Chapter Thirty-Three
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 an 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.