorred violence.

Pushing away from the door, she started to straighten up the disarray that came from having a steady stream of people through your home for days. She knew she could wait for the morning to do it, but she needed to keep busy. Mark was in their bedroom, watching tv. Or at least the tv was on. She didn't think he was actually seeing what was on the screen.

She spent the next few minutes tidying things up, thinking about how lost he was. Wanda had tried to talk to him, telling him that he couldn't stay in the bubble he had put himself in. Mark hadn't seemed to hear her. She'd pressed on, trying to get through to him, until Willow had finally had to step in. It wasn't working, and it was time to give it up for now. She'd seen the flair of resentment in the other woman's eyes, but Willow couldn't be bothered with it. He would come out of it in his own time, and not a second before it.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts, that she didn't hear him behind her until she felt the gentle touch on her shoulder. With a short scream, she whirled to face him, her hand coming up to rest over her heart.

"Mark, you scared me," she gasped, giving him a half smile. He looked down at her with a confused look on his face, the phone cradled in his hand. "Baby, what's the matter ? Did you want to call somebody?" she asked him, reaching up to cup his hand in hers. Her green eyes looked into his black ones, a frown drawing her brows together.

"Johnny," he rasped, looking down at their hands. His voice was rough and rusty, ravaged from disuse and the chain smoking he had been doing.

"What?" she asked, shaking her head slightly. He looked up at her again, tilting his head to the side.

"I tried to call Johnny." A smile that didn't reach his eyes settled on his lips. "I saw something on the tv that he would have thought was funny, and I picked up the phone to call him. I didn't even think." His words were baffled, his brow creased with a frown. "It didn't hit me, until his answering machine picked up, what I had done." Willow reached up and traced a thumb over his cheek, wiping away the salty tracks that slid from his eyes. "Why would I do that? How could I forget? I was there, I saw him. . .bleeding." He looked down at the floor, and waved the hand that wasn't holding the phone towards where he was staring, as if Johnny was right there, lifeless on their floor.

"Oh, baby. It's okay," Willow whispered, capturing her trembling lip between her teeth. She flinched when he jerked back.

"NO!" he snapped, anger and grief flaring in his eyes. "It's not. It not going to be okay. It's not okay that he's dead.
It's not okay that that little. . .BITCH is still alive." Willow wanted so desperately to reach out to him, and soothe him in some way. She didn't, instinctively knowing that he needed this. "WHY?" He threw his head back, arms flung out to the side and screamed at the ceiling. "WHY!WHY!WHY!" He whirled around and heaved the phone across the room, shattering it against the wall. Willow clasped her hands and raised them to her mouth, her heart breaking again at the desperation in his voice. "WHY THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN!?" He stalked around the apartment, picking random things to hurl. She just watched him, not caring about the destruction he was causing. She gasped when he snatched the platinum record off the wall, staring down at it with so much hate, it made her ache. When it went flying through the air, she jumped involuntarily. Mark watched it break and fall, hands fisted and chest heaving. "AAAAHHHH!!!" He screamed, falling to his knees, and slumping forward. "Why wasn't it me?" This was said so low, that she almost didn't hear him. Her eyes widened in horror at that. She rushed to his side, her hands gripping his shoulders.

"Don't say that," she demanded, trying to force him to look up at her. "Don't you ever say that. Do you know what it would do to me if it was you? I loved Johnny. We all did. And it sucks," her voice broke then, thinking that there weren't strong enough words to describe what it was, " that he's gone. But wishing it was you doesn't do any good now. You have to think about what he would have wanted. Do you think that he would want you doing this? Hell no. Yes, he'd want you to scream, and cry, and get drunk, but he wouldn't want this." She waved a hand around the disaster that had been their apartment, then gripped his shirt again. "I love you. Don't say that you want it to have been you." She was crying in earnest now, her fingers turning white from the force of her grip in his shirt. He looked up at her then, feeling as if a wall was breaking inside of him. Her anguish screamed through him, making him realize what he had just done.

"Oh, no. Baby, God no. I never want to leave you." He reared up on his knees, his hands encircling her face, his lips covering hers. "Never." Their kisses were bruising, their touches rough. He hauled her against his chest, squeezing her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair, and drinking in the sweet smell that clung to her. She held on, rubbing her hands over his shaking shoulders, and through his hair, relief flooding through her that he seemed to finally be letting it out. He pulled her with him when he collapsed on the floor, both heedless to the mess they rested on. They stayed like that, as the sun faded in the sky, drawing a close to another day.


~*~*~


"Hey, Dawn." Two weeks after the funeral, Spike stumbled into the kitchen and straight to the coffee pot. He poured what was left from the pot Buffy had made before she left for work and put the mug in the microwave. Dawn's nose wrinkled at the thought of four hour old coffee.

"You know, if you didn't spend all night playing with that car of yours, then coming home and keeping me up the rest of the night, you might actually get that fresh once in a while," she told him, chuckling at the blush that crept up his cheeks.

"Dawn. You shouldn't talk about that stuff," he admonished, embarrassed.

"Why? You're the ones doing it. I'm the one that's scarred for life from listening to it," she said pointedly. He scowled at her, then turned away to retrieve his cup from the microwave.

"So, why aren't you in school?" Dawn shrugged a shoulder and twirled the pencil she was holding in her hand.

"Buffy worked it out with Snyder to let me get my assignments and work on them from home, until all the hub bub winds down." She looked down at the book she was supposed to be reading then back up at him. "Do you think we can stay here?" He nearly choked on his coffee at her quiet question. His bright blue eyes locked with hers.

"What?" She fidgeted under his intense stare and threw the pencil down.

"Can we stay here? I mean, we'll probably be moving in here after you guys get married anyway, and it just seems silly for you guys to do the sleep over thing. I mean, you are a little OLD for that."

"Hey!" he snapped, walking over to sit next to her. "What brings this on, pet?" Her gaze dropped to the table.

"Well, it's just. . ."

"Tell me." He tucked a finger under her chin, and tilted her head up.
"It's just that, ever since Mom died, it just doesn't seem like home anymore."

"Have you talked to Buffy about this?" She rolled her eyes, but he saw the fear hiding just behind the surface.

"Yeah, right. She's been trying to play family since it happened. Wanting to keep things as normal as possible. The thing is, nothing is normal. We're living in Mom's house, but we're doing nothing to make it OURS. It's still Mom's." She didn't know if she was saying it right, but Spike looked like he understood.

"You know I don't mind, Nibblet. It's up to Buffy though. I'll talk to her when I get home tonight," he said, standing.
"Okay?" She nodded, and picked up her pencil again.

"Thanks."

"Absolutely." He ran a hand over her hair as he left the kitchen to get dressed and head to the garage and meet Xander.


~*~*~


"Tyler. Hey, it's Spike. How's it going?" Spike leaned back in his chair, and kicked his feet up on the desk. "That's great. I'm looking to put a crew together. Yeah, I got a car. Who's driving? Uhm, me. Yeah. They cleared it. No, I'm not bullshitting you. So, you in?" Spike tapped an unlit cigarette against his knee while he listened. "Oh, I see. Well, I hope that works out for you. Yeah. Give me a call if you change your mind. Alright. Bye." He glared at the phone as he hung it up, finally lighting the cigarette.

"Let me guess. Got an offer from some other owner, with a driver that doesn't have vision impairment. Sorry and don't call me, I'll call you," Xander said, walking into the office.

"Something like that." Spike sat forward and looked over at his friend, smoke curling around his head. "You know, there was a time when people were fighting to work with me." He shook his head, fighting back a flair of bitterness.

"We'll find em, Spike. Don't get all down. Don't think any of us could handle that again. Especially with everything that just happened." Spike grunted in agreement, smoking thoughtfully.

"Maybe we should try the dirt tracks. We still have three months to Daytona. That should give us enough time to whip em into shape." It was now the beginning of November, and they had until February. He'd already talked to NASCAR officials to get a number assigned, and had been amazed to find out that his old one was available. Sheldon had apparently let it go when he fired Spike. The blonde had taken it as a sign, and had quickly paid the fee. Once they sent the car off to be painted, it would be black. It was whether or not they would have a sponsor, that was still up in the air.

"Have you talked to Mark?" Spike shook his head, an eerie feeling passing over him when it seemed Xander had read his mind.

"No. And I don't want to call him. Just cause life has moved on for us, doesn't mean it has for him yet."

"It has." They both turned to see Mark, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The only sign that he wasn't one hundred percent was the haunted look in his eyes.

"Hey man." Xander stood and walked over to him, shaking his hand and pulling him into a brief hard hug. Spike did the same, then settled back in his chair, while the other two men sat.

"How're you doing?" the Brit asked him, stabbing out his cigarette.

"Getting along," was the answer. Not much could be said in return, so they sat in a comfortable silence. "Having trouble getting a crew together?" Mark asked, leaning back into his chair, and resting his ankle on his knee. Spike heaved a heavy sigh and glanced at Xander.

"We'll get one together. S'not a problem." He waved a hand, dismissing it, but Mark saw the worry in his eyes.

"Let me make a few calls. Knew some guys back when you started. I know a couple aren't attached to any teams right now. Let me see what's going on with them."

"Really? Awesome," Xander said, smiling.

"Now, about the sponsorship." Spike's smile faltered, but he managed to keep it in place.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I understand." Mark smiled sadly at him, shaking his head.

"That's not what I mean." He glanced between his friends, pulling out a cigarette. "I still want to do it. But, I want a modification on some of the specs." Spike's brows drew together.

"Anything. It's up to you, after all."

"Good. I can't hang around right now, though. I'll call you tonight. We'll talk then. Have a meeting with the brass at the record company." He looked less than thrilled at this. "They wanna know what me and Ralph are gonna do," he said, his voice a near whisper.

"How can they try to make you decide that so soon?" Xander was shocked.

"It's all about the mighty dollar, folks," Mark said bitterly. He leaned forward and put out his cigarette. "I'll call you," he repeated, standing and shaking Spike's hand again. He then saluted Xander and walked out, his mind in a whirlwind. He didn't know how they could expect him to go on in this group without his cousin, his musical soulmate.

Xander and Spike watched him go, their problems suddenly seeming not so big.


~*TBC*~
 

Chapter Thirty Seven

A/n- for those wondering about just WHEN Spike is going to propose, don't worry. I have a very specific idea in mind, so, bear with me.




Chapter Thirty Seven




"How's she feel?" Xander's tinny voice came through the earphone.

"Better than sex," Spike purred, pressing down on the accelerator, urging the car faster.

"Better not let Buffy hear you say that." Xander watched from the tower, a huge grin splitting his face. It had been a month since Johnny's death, and things were finally settling down. Crystal had taken a plea bargain, since she had no real hope of acquittal. So, she would serve out her twenty five years to life.

Mark and Ralph had decided to continue on, not because that's what the record company wanted, but because that's what Johnny would have wanted. They were still in the process of auditioning new drummers, searching for just the right one. Willow and Charlene thought they were looking for another Johnny.

Dawn had gone back to school, the reporters gone, but her classmates just as bad. They were constantly trying to get information out of her, or gossiping behind her back. It got so bad that Spike offered to put her in private school. Dawn opted to take the early graduation tests, and was preparing to take them right before Christmas. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, that didn't give her much time.

The two girls were still at Spike's. It had never been discussed, because he'd never found a way to bring it up. But since Buffy didn't look to be in a hurry to go anywhere, he didn't press it. He'd allowed Dawn to put posters up in her room, and fresh flowers and bowls of potpourri started to show up throughout the rest of the house. He nearly choked when he saw the lace doilies. A multi-colored throw was now draped across the back of the couch, and where he'd had his pictures just tacked to the walls, ornate frames now held them. He'd smirk every time he saw something new that Buffy brought in, wondering why she hadn't done this to her mother's house. It was slowly becoming as much hers as it was his, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Xander and Cordy had come to a tentative truce with her parents, letting them know in no uncertain terms that if they interfered in their lives again, they would be cut off from Jazz. Two days ago, Cordy had told Xander that she was pregnant. He couldn't even describe the way his heart constricted, not in a bad way. As far as he was concerned, he had everything, his wife, his dream, a beautiful daughter, and a baby on the way. Life was good in the Harris household.

They had rented out the Sunnydale track three nights a week to get Spike used to driving the car with the extra mirrors. It didn't seem that much different to him, the extra mirrors actually giving him an advantage. The fact that they had allowed him to put the side mirrors on was nothing short of a miracle. The biggest problem was that they messed with the aerodynamics of the car, and he had to adjust to that. Of course, since Daytona was a restricter plate race, he'd have to draft the other drivers to get ahead anyway, so maybe that added resistence wouldn't matter.
He'd been worried, at first, that he had lost his edge, or that he would be afraid. But once he got back into the car, it had been just like saying hello to an old friend. Then again, he didn't know how he was going to do once there were other cars on the track, but he refused to be negative. Even if he came in dead last, he would still be able to say he'd done it.

Mark had come through with two of his friends, and Xander had found a couple of people from the track. And surprisingly, Spike had managed to lure a couple away from other owners. He'd then bought another car, since a back up was required. The paint jobs wouldn't be done until right before Daytona, the new design not being unveiled until qualifying. Things were starting to fall into place, even the other driver that Spike had been scoping out.

He knew that he would only do this once. He loved it, and would miss it terribly, but it wasn't worth the risk. So, he would retire after the race he'd made his debut in, then sit back and let someone else have the glory. He hadn't told Buffy yet, having something very special in mind for when he did.

"Don't think I will. I like my bits where they are." He heard Xander's laugh through the earphone and grinned himself.

"Bring her in," the brunette told him, starting to climb down.

"Roger." Spike zipped around the track one more time, then rolled into the garage area, sliding to a stop. Xander came over to help him out of his safety equipment. Spike pulled himself out of the car and accepted the bottle of water from his friend.

"Well, I think you're both ready. Too bad we still have two and a half months.

"Yeah. I'm itching to test her with the big boys again," Spike agreed.

"Not nervous at all?" He took a minute to consider his answer.

"Scared shitless," he said with a laugh. Xander snorted, and pulled the headphones off. They walked into the garage bay, pulling off the equipment still attached to them.

"As long as you have things in perspective. Let's get this girl put to bed, shall we? I have a pregnant wife to get home to." The goofy grin that spread across the brunette's face made a pang of good natured jealousy flare through his chest.

"Better take her home some pickles and ice cream, then."

"Yech. You know, she never had those weirdo cravings. She'd just want stuff at odd hours. Like ribs at three o'clock in the morning." Spike chuckled at that, and stripped out of his firesuit, then pulled on his jeans and boots.

"Oh, don't sound so bleedin' downtrod. You know you love it."

"Yeah. I do," Xander agreed, checking for his car keys. "You mind pulling her in?"

"Nah. Get outta here. Give them a kiss for me," he called as the brunette beelined it out of the bay.

"Alright. See you tomorrow." Spike shook his head and chuckled, folding his firesuit and placed it on the workbench. He then went outside to bring in the car.

He was just pulling himself out of it when Buffy walked in.

"Hey," he said, jumping to the floor.

"Hey yourself." She walked up to him and slid her arms around his neck, pushing up on her tip toes to press her mouth to his. He moaned deep when her tongue pushed inside to tease his.

"What was that for?" he asked, breathless. She smiled, her eyes sliding over his naked chest.

"Well, when I walked in and saw you all shirtless and sweaty, I just couldn't control myself." His brows shot up at
that, a sensual smile curling his lip.

"Really? Remind me to walk around shirtless and sweaty more often."

"Gladly," she purred, stepping away from him so he could finish what he was doing. Giving her a heated look, he walked over to the bay doors and pulled them down. She walked idly around the garage, picking up a tool here and there, inspecting it, then putting it back down. She ran a hand over the still warm hood of the car, turning to lean against it when he was done locking the doors. He crossed over to her with the grace of a cat, his eyes roaming over her tiny frame, the look in his blue orbs causing her blood to sing. She was wearing a pair of loose shorts and a tank top. The erect outline of her nipples told him she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Something tells me my girl came here for something." His voice flowed like silk over her, making her tingle. She slid up onto the car, the heat from the machine penetrating the thin cotton of her shorts, and amazingly causing another wave of tingles to hit her. She parted her knees so he could step between them, his reaction to seeing her propped against his car pressing intimately against her core. She dragged her nails lightly over his skin, smiling when the muscles under her hands quivered.

"Haven't you ever wanted to make love on your car?" she whispered, nipping her teeth along his jawline. His hands began sliding up the smooth flesh of her thigh, his head tilting to afford her more access. Her tongue darted out to taste the salty skin of his throat, his groan vibrating his Adams apple under her lips. The thought of taking her, right here, caused him to harden further.

"Buffy wants to be bad," he hissed, brushing his lips across hers. When his teeth gently bit her lip, she sucked in air, and leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his bare chest. Buffy's hands drifted over his chest, teasing his flat nipples, then lower across his ridged stomach. When her fingers brushed the clasp of his jeans, he thrust his hips forward, inviting. She flashed a wicked smile against his mouth, then with a quick flick of her wrist, had the button fly open. She pushed her hand inside, gliding her fingers over the ridges and contours of his shaft, lightly dragging her nails across the velvety skin. "Jesus," he breathed, burying a hand in her hair, and crashing his mouth over hers. His other hand wandered under her top, smoothing over her skin to cup her heaving breast, and flicking his thumb over the hard peak. Her hand fisted around him at the motion, her mewling noises lost to his growl. She began to slowly pump her hand, her tongue mimicking her hand's movements in his mouth.

She went willingly when he started to lay her back, but she protested when he pulled her hand away.

"Hold on, pet. I'll let you play," he promised, pushing her top up and capturing a stiff, dark nipple in his mouth. She clutched uselessly at the smooth metal of the car, arching her back as he rolled his tongue over her flesh. The heat from the car, coupled with the heat from his body pressed against hers, had arousal shooting through her with a dizzying force. She found herself having a new appreciation for stock cars.

Spike feasted lazily upon her breast, until he was satisfied that he had paid it proper attention, before leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses across the valley in between to the other. While he was doing this, he worked her shorts over her hips, groaning against her flesh when he realized she was sans panties. He pushed them as far as he could, before they got hampered by her spread legs. He pulled away from his task, much to her dismay, and started to trail his tongue down over her stomach, stopping to dip into her naval, before nipping his way down her abdomen, all the while maneuvering her shorts down. She writhed against the hood of the car, grinding her hips against the heated metal.

"You like that, luv? The feel of the car underneath your naked body?" he asked, tossing the shorts to the side. "Like how hot it is against your skin?" He stood over her flushed body, skimming his fingertips up her legs. She pulled them up, resting her ankles on his shoulders, her cloudy hazel eyes meeting his near black ones. "Do you, Buffy? Do you want me to make love to you on top of this car? Want me to make you as hot as it is?" His words caused her to moan, her head nodding wildly. He had continued caressing her thighs, drawing ever closer to the thatch of dark curls at her center. When his fingers barely passed over her slit, her hips reared up, and she cried out. Her body was trembling, and she felt just on the cusp of an orgasm. He had barely touched her, but the heat of the car, the sound of his words, and his gentle touches had her hovering just on the edge.

She moaned, long and loud, when he pushed two fingers deep inside of her. She nearly sobbed with pleasure when he began to pump, stroking her inner walls, and circling his thumb around her clit.

"Oh god! Spike!" She screamed, thrusting wildly against his hand. He watched her ride out her climax, his erection getting painful at the sight of her thrashing about on the machine beneath her. With her walls still fluttering, he pulled his hand away. Pushing his jeans down, he positioned himself at her entrance.

"Look at me, Buffy." She opened her eyes, and stared dazedly at him. As soon as he saw that she was aware of what he was doing, he slowly started to push into her, savoring the feel of her heat still clenching around him. His lips played along her ankle, his hands holding her legs in place. Her eyes drifted closed, and her head lolled to the side at the searing pleasure of feeling him fill her, stretch her, complete her. Her nails scratched at the metal, her hips thrust forward, burying him inside of her. She gasped when the tip of his shaft hit the entrance of her womb, the sensation starting another chain reaction.

Spike stayed still for a moment, trying to get his bearings. Once he was sure he wouldn't explode too soon, he began to thrust, long and hard, his shaft hitting the sensitive spot hidden deep within her. She thrust up to meet him, arching her back against the car. The only sounds in the room were that of their combined moans, and the joining of their bodies. Faster and faster they moved, Spike angling himself to get even deeper. Buffy keened, high and long when he did this, her inner muscles clamping hard around him. This spurred him on faster, his own climax hitting him with a force that nearly staggered him. Luckily, he knees were braced against the car, or he would have toppled to the floor. Thrice more he slammed into her, her name falling from his lips as his shaft emptied into her. He let her legs slide from his shoulders and leaned over her, burying his face in her neck. Sweat slicked their skin, and their breathing came in ragged gasps.

They both realized, at the same time, that they hadn't used a condom. The funny thing was that neither really seemed to care.


~*~*~


"Hey, Dad," Spike said, smirking at the slowly moving Buffy. They hadn't stirred for a long time afterwards, the ringing of his cell finally spurring them into motion. He'd taken the time to pull on his jeans first, feeling a little weird about talking on the phone naked.

"Hello, Will. I'm calling to see if you and Buffy would like to come to dinner tomorrow since we had to cancel the last arrangement," Rupert told him, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Tomorrow?" Spike frowned, glancing over at Buffy. She had just managed to pull her shorts back on, and straightened her shirt. Now she was looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

"Yes. That is if you aren't busy."

"Hold on a sec." Spike pulled the phone away from his ear and turned back to her.

"What's the matter?" she asked, walking over to him.

"Dad wants us to come to dinner," he replied, scowling.

"I take it you don't want to go?"

"No. It's not that," he started, running a hand through his tousled curls. "It's just. . ."

"Anya. You still haven't gotten over that, have you?" She looked up at him expectantly, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I guess not," he said with a sigh. He scowled, tilting his head to the side.

"Spike, let's go. Talk to her, get to know her. You never know, you just might like her." Spike stared down at her for a long minute, before sighing again and lifting the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Dad. Yeah, we'll be there." He didn't sound too excited. Luckily, Rupert didn't notice.

"Really? Splendid. Around eight then?"

"That's fine."

"Alright, see you then." Spike turned off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. He then picked up his light blue button down and slipped it on. He glanced up at Buffy to find her studying him.

"Wha?" He turned to face her, his long fingers working the buttons.

"It'll be okay. You'll see. I've met her, and she seems nice. Cordy thinks she's great, so really, how bad could it be?" The look Spike gave her told her that he could think of plenty of ways. "Give it a chance, baby. Giles has a right to be happy," she finished quietly, looking at him for a second, then turning to leave. Spike heaved yet another sigh, and moved to follow her, wondering why life had to be so fucking complicated.


~*TBC*~




a/n-A restrictor plate is part that Nascar requires for two of their tracks to keep the speeds down. Drafting, is using the draft coming off of another car to get a boost of speed in order to pass. L.

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