Chapter Forty
“God. This place is huge!” Dawn exclaimed, staring around the luxury suite.
“Yeah. Well, you better thank Mark for it. He’s the one that got it,” Spike told her, dropping their bags on the floor. Buffy closed the door behind them and slid a soothing had down his cotton covered back. Over the last week he’d snapped at each of them, more than once. Buffy had been the only one brave enough to call him on it. The rest just avoided him as much as possible. The only time Xander would talk to him was when Spike was in the garage. It made it a little hard to get things done.
A few of the other owners and drivers had called to actually wish him good luck. He’d started to calm down a bit after that, feeling a bit more settled with the acceptance of his peers. After his appearance on RPM Tonight, they’d been inundated with calls and flowers, and Buffy received a few hate letters. In general, though, people were happy for them and offered their congratulations.
After the wedding, Spike and Buffy had spent the night in a hotel, the closest thing they were going to have to a honeymoon until after the season. If the team did well, he was planning on taking her on an extended vacation in the Bahamas. If it didn’t. . .well, he just chose to believe that it would and didn’t dwell on the negative.
When the time came to transport the car, Spike was there to oversee it. Xander and crew were riding with it, in the specially designed cargo area, while Spike, Buffy and Dawn were going to fly down, with Cordy and Giles. Anya was going to stay behind and run the gallery, while Mark and Willow would meet them there. After all, the sponsor had to be there to see the unveiling of the car.
Now they were here with qualifying two days away. Spike wasn’t participating in the Iroc race, or the 24 hours of NASCAR, but he did intend on making appearances with the press and meeting the fans. There was also the drivers’ meeting he had to be around for.
Rubbing his tired eyes, he sank down into the plush leather couch of the sitting room, and clicked on the tv. The girls glanced at each other before moving around the couch and settling next to him, each with their heads resting on his shoulders.
~*~*~
“You doing alright in there, man?” Xander’s voice sounded in Spike’s ear. He was sitting in his car, waiting for his turn to qualify, and he could safely say that he was nervous.
“Yeah,” he replied shortly. He growled at his friend’s chuckle and turned to look at him at the front of the car. The inspector had just left, deeming the car as legal, and Xander was happier than he should have been. Granted, he had butterflies the size of golf balls in his stomach, but he knew the car was good, that the driver was good, and the crew, despite their inexperience, was good. The brunette had spent the last month drilling them on pit stops, knowing full well that a couple of them probably hated him now, but not really caring. This was the big time. And they didn’t have the luxury of fucking up.
“Almost time. Gordon’s going now.”
“Who’s got the pole, so far?” Spike asked, taking deep breaths. He glanced over at the pit box, smiling at Buffy who was waving at him. She had a brilliant, encouraging smile on her face and sunglasses protecting her eyes. This had been a little overwhelming for her. She’d never been to one of the tracks that NASCAR used, and she hadn’t been prepared for the size. She’d stuck close to him as they moved through the crowds to the garage, smiling shyly at the other drivers they encountered. Spike had scowled at her when he introduced her to Dale Jr, since Buffy started to stutter. Dawn had even stared wide eyed at the good looking Earnhardt, saying something about he was better looking then he was on tv. The teen had blushed furiously when she realized what she’d said, but Junior just smiled, and said thanks. He’d then wished Spike good luck and went to his own garage bay.
Buffy and Dawn had watched him leave, only coming back to reality when Spike angrily cleared his throat. They’d at least had the decency to look sheepish, and his wife had very thoroughly kissed him to apologize. Cat calls and whistles abounded when she did that, causing her to color when she pulled away. Spike just shrugged it off and started walking again, smiling smugly.
“Harvick.”
“Speed?”
“193.364mph.” Spike did the math in his head. That meant he had to beat 46.6 seconds at least, to take the pole position over. *Calm down Spike. Taking the pole isn’t important,* he reminded himself. It’s where you finished that counted.
“All right, you’re next. Good luck.” Spike nodded, and moved up into position, waiting for his signal. As soon as he got it, he left pit row, keeping to regulated speed until he hit the track.
Once he was there, speeding around the 2.5 mile tri-oval track, taking the turns with a familiarity that seemed ingrained, his nervousness left him. He knew, listening to Xander’s voice in his ear and seeing the fans explode at the sight of his car, with HIM behind the wheel, that this was the right decision. He answered the questions being shot at him, telling Xander where it was loose, but in general, the # 29 Native Soul Chevy handled beautifully. He was grinning like a madman, and he didn’t care where he placed. The picture of Johnny on the hood grinned out at
the fans, as the car shot around the track like a bullet.
“You place fifteenth. Bring her in,” Xander told him, when he passed the start/finish line the second time.
*Fifteenth?* Spike thought to himself, bringing it around the track a third time, and slowing to enter pit row. *Not bad for a has been,* he snickered to himself. *Not bad at all.*
~*~*~
“Nervous?” Buffy asked, sliding her hands up his bare back. They’d come back from dinner and Dawn had gone to see a movie at the cineplex across the street. Almost as soon as she’d left, Spike and Buffy were in bed. Now, they were just holding each other, lightly stroking each other’s skin and talking softly about the upcoming race.
“No. Not really.” Spike replied after a minute, pulling her closer so her head rested against his chest. “You?” He chuckled at her snort.
“No, not at all.” Her tone told on her lie. “A little, I guess. It’s different than watching it on tv. You can’t really judge how fast they’re going. Yeah, the announcers tell you, but it’s not the same unless you’re actually at the track.” She sighed and snuggled closer. “Just be careful.”
“Always.” He rolled over in his mind whether or not to tell her that this was his last race. He’d planned on making an announcement afterwards, introducing the new driver at the same time. He knew he was risking a lot with who he chose, but he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t do risks. “Buffy.”
“Yeah,” she said sleepily.
“What if I told you this is my last race?” Her head shot up at that, her eyes wide with surprise.
“What?” She tilted her head towards him, eyes blinking once. He smirked at her expression, and tucked her hair behind her ear.
“This is my last race, pet.” She sat up fully now, confusion etched in her face pulling her brows together.
“I don’t understand. Why?” Spike sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position against the pillows. He then reached for his cigarettes, sparking one before he looked back at her.
“Because. As much as I love it…” He paused, taking a drag and pushing a hand through his hair. She just sat, watching him, her confusion turning to interest.
“And,” she prompted after a minute. He flashed her a smile, then continued.
“As much as I love it, I know my sight’s only going to get worse, and it’s really not worth the risk. I’ll still own the car, I’ll still get some glory. But, my priorities have changed,” he finished, lacing his fingers with hers. Her lip trembled at the emotion that statement, and the look in his blue, blue eyes, caused. Taking a shaky breath, she cleared her throat and looked down at their joined hands.
“You could have the surgery,” she reminded him, running the fingers of her free hand over the ones linked with her others. He leaned over and tilted her chin up, making her look at him.
“No. Going completely blind is not even an option, no matter what the percentage of it actually happening is.” He angled his head, in the way that seemed completely his, and studied her face. “I. Love. You. I want to be with YOU. Racing isn’t important enough to me to risk everything. Or to make you have to deal with the consequences.”
“Spike. I love you, too. And that means I would deal with whatever happens. If you wanted the surgery, or to keep racing. Whatever. I will be with you forever. No matter what.” Her words settled over him like a warm blanket, making his heart feel like it might burst. He pulled her into his lap, covering her mouth with his and drinking deep from her sweetness. When he pulled away, both their eyes were darkened with emotion and desire.
“Thank you. This is still my last race. I’m retired, as of tomorrow night. Win or lose.” She traced her fingers over his cheek, smiling softly.
“All right. Only if you’re sure.”
“I am,” he assured, brushing her lips with his own. “Now, I can think of other things we could be doing right now that have nothing to do with racing,” he purred, sliding his hand under the sheet that was tangled around her waist, his touch making her his.
“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you show me?” she said breathlessly, her hands fisting in the sheets as he proceeded to do just that. As his fingers worked their magic, she decided that her own little confession could wait a little while longer.
~*~*~
The next morning bloomed bright as throngs of people began to prepare for the Superbowl of Winston Cup racing. As early as six am, people were lining up to get into the stands, a carnival-like atmosphere hovering in the air. Drivers milled around the garage area, nervous energy flowing through them. This was the first race of the season, on top of the most important, and the excitement of all involved was thick.
Spike stayed away from garage while the inspector was there, mainly because he didn’t like any of them. Buffy walked beside him through the throngs of people, smiling as he signed autographs and took pictures. He really was good with fans, always gracious and self-deprecating. Many were glad that he was returning, others were in awe that he would even try. When they had first arrived, many of the crew from the other teams had come up to him, shaking his hand and relaying their respect. Many of the owners did the same, the only obvious omission being Spike’s former employer.
As the time of driver presentation neared, they made their way back to the garage so Spike could pull the car onto the track, then head over to the stage. Once they got closer, Buffy saw a glimpse of a familiar dark head towering over the crowd.
“MARK!” she yelled, waving when he turned towards the sound of his name. He gave them a wide grin, pulling Buffy into a tight hug when she reached him. He then shook Spike’s hand, accepting the short embrace from him.
“Glad you made it. Was starting to wonder,” Spike said, as the three fell into step together.
“Plane was late,” Mark explained, brushing a hand through his hair.
“Where’s Willow?” Buffy looked around the crowd, looking for the tell tale red hair.
“Bathroom,” he answered, following Spike into the garage.
“Hey man,” Xander greeted, walking over to shake Mark’s hand.
“Hey. Where’s the wife?”
“She’s sitting in the stands with Dawn and Giles. The smell of this place gets to her,” Xander said with a chuckle.
“I know what she means.” Willow came up behind them, a hand resting on her stomach. She looked a little green around the gills.
“What’s the matter?” Buffy demanded, drawing her friend into a hug.
“Nothing. Well, nothing that won’t go away,” Willow said coyly. “In nine months, that is.” It took Buffy a minute to catch on, but when she did, her squeal could be heard clearly through the bays.
“Oh my God! I’m so happy for you. What about school?” Willow grinned wide at the whirlwind that was her best friend. The men stood behind them, clapping Mark on the back, and doing the things men do when presented with such news.
“Thanks, and I’m going back. Don’t worry,” Willow assured, accepting another hug.
“Ladies, as great as this news is. The celebrating is going to have to wait. It’s almost time to start,” Xander declared, a goofy grin on his face, despite the seriousness of his words. Buffy nodded and pulled Willow behind her out of the bay.
“Come on. We get to hang out in the pits.”
“Oh, joy,” Willow quipped, feeling her stomach pitch dangerously once more.
~*~*~
“GENTLEMAN, START YOUR ENGINES!” The sound of powerful machines tore through the air as the drivers threw their switches. Spike glanced around him, taking in the cars that had qualified better. He had 200 laps to get to the front, barring anything catastrophic happening.
Calm settled over him as the cars made their way around the track, waiting for the pace car to break away and the race to start. The roar of the engines was deafening once that happened, the roar of the fans almost as loud.
“How’s she handling?” Xander asked, fifty laps in.
“Great.”
“Spike, #23 got into the wall on the back stretch. Watch for debris.” Kyle, the spotter piped up a minute later.
“Bring her in,” Xander instructed. A few seconds later Spike slid into the pit box, as his crew went to work on their first pit stop in the Winston Cup. Two tires and a can of gas later, he took off out of the box, barely missing the pole sitter on the way out. That move put him up into tenth place, with thirty two other drivers on his tail. Adrenalin pumped through his veins when the race was restarted, sweat pouring down his face. The smell of oil, tires and other automotive fluids filtered around him, the scent a sweet perfume to him.
“Gordon’s coming up high.” Spike slammed the gas, eyes searching for the car trying to pass. He grinned when Gordon had to pull back or risk getting spun out. For the next fifty laps, it went this way. He didn’t move up, but he made damn sure nobody got around him. He usually waited for the last fifty laps to start trying to go forward anyway.
“Holy shit, go high, Spike, go high.” Without thought, Spike did just that, barely missing the back bumper of the car in front of him as it plowed into the car spinning out in front of him. His heart slammed into his chest as he tore through the smoke, images of his accident superimposing themselves into his vision.
Buffy watched from the pit, her heart pumping as hard as his. She didn’t feel Willow’s comforting hand on her back, too intent on seeing where Spike was. When Xander nodded, letting her know he was through, she breathed a sigh of relief. She gave Willow a shaky smile, squeezing her hand.
“You alright?” Xander asked him when he pulled into the pit. Spike merely nodded, accepting the water given to him. As soon as the tires were changed, he was gone, this time taking the lead when he came off the row. He didn’t want to admit that he was tense now. Not to himself, and certainly not to his crew.
“Spike, Gordon’s coming up again. Low this time.” Spike didn’t acknowledge Kyle, just looked for Gordon, and kept him back. He drove on auto pilot, his reflexes good, but his happiness destroyed. The last caution had shaken him up. Badly.
As Buffy watched the race, she swore she could almost pinpoint the second he gave up. It was probably when Gordon finally got around him, that move leading to a chain reaction. Xander was constantly talking into the headphones, trying to get Spike to answer him, tell him anything. They didn’t know that it was all Spike could do to hold on.
Then, during the forty seventh lap, was when it happened. They were two deep in the back stretch, when Junior got into the wall, the car hitting him spinning him down the track. Spike saw it, and tried to compensate, but misjudged the distance. He and Junior collided, the impact crumpling the hood. Spike swore his bones were going to break with the impact, smoke pouring from his tires as the force of the collision drove him backwards. Buffy watched with horrified eyes, the sound of Xander screaming into his mouth piece for Spike to answer him, the only thing she heard. Her face paled and her breathing quickened. She couldn’t see where they came to a stop, and she looked to Xander to tell her if he was alright.
“Spike. SPIKE! Goddammit, answer me.” Spike shook his head, trying to dispel the ache. With a sigh, he started to undo his helmet, knowing he was out of the race.
“I’m fine, Xan,” he finally said, his voice flat.
“Thank god.” The brunette turned to Buffy and gave her the thumbs up. Her eyes drifted closed with relief. The crew started to pack up, getting ready to take the car back to the truck and get her ready for transport home. Buffy heard the sounds of the other cars coming in to pit, but didn’t open her eyes again until she heard Willow.
“There he is.” She turned and saw him get out of the transport, letting go of Willow’s hand she rushed to him. He caught her up in his arms, holding her close. He held her so tight, she almost had to struggle to breathe.
“Are you alright?” she asked him, managing to pull back a bit to look at him. He nodded, giving her a smile.
“Yeah. Let’s go home. Okay?”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, allowing him to lead her to the truck.
Chapter Forty-Two
“Are you alright?” Giles burst into the trailer, looking for all the world like he was about to keel over from fright. Spike’s lips quirked at the odd dishevelment of his father. The fact that he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with his son’s image emblazoned across the front was enough to make him chuckle, add to the fact that his hair was a mess and his glasses were askew, and you had an all out laugh fest.
“I’m fine, Dad. See, not even a scratch.” Spike held his arms out and presented his bare chest to his father to inspect.
“Oh, thank God.” Giles slumped back against the door and took off his glasses. He had seen Spike get out of the car, but it didn’t seem real until now. His boy was alright. Relief flooded through him, followed quickly by anger. Buffy stood on the other side of the trailer, watching the play of emotion across her father-in-law’s face. Spike saw it too, and quirked a brow. He wondered how long until the man popped his top. He didn’t have long to wait.
“I hope you’re happy. You scared the bloody hell out of me. And for what? Some cheap thrill at cheating death?” His eyes turned to Buffy, accusation flaring bright. She instinctively backed up a step, surprised. “And you. How could you let him do such a fool thing? H-h-h-he could have b-been killed.” The couple exchanged a glance at Rupert’s outburst, neither of them mad.
“Dad. It’s not Buffy’s fault, and you know it. Besides, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?” Giles pushed his glasses back onto his nose, his eyes wide with shock. “How can you say there’s nothing to worry about? You’re going to be in that blasted machine every week going at ridiculous amounts of speed. . .”
“DAD!” Spike interrupted, before his father could continue. “There’s nothing to worry about, because…” he took a deep breath and looked over at Buffy. She smiled at him, offering her support. “I’m retiring.”
“Well, I should say so, after all. . .did you say, retiring?” Rupert’s brows drew together in confusion. Spike smiled, then nodded.
“Yeah. I just needed to do it once more. Granted, I would have liked to finish the damn race, but at least I proved I still could if I wanted.” He watched his father consider this for a moment, then smile.
“I suppose I can understand that. I won’t say I’m upset about your decision, however.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Spike smirked.
“What will you do about the car?”
“I’m keeping it. Already have a new driver lined up. Going to give a press conference tonight to announce it.”
“Well,” Giles didn’t know what to say. He’d been prepared to physically restrain his son from ever getting into a race car again, and here his son was telling him he was giving it up. “That’s good,” was all he could come up with to say. Buffy chuckled and walked over to Spike, looping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek over his heart.
“Giles, where’s Dawn?”
“Er, I-I-I left her with Cordelia. I suppose I should go tell them you’re alright. Will we see you later?” Spike nodded, draping his arm over Buffy’s shoulder.
“Yeah. Tell Xander to let me know when he’s heading back.” The crew and the car would begin the long trek home in the truck. They only had a few days to have it ready for the next race.
“Very well,” Giles replied, taking one last look at his son and daughter-in-law, then left. Spike and Buffy stayed, standing in each other’s arms for a long minute.
“What happened?” she asked, breaking the silence. She felt the rise and fall of his chest as he sighed. She let him go when he started to move, and watched him while he went in search of his cigarettes.
“I froze,” he said after he had a smoldering tube clamped between his lips. Buffy moved to sit down, out of the path of the smoke. “I fucking froze.” He said it with an incredulity that nearly had her smiling. She’d thought it might happen. Of course, her mind had come up with a thousand different endings than the one they got. All of them bad.
“At least you didn’t get hurt. Neither did Junior.”
“True. That’s the good thing. I just wanted to go out a little better than I did the last time. You know?” He crushed out the cigarette and went to join her on the small couch, pulling her to rest against him.
“You did. You got out of the car yourself,” she told him quietly. Spike smiled and closed his eyes.
“Yeah, there is that,” he agreed, letting the tension drain out of him. Sitting here, with her cuddled up next to him, made him feel better than winning Daytona ever had. “Can you believe Willow’s pregnant?” Spike changed the subject to something happier.
“I know. It’s so odd. I know she’ll be an awesome mom, it’s just. . .Willow,” she said with a chuckle. She’d felt the same way about Cordy, but if there was ever a model for supermom, Cordelia Harris was it. Buffy traced lazy circles on his stomach, trying to come up with a way to tell him.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked her after she was silent for a few minutes.
“Just that. . .isn’t it funny how we’re always the last?” She picked her head up to look at him, and giggled at the arched scarred brow he presented her with.
“What’d you mean, luv?”
“Well, we were the last to get together. Both times.” He snickered at that, running a hand over her hair. “We were the last to have sex, I found out later.” A snort was her answer. “Well, unless you count Xander. We were neck and neck with him.”
“Why do I find that disturbing?” Spike thought out loud. Buffy lightly slapped his stomach, giving in to her own chuckle.
“We were the last to get married, and now we’re the last to get pregnant.”
“No worries, pet. We’ll just enjoy being married a bit.” He told her with a smile. The smile faded when she rolled her eyes. “Wha?”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean we’re the last to get pregnant.” Spike was now even more confused.
“I know. That’s why. . .I. . .said. . .” Each word came slower when the look on her face finally registered. “You’re. ..” he left it hanging, pointing one long finger towards her stomach. A brilliant smile bloomed across her face, and she nodded. Spike’s blue orbs widened to comical proportions and his mouth gaped open. “You’re. . .pregnant.” The last word slipped out like a prayer, the reality of it slamming into him.
“Yes.” Her smile got bigger at the play of emotion across his face. Shock, then realization, then joy filtered through his eyes. Love burned bright in them when he surged off the couch, pulling her into a spinning hug. She was dizzy when he set her down, but it was a good sort of dizzy.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be shaking you about like that. Are you okay? You should sit down. Do you want anything? Are you cold? Here sit. Put your feet up.” Buffy could only giggle at the words coming out of his mouth, thinking he was unbelievably sweet.
“Spike. Spike! I’m fine. Calm down. I’m barely over a month,” she told him, resting her hands on his. His eyes searched her face, seeing that she was indeed, fine. He leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t the most suave kiss he had ever given her. It was sloppy and somewhere just left of her mouth, but it was one of the best kisses he had ever given her. It was one born out of happiness, and that’s what made it good.
“I love you,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. She reached up and brushed away the lone tear that slipped down his cheek, giving him her own kiss.
“I love you, too,” she whispered back, tears brimming in her own eyes.
“Come on,” he said, pulling away from her and picking up his shirt.
“Where are we going?” she asked, letting him pull her from the trailer.
“We have to spread the news, luv. Come on.” The door slammed behind them, the sound of Spike’s voice calling across the garage area. “HEY! I’m going to be a father!”