Chapter Thirty-Two
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.