Speedway by Jypzrose

Chapters 13-16

Chapter Thirteen

Willow sighed contentedly, just happy to be laying in Mark's arms. She knew what was going on in the other rooms, she didn't need to be a psychic to figure it out. The tension that had been swirling around the other two couples had been electric. Not to say that the UST around her and Mark wasn't equally as heady, it was just, different. Since their first date, everything just seemed to fall together for them. It was almost as if their souls had recognized each other, which she never would have said out loud. Too cheesy romance novel sounding. But, it was true. They had known each other two and a half months, and already, there was nothing they didn't know about the other. She knew he was raised by his grandparents after his parents died. He knew that her parents were less than noticing of her. She knew his likes, his wants and his dreams. Just as he knew hers. They talked about anything and everything, realizing pretty quick that they were in love. Then, things had progressed naturally. They had already made love for the first time a week before. She hadn't told Buffy yet, because she didn't want her friend to feel pressured into sleeping with Spike, so she wouldn't be the only one left. Plus, it had been so absolutely amazing and beautiful, that she had wanted to hold it close, and not share it for a while.

So, here they were, lying naked and content in each other's arms. Mark's face was buried in her hair, his hard body spooned behind hers, his thumb lazily brushing the underside of her breast. She looked down at her own hand, which was resting on his wrist, smiling at the contrast of pale against dark. He was so beautiful, his lean, muscular form a work of art. She often teased him that he looked like one those models on the cover of a romance book. He would then scowl, saying that none of them would know what a real Indian was if he got shot in the butt by an arrow.

"Whatcha thinking about?" he asked, his voice tired. His hand had moved to cover her breast, lightly massaging the nipple.

"Mmm." She sighed, arching her back. "Nothing," she told him, snuggling closer to him. He shifted them, until he was settled between her legs, resting on his forearms to stare down at her. Her hands slid down his shoulders, her fingers playing in the long ends of his hair. "You," she admitted, smiling. He arched a brow, smiling back.

"Me, huh?" He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. "What about me?" Another kiss, this one a little deeper had her brain clouding. She opened her thighs a little wider, allowing him to settle even more firmly against her. She sighed at the feel of his hard, rubber covered, length poking against her entrance. With a slight thrust, he was in, their moans combined into one.

She never answered his question as he began to move inside of her, his thrusts long and deep. Their tongues moved in a slow dance, their hands touched everywhere. His hair tickled the side of her cheek, the silky tresses shielding her from the light of the lamp. Their orgasms built slowly, neither in a rush to get there. He broke the kiss as he felt her start to flutter around him. That, combined with the sound of her breathlessly moaning his name, and the look of love in her eyes sent him over right behind her, and they clung desperately to each other as the tremors overtook them. Once they were calmed, he pulled out of her, mindful of the condom. After he had disposed of it, he returned to the bed, and pulled her against him, lightly kissing her forehead. It wasn't long before they were asleep.

~*~*~

"Alright, crank it," Mark called, looking down at the engine as Spike turned the key. It sputtered once, then flared to life, the roaring sound of the engine nearly deafening. A war whoop filled the air, and Spike climbed out of the car, grinning like a madman. Grease and soot were smeared across their faces and arms. It had taken nearly a month, and the help of Cordy's gold card (used only under the understanding that they would pay her back. Their stipulation, not hers), but it was running. Spike had learned a thing or two about what happened under the hood, and how to communicate it if he had problems. Mark had come through with the parts, and they had worked steadily, spending nearly every waking moment working on it. Xander was in hog heaven, and he rarely went anywhere but home, work, then to the storage shed they were renting to store it. That is, unless Cordy, or one of the other girls, or all three demanded attention. Then, they snapped to and took care of their ladies.

Spike felt a touch of guilt that he was deceiving his father. Rupert had no idea what his intentions were with the car. He just thought Spike had wanted something to drive. However, the blonde knew just what would happen if he was found out. He'd wait, until after he had won a few races, then he would tell him. Spike never doubted that he would win. In his mind, it wasn't even a consideration.

"We did it," Spike said, listening to the hum of the engine. The car wasn't any prettier than it had been. They had fixed the body with putty, and had painted it with black primer. Not the most pleasing thing, but it wasn't wanted for looks. They had ripped out the interior, and had put in the roll cage, as well as the seat and five point harness that Spike would need to keep him safe.

"Yeah. We did. Now, all we got to do is see how she handles," Mark said, slamming the hood closed. Spike grinned wildly, and climbed back behind the wheel. He was newly licensed and ready to burn some rubber. "I'll follow," Mark called, walking to his Mustang. Spike waited until he was behind the wheel, and pulling out, to take off. Wind whipped through the windows as the cars sped through the twilight. Luckily, the main drag out of town was deserted, so Spike was able to open her up. He hit ninety with no problems, the car jetting smoothly up the road. Spike felt like he was flying, and he never wanted the feeling to stop. He took the curve in the road sharply, deftly swerving to keep from plowing into the station wagon on the other side. A tractor trailer was barreling at him, it's horn blaring loudly in the air. Spike's heart was pumping and adrenaline coursed through his veins. At the last second, he swerved back into the right lane, laughing like a loon. He slowed when he saw an embankment, and pulled into it, gravel and dust flying up from the tires. Mark pulled in behind him, his own car skidding to a stop.

"You're a fucking nut!" Mark told him when he climbed out, grinning and pulling out a cigarette as he walked. "How'd she do?" he asked, reaching over Spike to pop the hood.

"Like a dream. She's perfect," the blonde replied, pulling out his own smoke. "Nothing'll touch me." Mark grunted as he looked at the engine, inspecting for leaks or any other problems. Nodding in satisfaction, he stood back up.

"I'd say she's ready," he confirmed, laughing at Spike's kid in the candy store look.

"Fuckin' A she's ready," Spike told him.

"I'm going to go pick up Willow. Try not to undo everything we've done," Mark told him, crushing out his cigarette and walking back to his car.

"Right. See ya," Spike said, climbing back inside. He needed to go find Xander. He'd had to work that night, and what better way to let him know about the car than to pick him up?

With a laugh and a roar of the engine, the big black car sped off into the night.

~*~*~

"Why in God's name would we want to go the track?" Buffy asked, looking at Spike, who was sitting in her living room. Dawn was sprawled out on the floor, head propped up in her hand as she listened to the older kids talk. Xander and Cordy were there, but Willow and Mark were at the Bronze, as he was scheduled to play for the back to school party the club was having. The other four were heading there after Joyce got home. Spike looked at his girlfriend, who was standing with her arms crossed over the floral peasant blouse she was wearing. Her short, brown skirt skimmed the middle of her thighs, and she had on a pair of brown suede boots that hugged her calf to her thigh. Her golden hair was twisted up in a knot, large hoops adorned her ears. He thought she looked delicious.

"Because, pet. I'm racing tomorrow." Her eyes widened at his declaration.

"Tomorrow? You guys just got the thing running, and you already want to take it to the track?" she asked, a look of concern crossing her face. She still wasn't sure about this. She had watched a race or two with them when they were just hanging out at Giles', and her heart had leapt into her throat when a wreck would happen.

"S'good a time as any. Need to see what she'll do," he answered, crunching his lollipop. Xander and Cordy watched the discussion go on like spectators at a tennis match, eyes shooting between them as they spoke.

"So, you want me there, for what? Moral support?" Spike barely managed not to roll his eyes. Barely. Things had seemed to get strained between them as the car neared completion, and he didn't feel like fighting right now.

"Yeah, actually." Buffy sighed, then smiled. She loved him, and it was her duty to support him. Even if she thought he was being an idiot. Anyway, he might do it and decide he hated it.

"Alright. I'll be there. You going?" she asked Cordy. Cordy blinked and looked at her, a faraway expression on her face.

"What? Oh, yeah. I'll be there. Need to see what my investment will do," she answered, smiling. She looked tired, and her voice sounded off. Xander looked at her questioningly, but she just shook her head.

"Yeah, tomorrow Sunnydale Motor Track, next month, Talladega," Spike exclaimed with a chuckle. Buffy rolled her eyes, and went to sit next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and leaning her head on his chest.

"You'll be careful?" she whispered, her anxiety seeping into her words.

"Always," he assured, curling his arm around her shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, the scent of vanilla tickling his nose. He relished the feel of her in his arms, something that hadn't occurred too much over the last month. But, he promised himself he would make up for it, especially with school getting ready to start. He would be back under house arrest, until after the end of the first quarter. Then Rupert would evaluate the situation again. Didn't matter that he had pulled off his usual high marks at the end of the last year, as well as pass those stupid tests Snyder had insisted on. Giles wasn't taking any chances.

"Hi kids," Joyce called as she walked inside.

"Hi mom," Buffy called.

"Hi mom," Dawn echoed.

Cordy, Xander and Spike also called their hellos.

"What's everybody doing tonight?" she asked, shrugging out of her jacket.

"Bronzing," Buffy answered, standing and pulling Spike with her. The other couple stood as well.

"Don't be late," she told them as they filed out.

"Alright. Goodnight."

"Night, Nibblet, Mrs. Summers," Spike called, flashing a smile before disappearing out the door. When it shut behind them, Dawn looked at her mother, concern wrinkling her brow.

"What's the matter, Mom?" she asked, pushing up from the floor, and walking over to her. Joyce paused in rubbing her temple to smile down at her.

"Nothing honey. Just a little headache. Have you eaten?" Dawn shook her head. "Go get your shoes on. We'll go get some pizza." Dawn squealed and raced up the stairs. They NEVER went OUT for pizza. She knew they would go to Tony's, the best pizza in town, which didn't deliver. Joyce laughed as she watched the excited child take off, and absently began rubbing her temple again.

~*~*~

Buffy sat nervously next to Willow and Cordy, her hazel eyes scanning the two rows of cars on the track. They were waiting for the race to begin and already she felt sick. Xander was down by the car, talking to Spike and making sure everything was set to go. They watched as he pounded a hand on the door, gave Spike a wave and started towards the pits. They had gotten there early in order to get good seats, and they were in the third row. The smell of oil and rubber swirled around them, adding to the sick feeling that she already had. Willow sat beside her, studying everything around her. Mark wasn't there. The band had a gig in LA, and she hadn't been able to go, so she came with her friends. Cordy sat on the other side, eyes distant.

"When does this thing start?" Buffy demanded. *So I know when it will be over.* Horrible images of cars flipping and catching on fire were giddily playing through her mind, and she wasn't sure how much of this she could take.

"I guess in a couple of minutes," Willow answered. She was amazed that so many people were there, hardly a seat was empty. Who knew that racing was so popular in Sunnydale?

"I wish they'd get on with it."

"Nervous?" the redhead asked, smiling. It faded when she saw just how terrified her friend was. "Hey, it's okay," she soothed. Buffy snorted.

"What if he gets hurt?" she asked, turning desperate eyes to her friend.

"Think positive. I'm sure everything will be alright. Right, Cordy?" They both looked at the brunette, seeing that she wasn't paying them any attention. "Cordy?"

"Hm. What?" The prom queen turned to look at them, confused.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked her. A flash of panic shot through her brown orbs, but she suppressed it quickly.

"Yeah. Fine," she answered, hoping they didn't press. "Look, the race is starting." All eyes turned to the track, as the sound of reving engines reached deafening proportions. Cordy thanked God for the distraction.

Buffy gnawed on a nail, fighting the urge to close her eyes as they took off around the half mile track. They watched as Spike steadily, and ruthlessly cut his way through the pack. When he reached the front, they were on their feet, screaming until they were hoarse. Buffy's heart slammed into her chest when a Thunderbird slammed into his back end, nearly sending him into a spin. He kept control though, straightening and slamming on the gas to pull ahead. She lost count of how many laps they had done, too busy watching the action on the field. He had lost the lead once, when he blew out a tire. Once he was back out though, he wasted no time getting back up to the front, rubbing paint with the T bird that had bumped him earlier.

By the time the race ended, and Spike had taken the checkered flag, Buffy was jumping up and down, hands clutching onto her friends, who were likewise occupied. When he pulled into victory lane, they jetted out of the stands, to make their way down there. Xander was already there, and the two males were embracing, idiot grins on their faces. When he saw Buffy rushing towards him, Spike let go of his friend, and caught her as she flew into his arms, spinning her around. When they came to a stop, he kissed her, passion and exhilaration thrumming in his veins. She held on as he tried to devour her, her own adrenaline pumping.

He tore away form her with a war whoop, oblivious to everybody around him, save her. It took the owner of the track several tries to get Spike's attention and give him his prize money. Spike accepted it gratefully, swinging Buffy around again, both of them laughing.

"I did it, pet," he said, when he finally let her back down to earth.

"You did it," she agreed, kissing him back hungrily when he leaned down again.

"So, where to now? The Bronze to celebrate?" Xander suggested, his silly grin still firmly in place. Cordy held onto his hand, smiling a real smile for the first time in the last few days.

"Bloody right," Spike agreed. Willow leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"Congratulations, Speedy," she teased, green eyes dancing. "Mark wanted to be here," she offered apologetically. Spike waved her off.

"I know. He has his own dream to follow," he told her, grinning.

"Let's go celebrate!" Xander exclaimed, pulling Cordy with him toward the parking lot. Willow followed, and Spike reluctantly let Buffy go. He watched her walk away for a moment, then slid into the DeSoto, it's tough exterior sporting a few more dents, but it's engine still purring happily.

~*~*~

Every Saturday night, Spike would race, more often than not finishing in the top five. As the weeks progressed, Spike found himself as a sort of celebrity around town, not able to go anywhere without somebody knowing who he was. Xander and Buffy had the same problem. Spike ate it up, while it made Buffy somewhat uncomfortable. And she really wasn't impressed with the new found interest of the female fans. She'd had to threaten a few with some interesting displays of violence before they would get the clue.

Of course, the really funny part, was when Giles found out. Spike hadn't told him yet, stalling for as long as he could. Then, one day, a regular at the track had come into the gallery. She had seen Giles' nameplate on the desk and had asked him if he was related to Spike. He had said he was, thoroughly not prepared for what he heard. She gave a him a full regalia of his son's accomplishments, causing shock to permeate his being. He had then gone home, telling Joyce he needed to take care of something.

When he had arrived at the house, he encountered the two boys doing their homework, laughing and carrying on as boys do. Spike had been surprised to see him, and even more surprised to see the anger simmering in his father's eyes. He knew he was in for it when Rupert asked Xander to excuse them.

The brunette was no sooner out of the room when Giles reared on his son. He wanted to know just what in the bloody hell did he think he was doing? Spike had replied in kind, and the two Brits got into the first real fight they had ever had. Xander, who had been trying not to listen in Spike's room, had been afraid that it was going to come to blows at one point.

Then, it had quieted down, and he had ventured out into the living room to see them, sitting on opposite sides of the room, angry glowers on both of their faces. They had come to an impasse. Giles had realized that he couldn't tell the boy what to do, not with his nineteenth birthday coming in a month. Not to mention, that Spike was following his father's rules to the letter, so he couldn't fault him there. He would have loved to be able to say that it was the fact that Spike had deceived him that had gotten him so angry. But, in reality, it was the danger his son was willingly putting himself in that terrified him.

Spike had realized that his father was only concerned about him, and the angry words that had been flung at him were borne of that concern. In the end, it was a draw, and all they could do was agree to disagree. If this was what Spike wanted to do with his life, Giles couldn't very well tell him no. However, that didn't mean that he had to like it, or watch. Or help pay for it.

Joyce had been equally shocked when she found out, lecturing the boys about safety and cars not being toys. They had dutifully listened, then went on about their business. Dawn had started to go to the track with them, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. It also gave her primo bonding time with the teenagers. Buffy went through the combination of fear and excitement every time he strapped into the car. Her heart would race, then stop when he would come precariously close to wrecking. But, somehow, he managed to pull himself back before anything disastrous happened.

Buffy watched all this with amusement. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement, and feed off of it. He and Xander were as giddy as kids at Christmas, drawing the rest of them in. Except Cordy. She had been getting more and more quiet as the weeks went on. Whenever Xander looked at her, she would manage to put on a bright smile, but her usually vibrant manner seemed stilted. Several times, the girls had tried to get her to talk, but she would say that nothing was wrong, then change the subject. They let her, since she didn't look ill. However, they made a pact, that if the brunette didn't snap out of it soon, they would corner her, and not give her a chance to duck out of it.

Chapter Fourteen

Cordelia Chase stood in front of the sink in the Gileses' bathroom, thinking it odd how normal she looked. Her sleek, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her makeup covering the evidence of two months of sleepless nights. Her slim frame was swathed in its usual designer fare, the white shorts only a little snug. The only outward sign that anything was wrong were the tears shining in her dark eyes, the ones that she refused to let fall.

Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the stick on the counter, the required three minutes having passed. Her eyes drifted closed at the confirmation of her suspicions. She couldn't really say she was surprised. She'd known, after the first month went by, what was wrong. But she just kept telling herself it was the stress of starting her senior year, of her parents continued disapproval of her relationship with Xander that had caused her to skip a month. She even convinced herself of it, briefly. Xander had been oblivious, as guys often are about such things, and had accepted her excuses when she said nothing was wrong. But now, everything was wrong. Or right, depending on your point of view.

In between her bouts of denial, she had spent a great deal of time trying to decide what to do, if she was right. Abortion had of course, been her first thought. It didn't take her long to decide that wasn't for her. It wasn't that she objected to a woman's right to choose. It was the fact that the thought in regards to her, made her ill. That left only two other options. Adoption. She couldn't see carrying a child for nine months, then handing it over to some other person to raise, no matter how deserving the couple might be. Especially when money was not an issue for her. Yet. That left only one option. Keeping it. Who knew how her parents would react to that. She expected the worst, and hoped for the best.

Her biggest fear was Xander's reaction. She knew that this was how his parents had gotten together. And to say he had issues was an understatement. What if he freaked? What if he ran out on her? What if he didn't want anything to do with it?

Cordelia lifted an elegant hand and rubbed her temple, trying to ease the headache that was forming. Sighing heavily, she looked back at her reflection. She would tell Xander first, then her parents, hopefully with him by her side.

"Cordy?!" The sound of Xander's voice through the door made her jump. They were supposed to go watch Mark play, since the race was rained out. She quickly shoved the test back in the box, and threw it in the trash, arranging it so it couldn't be seen.

"Coming," she called, taking several deep breaths. Tomorrow was soon enough to tell him. Tonight would be for fun. Pasting a smile on her face, she opened the door to face her oblivious boyfriend.

"You okay?" he asked, draping an arm around her shoulder.

"Never better," she lied, walking with him outside to join the others.

~*~*~

Rupert walked into the bathroom, opening the medicine chest in search of some aspirin. *Time to get my eyes checked,* he thought to himself. It was starting to strain his eyes to read, and he was starting to get headaches more often now. He pulled out the bottle, cursing softly about child proof caps. When he finally got it off, it slipped from his hand, and bounced off the edge of the sink to land in the trash.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, kneeling down to hunt for it. When his hand encountered the blue and white box, he stared at it quizzically for a moment, shock widening his eyes when he realized what it was. His mind spun into overdrive at the implications, and he stumbled back, the motion causing the stick inside to fall out. "Dear lord." He prayed, hoping he was wrong. Spike would know better, wouldn't he? Especially after what had happened with Dru. Rosemary had taken it as a personal mission to make sure that he understood the need for birth control. How could his son be so careless?

Placing the stick gingerly into the box, he stared down at it for a long minute, trying to decide what to do. With a sigh, he stood, the forgotten bottle of aspirin still clutched in his hand. He then left the bathroom, taking the box with him, and walking to the phone. Dialing quickly, he waited for the call to be picked up.

"Hello?" Dawn's bright, cheerful voice sang across the line.

"Dawn? This is Mr. Giles. May I speak to your mother, please?" he asked, amazed at how calm his voice sounded.

"Sure. Hold on. MOOOMM!" Rupert had to pull the phone away from his ear when she screeched. He then heard the clatter of the phone as it was put down, followed a few seconds later by the sound of it being picked up.

"Hello?"

"Joyce? It's Rupert," he began, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

"Hello, Rupert. How are you?"

"Not too well, I'm afraid. Joyce, we need to talk."

~*~*~

Spike and Xander, followed by the girls, walked into the Gileses' apartment, laughing amongst themselves. There were still about two hours left before curfew, and they were going to hang out and watch a movie before Buffy had to be home. It wasn't very often that they got to just be with each other anymore, with school, and Spike's racing, so this was an unexpected treat. When they walked through the door, they found themselves faced with two extremely worried and angry parents, as well as a tired looking Dawn. A box sat in the middle of the coffee table. One that looked extremely familiar to Cordelia.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" Buffy asked, walking in to stand next to the couch. Her mother eyeballed the two teenagers, seeing the looks of confusion on their faces. She gingerly reached out and picked up the box, her heart squeezing. Xander's eyes bugged out when he saw what it was, his gaze shooting to his two friends. Cordelia worried her lip between her teeth, her panicked mind trying to decide what to do.

"Dad?" Spike questioned, moving to stand next to Buffy. Dawn had a look of 'boy, are you guys in trouble' on her young face.

"Buffy, Spike. Your father found this in the trash in his bathroom. I want to know what it means," Joyce demanded. Buffy and Spike looked at the EPT box like it was a snake.

"I dunno." Spike turned to look at Buffy, trying to think of a time during the day when she could have snuck off to take it. Her eyes grew wide at the look he was giving her.

"You think it's MINE?" she demanded of him, her voice incredulous.

"It would seem that my son has forgotten a few things that he has been taught. I assure you, that he will be responsible," Giles assured.

"Wait a bloody minute. She hasn't even answered yet. Let's not jump the gun," Spike said, glaring at his father.

"Of course it's not MINE. We used. . ." She shut her eyes and got a look of pain on her face. It was one thing for her mother to accuse her of having sex and being pregnant. It was another to actually say it out loud.

"Buffy, we talked about this." Joyce sounded so disappointed in her daughter right then, that Buffy's heart nearly broke.

"Yes. We did. But you people aren't listening to me."

"Spike, I expected so much more form you. After Druscilla, I expected you to use better judgement," Giles reproached, talking over the blonde girl.

"Not fair, Dad. One, Dru lied to me. Two, Buffy says it's not hers. Why don't you listen?" Spike snapped, glaring at his father.

"Then, who else's could it be?" Rupert ventured, looking at his son. Cordy cleared her throat at that moment, drawing all attention to her. She looked around the room, feeling her face flame. She couldn't bare to look at Xander as she started to speak.

"It's mine," she said quietly. She felt Xander's body go rigid, and his hand gripped her's tightly before falling slack. She stole a glance at him, seeing his wide eyes, his pale skin, and felt her heart start to break.

"Cordelia? Are you telling the truth?" Joyce asked. Buffy, overcoming her shock, glared at her mother. She couldn't really say that she was surprised about Cordelia. She and Willow had known that something was up for a while now.

"Yes, Mrs. Summers," Cordelia said, dropping her eyes to the floor, and hanging desperately onto her boyfriend's hand. He continued to stare down at her, shock permeating his every nerve.

"You do realize that this says you are pregnant?" Rupert clarified. "Don't cover for them."

"Hello?! What's with the not believing? I told you it's not mine. Cordy says it's hers. Case closed," Buffy said, angry that they still thought the teens were lying.

"IT'S MINE. ALRIGHT? I'm pregnant!" Cordy yelled, tired of hearing the arguing. A stunned silence filled the room as it finally sunk in. Cordelia Chase, poor little rich girl, seventeen years old. Was pregnant. Xander stood stunned as she pulled from him and slammed out the door. In the space of a heartbeat, he was after her.

Spike turned and glared daggers at his father, hurt and resentment written across his sharp features. Buffy stood beside him, her expression mirroring his. The parents looked contrite, yet firm as they gazed up at them. Dawn just sat, watching it all with wide-eyed fascination. This was better than Dawson's Creek.

"I believe we owe you an apology," Rupert started, exchanging a look with Joyce.

"I believe you're right," Spike said through clenched teeth. A muscle ticked in his cheek as he tried to reign in his temper.

"No need to get flippant. You have to admit you haven't been showing the utmost in common sense lately," Rupert shot back. Joyce stood, sensing the argument brewing.

"Buffy, Dawn. I think it's time we left," she said, heading towards the door.

"What, I don't get an apology?" Buffy asked, furious.

"We can talk about this at home," Joyce said, warning dripping from her voice. Buffy's eyes narrowed, but she turned back to Spike, laying a gentle hand on his arm. He turned to look at her, face softening immediately.

"I'll call you tomorrow," she whispered, leaning up to brush a kiss across his mouth. He nodded and watched her walk out with Dawn and Joyce, before turning back to his father.

"So, what, just cause I'm racing, that somehow equals getting Buffy pregnant?" he asked, his tone venomous. Rupert rose to his feet, and stared the boy down.

"No. It does have me questioning your ability to think clearly. And after Druscilla. . ."

"Dru lied to me!" Spike roared, not happy to be delving into this again. "She lied to me. Told me she was pregnant."

"She was," Rupert reminded him.

"But NOT by ME!" Spike began pacing the length of the room. Giles watched him, feeling his anger drain out of him. He was being irrational, he knew. Between the racing and this scare, he was sure to be joining Rosemary in the hereafter sooner than he had anticipated.

"I'm sorry," Giles said, shoulders slumping. Spike had been doing all he could to prove himself to his father, and here he was jumping all over him for something that wasn't even the problem. Spike stopped pacing, and turned to stare at his father.

"Wha?"

"I said, I'm sorry. I just saw the test. . .it didn't even occur to me that it could be Cordelia." Giles looked up Spike, apology written all over his face. Spike tilted his head, confused. His father was giving in first? Usually it took at least an hour for Rupert to even hint that he might have been wrong.

"Yeah, well. S'alright, I suppose. Prob'ly woulda thought the same thing," Spike acquiesced, looking down at his boots. "You think they'll be alright?" He nodded his head towards the door, indicating Cordy and Xander. Giles sighed heavily, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. Just because it wasn't his own son, did not make the situation any less dire for him. Xander had become his other child in the months that he had lived with them, and he felt the need to throttle him just as much as if it HAD been Spike.

"I don't know," he answered, putting his glasses back on. "I just don't know."

~*~*~

"Cordy?" Xander called softly, walking over to where she sat on the bench outside of the apartment. He could see her shoulders shaking in the light of the lamp, could hear her soft sniffles as she tried to control her crying. He slowed as he approached, at a total loss at what to do, what to say. Hell, he was at a total loss at what to feel. Everything was swirling around inside of him, making it hard to grasp, hard to comprehend. Him? A father? Ridiculous. "Cordy?" he called again.

"What?" she snapped, her voice thick with tears, and misery. This wasn't how she wanted to tell him. Dammit, she should have taken the test with her, and thrown in out in a dumpster somewhere.

"Are. . .are you okay?" he asked, for lack of anything better. He could tell she wasn't, just by looking at her. He felt like such an ass. Seeing her now, he could tell the differences in her appearance. She looked tired, pale, and lost. He had been so blind?

"I'm seventeen and pregnant. How do you think I am?" she returned bitterly, instantly wishing she hadn't said it. She wasn't mad at him. It was just as much her fault. Xander flinched, and stopped just next to the bench. He remained standing, not wanting to upset her further by touching her. Of course, how was he to know that's just what she wanted? She wanted him to pull her into his arms and tell her it was alright, that they would be alright, and would make this work. Somehow.

"How long. . ."

"How long did I know?" She looked at him, eyes so stricken he nearly grabbed her, wanting to kiss away her pain. He restrained himself. Barely. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded. "Just since this afternoon. I was going to tell you tomorrow," she said, wiping a finger under eyes, cursing cause she just KNEW she had mascara rings.

"You didn't have to tell me at all," he said. She didn't, either. She could have gone and gotten the abortion, and he would have been none the wiser. He scowled at just how selfish that sounded, and winced at the stab of shame that lanced through him. *Coward,* he scoffed at himself. He was really hating the part of himself that was wishing that she had done just that.

"No, I didn't." She turned her head away from him, feeling her heart shatter in her chest. He was going to run. She could see it in his eyes. "Don't worry, Xander. I don't want anything from you. I can take care of myself." She continued to stare out into the night, her back rigid, and her head held high. She was Cordelia Chase. And she could handle anything.

Xander stared at the rigid line of her back, willing himself to say something, anything. Each time he tried to open his mouth, something would stop him. She sat, waiting, for what he didn't know. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks as she heard the shift of his feet on the ground when he turned. She didn't allow herself to look after him, knowing if she did she would make a fool out of herself, begging him not to walk away. Like he was doing. She clamped a hand over her mouth, not allowing the scream of anguish to escape.

~*~*~

Xander walked aimlessly down the deserted street, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head hung low. All thoughts had ceased, save one, and it kept careening around in his mind like a ball at a tennis match.

Cordelia was pregnant.

He thought they had been so careful. Except for that first time. A bitter laugh exploded from his throat as he thought of his ninth grade Health teacher, with her stern face, and grey hair shaking her finger at him. 'See, told you it only takes once.' He laughed again, the sound coming out more like a sob. He blinked rapidly, desperately trying to stall the tears that threatened.

God, they were so young. He had turned 18 over the summer, and Cordy's birthday wasn't until December, so she was just seventeen. What did they know about raising a kid? They were still kids themselves. Not to mention the stellar examples that their parents gave them. The child would probably be in therapy as soon as it could talk.

Suddenly, bright, explicit images of his life passed before his eyes. Tony Harris, hovering over him as he cowered in the corner. Big and drunk, eyes full of hate for his son.

"You never should have been born," he'd told him, the statement being followed by the snap of a belt against tender flesh. His mother would always disappear, tears of hopelessness staining her cheeks as she left her son helpless to his father.

With hideous clarity, Xander watched with his mind's eye as his father's features shifted and melted into his. The child he once was turning into the child that could be his. Instead of Tony wielding the belt, it was him, terrorizing his child while the stink of beer and sweat filled the air.

With a cry, Xander took off in a blind run, desperately trying to outrun the images in his head. He ran until his lungs burned, and his stomach heaved, finally stumbling to a stop inside the park. He fell onto his knees, slumping over onto his hands, his shoulders shaking as the torrent of emotion swirling around inside of him broke free. Anybody who was listening would have felt their heart break at the sound of his desperate, tormented wails.

~*~*~

"Have you heard from Xander?" Buffy asked Willow, as they sat in the stands waiting for the race to start. The redhead shook her head, a frown of concern marring her features.

"No. I'm kinda worried. It's been a week. Where would he have gone?" she asked. That night, after Spike and Giles had gone to bed, hoping to give the brunette couple time to talk, Xander had come in, packed a bag, and left. He'd left a note, saying he would call, he just had some thinking he had to do, and if Cordy called, she was to hear that he loved her. They had let him be, not going to look for him, allowing him to do his soul searching. But Willow and Buffy were starting to have a hard time feeling sympathy for him. Cordy was a wreck, only talking to them. She hadn't told her parents yet, knowing they would try to force her to have an abortion, and do God knew what to Xander. She hadn't been out of the house except to go to school since the night he left, keeping up appearances on the outside.

"I don't know, but if he isn't back soon, I'm going to go Terminator on his ass for doing this to Cordy." Willow grunted in agreement, smiling and waving down at Mark. He had taken Xander's place tonight, since the boy had gone missing, and the band had a rare weekend off. He waved back, sent her a wicked grin and jogged to the pits. The girls stopped talking once the flag dropped, and sat forward in their seats, screaming for Spike as he quickly took second place.

Buffy couldn't really tell what had her heart sputtering more than usual this day. Or why exactly she just knew when it was going to happen. But inconceivably, on lap twenty five, in the corner of turn two, she knew. Her heart leapt into her throat as the wheels of the car seemed to go one way, while the car kept steadily going straight. When he careened into the wall, and shot straight back across the track, most of the other drivers missed him. One didn't. With a loud crunch of metal, he was hit with such a force that the car flipped, once, twice, finally landing on the roof on the third tumble. She watched with terror, her hand gripping Willow's painfully, for any sign that he was okay. Seconds passed by like hours as she waited. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she felt a scream of grief rising in her chest as the EMT's made their way to the car. Almost as soon as they reached it, movement could be made out from within. When Spike climbed out of the car, and removed his helmet, exposing his blood stained face, the crowd erupted into cheers, the sound near deafening. Willow joined with them, not seeing her friend sink lifelessly to the bleacher, head in her hands as relief nearly crippled her.

Chapter Fifteen

Buffy's heart was thudding in her chest as she walked into the tiny cubicle. Relief flooded through her once more at the sight of Spike, sitting in the hospital bed, kicking his legs against the side. A lollipop stick was protruding from his mouth, and a butterfly bandage covered his left eyebrow. A brilliant bruise was forming around the spot where the glass entered his skin. He was damn lucky he didn't lose his eye. A large smile brightened his features when he saw her.

"Ello, baby," he said, holding out a hand to her. She took it, curling her fingers around his tightly, allowing him to draw her into his arms. She settled between his thighs, and rested her head on his chest. He frowned when he realized she was trembling. "Pet? What's the matter?" She sniffed, and pulled back a bit to stare at him with wide eyes.

"What's the matter?" She raised a finger to gently brush it over his bandage. "You're hurt," she said softly, tears filling her eyes.

"Hey, I'm alright. Just a little scratch is all," he reassured, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. Her worried, hazel eyes drifted closed at the contact, grateful to feel it, him, alive and well.

"I was so scared," Buffy admitted, feeling the tears spill from her tightly closed eyes.

"Shh. I'm okay." He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. Her fingers fisted in his shirt on his back, her nose breathing in deep his scent, a scowl forming on her face. He smelled like the track. Oil and rubber, and dirt. She found that she hated it. "The car's not so good, however." She felt his chest rumble a bit, at his bitter chuckle.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. She didn't give a hoot about that damn car. He was what mattered to her.

"Oh, well. Have to talk to Mark about fixing her," he said, half to himself. Buffy's eyes snapped open, as his words registered.

"Fixing? As in to race?" She pulled back again, horror written across her features. His brows drew together at her look, making his head throb. He immediately relaxed his facial muscles.

"Well, yeah. That's what we bought her for," he told her, confused at her reaction. She pulled fully out of his arms then, and started to pace the room.

"But, it could have KILLED you today. And you just want to run right back out and do it again?" The heels of her boots echoed in the room as he watched her flurry of motion. She was worrying her hands in front of her as she walked, her eyes trained on the floor.

"I'm fine. And yeah, I want to keep it up. I love it." Spike was at a loss. He truly didn't understand the reaction she was having. Accidents came part and parcel with racing. Very few were fatal with all the safety precautions that were required now a days.

"What about me? Do you love me?" She turned and looked at him, her chin trembling with emotion. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, and she hugged her arms around her waist. Spike slid off the bed, stunned that she would ask such a thing.

"Of course I love you. You know I do," he told her, reaching for her. She avoided his hands, taking a deep breath to say what she felt she had too.

"Enough to give it up?" His blue, bottomless eyes widened, searching her face for an indication of how serious she was. Anger flared in them when he realized just how much she was.

"That's not fair, pet," he growled, looking down at her.

"Oh, like it's any more fair for me to sit in those stands every week, and watch you play out some adolescent game of defying death? I am a wreck, every goddamned Saturday. Do you understand that? Wondering if you're going to make it through another race unhurt. And guess what? Your luck ran out today. You almost lost your eye, Spike. It could've been a hell of a lot worse." Spike let out a huff of disgusted air, and started to pace himself.

"I'm FINE, Buffy. This is what I want to do with my life. I'm good at it," he told her, mind spinning. The turn of this conversation was making him feel ill, and he knew that things were changing. And not for the better. "How can you ask me to give it up?"

"Because I love you, you idiot. And I don't want to watch you die!" she exclaimed, crying in earnest now. His heart started to crack as he looked at her, so tiny and scared. But, he couldn't give her what she wanted anymore than he would ask her to change who she was.

"Baby, I can't. It's not cause I don't love you enough. It's because, if I give it up for you. All that's going to happen is resentment. And I love you so bloody much, I don't want that to happen." He reached out for her again, hoping to reassure her, but she jerked away from him, a look of betrayal on her face.

"I can't. . .I just can't." Her eyes met his, her meaning loud and clear. Spike recoiled from the pain that lanced through him, his entire body going rigid. Her heart broke at the look on his face, but she couldn't do this. He was going to get killed one day if he kept this up, and she couldn't do it. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning on her heel and fleeing the room, nearly knocking over Giles as he walked in. Spike watched her go, tears filling and slipping from his eyes. One look at his son, and the lecture Rupert had been about to let loose died in his throat. Spike looked so stricken, so devastated, that he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Will?" Spike's eyes jerked to his father, and that's when it broke. His entire body wracked in shudders, and a sob tore from his throat. He looked at his father, his entire being begging him to make it better, like he used to when he was ten, and had split his knee open. "Oh, Will," Giles said, gathering his child up, and trying to comfort in the only way he knew how. Just being there.

~*~*~

Joyce stared at the door to her eldest daughter's room, hand poised to knock. The sounds that had been coming from inside for the last two days were heartwrenching. The day of the wreck, Buffy had come home from the hospital, not talking or looking at anybody. She'd gone straight up to her room, and locked the door, not coming out for anything. She had finally found out what was going on when she saw Rupert at the gallery. Buffy had broken up with Spike. And neither were taking it well. Without Xander around, (another problem that just wasn't being taken care of), Spike had taken off for the storage shed where the DeSoto was. Unable to deal with his grief, he had decided to take his pain out on the car, even though he lacked the tools to fix it properly. Mark had tried to talk to him once, leaving before their conversation disintegrated into a fist fight.

Willow had called repeatedly for Buffy, but she wouldn't come out of her room, or answer the knocks at her door. They were on the verge of an intervention, the bust up of this relationship compounding the tension from Cordy's pregnancy and Xander's disappearance. Her heart ached for her daughter, whose sobs hadn't decreased in the last 42 hours. If anything, they had increased, with an intensity that could cripple.

Sighing, Joyce raised her hand and knocked softly.

"Buffy?" she called, not hearing anything other than her daughter's cries. She tried again, and waited. This time, she heard the rustle of sheets as her daughter got up, then the twist of the lock on her door. The sight that met her when the door swung open had her aching heart burst into spasms. Buffy stood, wearing only a t-shirt, her hair in wild disarray from the troubled sleep she had been getting. Her face was red and splotchy, her eyes swollen. Tears stained her face and agony swam in her eyes. Her lips were dry and cracked, and huge bags, the color of bruises sat beneath the usually clear orbs.

"Mommy?" she said, tears welling up again.

"Oh, baby," Joyce said, opening her arms. Buffy flew into them, sobs tearing from her ravaged throat, as she shook with grief in her mother's embrace.

~*~*~

Spike looked down at the crumpled shell of his car, his vision blurred from the tears swimming in them. He had been at the storage shed for two days, growling at anybody who had the balls to try to talk to him. His father had given up, choosing to let his son work through it, and be there for him when he was needed. His jaw hurt from the repeated clenching he had been doing in an effort to force the tears back. His head hurt from the combination of emotion and his injury. His stomach rolled from the pain. He was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster he was on.

One minute, he was ready to go crawling to her on his hands and knees, begging her to take him back, and swearing off racing forever. The next, he'd say sod it all, her loss; cursing her selfishness and the fact that she had done this too him. Not even Dru lying about being pregnant had hurt him this much. He'd suspected it the whole time, finding out from his best friend in London just what she had been up to. And the fact that he ALWAYS used a condom, was just enough to have her breaking into tears, her lies being thrown back at her. When she had finally admitted it, he hadn't really felt pain. More like relief that it was over.

No, the only thing that could be compared to this, was the death of his mother. He was losing another woman that he loved with his whole heart, and he felt helpless to stop it. Even though this had a solution: stop racing. But how long before he started to hate her for making him choose? How long before they fell apart because he had compromised himself?

With a scream of anguish, he threw back his head and stared at the ceiling, not really seeing it. He fisted his hands in his hair, pulling hard to block out the image of her tiny form fleeing the hospital. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, that he didn't hear the door opening, or the sound of someone talking to him.

"Mr. Giles!" the voice cracked out, the authoritative tone finally breaking through Spike's whirlwind of emotions.

"Wha?" he said, spinning around to look at the short, fit man in the dark business suit behind him. The man stood, silently staring at the disheveled young man, with his two day stubble, wild platinum hair, and torn clothing. William Giles looked like a man that had been on a three day bender without the benefit of alcohol.

"Mr. Giles? My name is Richard Hammond," he said, waiting for the spark of recognition in Spike's tormented eyes. His voice was as smooth as silk, with just the hint of southern twang underneath the polish. When it finally came, he continued. "As you know, I am a representative of the H.S.I. racing team, owned and operated by Harker Sheldon." Spike's eyes narrowed as he looked at the little man. His thick, grey hair was swept back from a broad forehead. Serious brown eyes regarded from within a tanned, round face. Thick, grey brows peeked from over top of his thin, wire rimmed glasses. A bushy mustache was perched over his thin upper lip. He was shorter than Spike, but compact, the muscle hinting from beneath his perfectly tailored suit. He had the look of a man that lived, and lived well.

"Yeah?" Spike drawled, searching through his pockets for a cigarette. When he produced a crumpled pack, he pulled one out, and lit it, waiting for the man to speak again.

"Mr. Sheldon has been keeping his eye on the dirt track circuit, looking for new talent to put into his cars," Hammond continued, running a hand over his maroon tie. "You, Mr. Giles, have caught his attention."

"So?" Spike said, blowing smoke out of his lungs, trying to appear nonchalant. No need to let the man on to how excited he was. Hammond bit back a smile, seeing through his tough guy routine.

"So, he would like you to come down to Charlotte and show us what you got." Spike's eyes snapped open wider at that, his heart thudding in his chest.

"Why me? Why not someone from ARCA or Busch?" he asked, taking a deep drag to calm his overactive nerves.

"Mr. Giles..."

"Spike."

"Spike," he barely managed not to roll his eyes at the nickname, "Mr. Sheldon has never felt the need to explore those avenues. He likes to give the up and coming drivers their shot. A shot they might not have without many years on the racing circuit. He likes to reward talent, not experience."

"Is'at right?" Spike mumbled, excitement replacing the anguish in his eyes. All kinds of thoughts were racing through his head, none of them sticking around long enough to gel into anything coherent.

"Yes, Spike. That's right. What do you say?" Spike looked at the older man, stunned. This little man was standing here, calming handing Spike his dream like it was the salt at the dinner table, and he wanted to know what he would say?

"I'll give it a go," he managed to get out, before he dropped to his knees in front of the man and made and ass out of himself kissing the ground he walked on. Mr. Hammond didn't even bother hiding his smile this time, and set his briefcase down on the back end of the DeSoto. He glanced at the smashed hood, unfazed. He'd seen worse. Opening the case, he reached in and pulled out an envelope. He then turned and handed it to Spike.

"In that this is your plane ticket for tomorrow afternoon, a hotel reservation, and some cash. I trust I will see you there?" Spike nodded numbly, cigarette forgotten in his hand as he stared down at the envelope in his other one. "Good. See you in a couple of days then." With that, Hammond snapped his case closed, and walked out of the shed. Spike just stood, staring after him. Here it was, his ticket to everything he wanted. He thought about the dream he'd had, about being in victory lane with his best friend, and his girl. Well, his best friend was MIA, and his girl couldn't handle his love of speed. But, he could have at least one third of that dream. And he was going to take it.

~*~*~

"Feeling better, honey?" Joyce asked, heartened as her daughter finished some soup. When she had calmed after she had collapsing on her mother in the hallway, Joyce had coaxed her into the shower, and downstairs for some hot chocolate and some soup. Dawn had been sent over to a friend's house, her curious, twelve year old eyes banished from the wreckage of her sister. "A little," Buffy said, pushing the bowl away. She toyed with the placemat, her eyes going distant. "Mom. Am I wrong?" Joyce smiled at her, and placed a gentle hand over her daughter's.

"No," she told her. Buffy looked relieved, but she lost it after her mother's next words. "And neither is Spike." She sighed at the frown she got, and went to explain. "Honey, he needs to live his life. If his dream is to race cars, then that's what he should do. But, if you can't live with that, then that's your right. It's not an easy thing to deal with."

"But if he loved me. . ." Buffy started, feeling the tears starting again. She brushed them away with an agitated hand.

"It doesn't work like that, sweetheart, and you know it," Joyce told her, her voice soft. "You can't ask him to give up everything he wants, anymore than he can do it to you. It's not fair."

"But it hurts," Buffy said, her eyes swimming, her face twisted in the effort to keep them at bay.

"I know it does. And it will, for a long time. I'm not going to lie to you about that. But, if you two are meant to be, you will be," Joyce finished. Buffy snorted, but didn't say anything. What could she say? It was true. She leaned forward on the table and pushed her hands into her hair.

"I don't know, Mom. I love him, so much. This is nothing like I felt for Angel. It's almost like I need him to breathe," she said, her voice sounding hollow. All Joyce could do was pull her daughter to her and offer her the comfort of her love.

"I know, baby. I know."

~*~*~

"I"ll get it!" Dawn yelled, bouncing from her seat on the couch. Buffy was upstairs in her room, having a well-needed talking session with Willow. Joyce had gone to the gallery to try to finish up some paperwork. "Hi, Spike," she said brightly, her smile fading as she took in the bag slung over his leather covered shoulder. "Where're you going?" she asked. He looked down into her young face, a sad smile touching his lips.

"Got an offer to drive. I'm gonna take it," he told her, sighing at the tears that welled up in her eyes. "None of that now, Nibblet. I'll keep in touch."

"You promise?" she demanded, her lower lip trembling. He raised his hand and trailed a finger over her cheek.

"O'course. How could I not, you're my brave little one. Remember?" she nodded, surprising him when she launched at him, squeezing him tight around the middle. He blinked back his own tears, gently brushing a kiss across her silky hair, and giving her a quick squeeze.

"Where's big sis?" he murmured, pulling away.

"Upstairs," she answered, her wide azure eyes roaming over his face, as if memorizing him.

"Get her for me?" She nodded and turned to bound up the stairs. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of footsteps, and looked up to see Buffy and Willow coming down. "Pet," he greeted, his eyes drinking in every inch of her.

"Spike. Dawn says you're leaving," she gasped, praying it wasn't true. The look on his face told her otherwise. She had to fight to keep from throwing herself into his arms, wailing like a banshee. She had to let him go. Spike shifted on his feet, bringing his thumb up to scratch his eyebrow. His lips pursed as he looked at her, and he nodded.

"Yeah," he said after a deep breath. "Got an offer, kinda can't refuse it," he said, a swift, small smile darting across his mouth.

"Well, that's good, for you. It's what you've wanted. I'm happy for you," she said, clasping her hands in front of her, wondering why they were being so formal. Willow watched the scene with a heavy heart, her own tears threatening to spill.

"Yeah," he answered, looking down at the floor. When he looked back up at her, his eyes were so dark, and so full of pain and love, she almost lost it. "I had to see you, before I left," he said, softly, his voice thick. That quiet statement, was all it took for it to become real to her. In an instant, she was in his arms, holding on for dear life, her breathing hindered by the steel of his arms around her waist. She didn't care, though, and she pulled back to cover his mouth with hers, needing to feel him one last time. Their tongues battle furiously as they tried to force the imprint of the other into their memories, tears sliding down their cheeks. They pulled away, they were both crying in earnest, neither trying to hide it.

"I love you," he gasped, resting his forehead against hers. Her fingers were tracing his face, adding the injury in his eyebrow to the picture of him she had in her brain.

"I love you too," she whispered back, peppering soft kisses on his mouth and jaw. The jarring sound of a horn blaring jerked them back to reality.

"I gotta go," he said, disentangling himself from her, ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to grab her and hold on. She nodded, not paying any mind to her own inner voice telling her to go with him. He looked at her a moment more, his heart clenching at how very beautiful she looked to him right then. She was trying to be brave, her chin set, and her shoulders firm. But he could see his own heartache being reflected back at him from the hazel depths of her eyes. "Bugger," he said, before hauling her against him once more for a hard, demanding kiss. As soon as he released her, he was gone in a swirl of black leather. She gripped the door, her knuckles turning white as she watched him get into the cab. He gave her one last, lingering look as it pulled away form the curb, to take him to the airport, and out of her life.

~*~*~

Spike stood staring out the window, watching the airplanes, waiting for his flight to be called. He turned at the sound of his name being called, confusion and anger written across his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, as Xander came to a stop beside him. He eyed the black duffle bag the boy was carrying with suspicion.

"I called the house, and found out what you were doing. Giles is having a fit." Spike felt a stab of guilt for not telling his father properly, instead of leaving the note, but he didn't want him to try to talk him out of it.

"That didn't answer my question," Spike reminded him. Xander looked down at the floor, then back up at him, his face set.

"I'm going with," he said quickly.

"The hell you are! What about Cordelia? Or did you conveniently forget about that baby you put in her?" Spike snapped, truly disliking his friend in that moment. Anger flared in Xander's eyes for an instant, before he looked back down.

"She's better off without me," he said quietly, when his eyes returned to Spike, revealing the guilt and the self loathing he felt to his core. Spike sighed, and shook his head.

"You can't leave her. She loves you. And she's having your baby," he said again.

"What can I give her, Spike? What can I do other than bring her down?" Xander replied, desperation ringing through his words.

"You can be a man," Spike returned. "You don't have to be your father. Make it right, Xan." The brunette sighed, blinking rapidly to stave off the burning in his eyes. He nodded, not really knowing how he was going to do that. When he had heard what Spike was doing, he'd left his aunt's, determined to go with him. As he had gotten closer to the airport, his aunt's car pushed to it's limits, he realized what he was doing was wrong. He loved Cordy, with all his heart. He just didn't want to fuck up her life anymore than he already had.

"You'll keep in touch?" Xander asked, when he had himself under control. Spike snorted, and looked away.

"Yeah. You take care of her. And that baby. If it's a boy, name it after me" he teased, happy to see a slight smile curl his friends lip.

"Be careful. You won't have me with you to keep you straight," Xander said, a short laugh punctuating his sentence. Spike joined him, and nodded.

"You know it." They both looked at each other, when his flight number was called, uncomfortable with goodbye. Sighing again, Spike held out a hand, which Xander took, neither knowing which one pulled the other in for the tight, hard hug that happened. Quickly, they broke apart, a long moment of silence stretching between them before Spike turned, and started towards the gate. Xander watched as the blonde slowly made his way through the line, to reach the flight attendant at the end. Once he did, he handed her his ticket, then turned and saluted Xander, before disappearing through the doorway. The brunette continued to stand there, silently watching the plane as it taxied down the runway, and took off into the bright, blue sky.

A/N: Okay, just a short explanation. You will notice in the following chapters, that I have aged them. I decided that I wanted them to be a bit older than what I had originally thought. Over the next few days, I will be fixing the rest of the text, so that the ages coincide with what I want. So, that being said, welcome to the present.

Chapter Sixteen

Sunnydale, September 2002 (six months after the accident)

With a heavy sigh, Willow pulled down the safety grate of the elevator in the warehouse apartment she lived in. After pushing the button for her floor, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as the elevator rumbled loudly to the top. She was so tired, and all her thoughts were of a hot bath and bed. She really needed to think about dropping a couple of classes, the strain was starting to get to her.

When the elevator came to a stop, she pushed away from the wall and exited, making sure to slide the outer gate into place. She then walked down the long, barren hall to her door, the skirt of her short, floral dress wrapping around her legs. Her soft, tan suede boots echoed loudly in the space as she dug in her bag for her keys. Her hand had just closed over them when she heard it. A smile spread across her face as the soft, unmistakable sound of piano playing reached her ears. The haunting melody drifted down the hall, causing her steps to quicken. When she reached the door, she slid the key in and turned, pushing it open. Her clear, green eyes went straight to the piano, her heart tripping in her chest when she saw him.

Mark was sitting hunched over the keys, the only light in the room coming from the moon and street lamps outside the large expanse of windows to his left. She closed the front door quietly, not wanting to break his concentration, and started across the large space. They had moved in here three years ago, after Mark had cut his first album with his band Native Soul. They had taken the huge area and quartered it off, doing most of the work themselves to avoid the huge costs of renovations. As it were, the kitchen and bathroom had cost a fortune. But, it was theirs, and it had been paid for with the royalties from the album. To Willow's right, as she moved through the room, was the living room. The furniture was done in jewel tones, the sofa and chair over stuffed, almost begging for someone to take a nap. An entertainment center sat against the wall, complete with TV, VCR, and DVD player (a gift to Willow on her birthday). Through the living room was the area where Mark kept his instruments. The grand piano had been a splurge, but one that Willow wouldn't have done without if you had paid her. Several guitars lined the space under the windows, as well as two amps, and a couple of microphones. Mark loved the acoustics in the warehouse, and the band had often rehearsed there until their record company gave them a place.

Behind Willow was the kitchen / dining room area, which was partitioned off by screens. In the far corner was their bedroom, the only space actually surrounded by walls besides the bathroom, which sat between it and the guest bedroom, in the opposite corner. Willow's mother had nearly had a stroke when she realized the her daughter was moving in with a musician. She had then convinced her husband not to pay for their daughter's college unless she broke up with him. Willow had been amazed that after all the years of being ignored, suddenly her parents cared what she was doing. They had followed through on their threat of cutting monetary support, but the redhead had gotten a full scholarship, and had thumbed her nose at the people that had birthed her.

Willow moved silently through the room, her eyes never leaving his form. She skirted effortlessly around the furniture, not needing a light to navigate the familiar path. She delighted in the way the silvery moonlight played across the strong muscles of his lean, bare back. The inky blackness of his long hair had slipped off his shoulder, hiding the sharp planes of his face from her view.

Many nights, since they had moved in, she would awaken to quiet melodies playing softly through the rooms. She would get up to find him, memorizing the paths in the darkness. Then, she would do, just as she did now. She slid effortlessly next to him, never jostling the bench as she sat down. Then, as usual, his long fingers would play the last few notes of the song, his attention immediately shifting to her.

"You're back," she said quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. The soft, newly shorn ends of her hair tickled his arm. She smiled when she felt him brush his lips across the top of her head.

"Yeah. We finished early," he answered, wrapping his arm around her waist to draw her closer. He has been in LA for the last two weeks, his band working on their second album. Their first album had generated a number one song, 'Perfect One', and the record company was chomping at the bit for a second one.

"Good," she said, breathing in deep his scent. He always smelled like smoke, soap, and sandalwood. Whenever she smelled any of those things, she always thought of him, and home. He chuckled at her, rested a cheek against her head.

"Is he back yet?" he asked, smiling when she sighed.

"Buffy's going to meet them at the airport," she answered, closing her eyes. She felt for her friends, knowing that seeing each other again wasn't going to be easy. The last time had been for Joyce's funeral. And they hadn't even spoken. Buffy had cried for days afterwards, the combination of her mother dying, and Spike leaving again nearly breaking her. Xander had told her that Spike had spent the next week after the funeral and the race that Sunday in the bottle. Barely recovering in time to make the next race.

"Why didn't Xander?" he asked, maneuvering them so she was straddled across is lap. Willow wrapped her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair. She loved his hair, and never tired of playing with it.

"He's MIA." Mark frowned at that. Willow just shook her head, not wanting to get into it. There was plenty of time to tell him in the morning. After they had said a proper hello. Leaning down, she covered his mouth with hers, sighing as he opened for her. Their tongues twined lazily around each other, feeling no need to rush. As hard as the separations were on them, it was the time together that kept them going. When he was on the road, she would fly out on weekends to see him. For her birthday the year before, he had played a show, then flown back in time to surprise her. It was hard, but they made it work, the fear of life without the other making any problems pale in comparison.

Mark's hands slid up her legs, the sensation sending chills rushing over her skin, and a hard rush of arousal slammed through her body. The kiss turned urgent, their laziness forgotten as their bodies sought to come together. Mark shifted a bit to pull his shorts down, never once breaking his feast on her mouth. Willow held on as she felt his fingers brush against her sex, her hips surging forward to invite them further in. He hooked a finger around the cotton of her panties, pulling it aside. The tip of his shaft grazed her slick heat, causing them both to moan. With a thrust, he was inside, filling her to completion. She broke away from his mouth to throw her head back, her hips shifting in time with his in a hard, fast rhythm. They never thought it odd that they never seemed to get enough of each other. They had been luckier than their friends, doubt and fear never threading their way into their lives, making the road more difficult than it had to be.

Mark's lips closed over a hard peak through her thin dress, and her fingers tightened in his hair. She used her knees against the bench to ride him harder, her inner muscles clamping over him as she started to fall.

"Oh God!" she cried, as tremors exploded over her, her movements becoming frenzied.

"Willow!" he exclaimed, following her over the edge into oblivion, holding her to him as his shaft pulsed deep within her womb. She stroked her fingers lazily through his hair, whispering her love as they calmed. Then, Mark stood, the bench flying across the floor, and started to walk to their bedroom, kicking his shorts off as he moved. He was still buried to the hilt inside of her, his length hardening with each step. Willow started to bounce against him, seeking friction once more. His arms tightened around her waist, stilling her as best he could so he could get them to the bed in one piece.

Once they fell to the cool, cotton sheets, Willow's clothes were quickly disposed of, all thoughts of a bath and sleep banished for the night.

~*~*~

Cordelia walked through the small house, picking up toys, and straightening things as she went. She didn't allow her mind to wander as she did this, concentrating solely on making her house tidy once again. She looked around the tiny living room, with the beige carpet, and royal blue drapes. The futon couch with the black cushions sat under the window, it's throw pillows freshly fluffed. A blue recliner sat across from it, turned to face the tv against the wall. A huge potted plant bloomed crazily next to the tv, threatening to overtake it any day now. A glider rocker sat next to the recliner, it's joints creaky from many hours of rocking. Xander had promised to oil them, but something always seemed to come up.

A smile, followed by a wave of hurt and anger, rushed over her at the thought of her husband, and she had to force it back. No time for negativity. Not when her daughter was sleeping soundly in her white and lavender bedroom, with pictures of ponies dancing in her head. And not when she had to get up and go to work in the morning.

Turning away from the living room, she walked down the short hall to her daughter's room to put the toys away. She placed them carefully in her toy box, and walked over to the princess castle bed, and looked down at the tiny, dark haired form of her four year old daughter, Jasmine. The little girl with her mother's looks and her father's sense of humor slept peacefully, one tiny arm wrapped around the stuffed teddy bear that her Uncle Spike had sent all the way from New York.

Cordy smiled, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, before turning and leaving the room. Sighing, she pulled the door to, and walked back to the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee.

The kitchen was a warm room. The dark faux brick on the walls giving it a country feel. The counters were simulated wood grain, as was the floor. A bar separated the kitchen from the dining area, where a set of glass doors opened onto the patio. Cordy took her mug, and walked to the table, picking up a pen as to finish her paperwork. She had been running the gallery since Giles had left, and while she had loved every minute of it, she was glad that he was coming back soon. He had left her in charge, giving her the freedom to order new merchandise, and to hire new employees. Which was what she was doing right now. Anya Torrents had a degree in art, and was very knowledgeable about little known artists. Cordy thought she would be a good hire, especially since the gallery had started to showcase the local artists.

She sipped her coffee as she finished off the tax paperwork, getting it ready to send to the accountant the next day. She did all this, all the while ignoring the nagging thought in the back of her mind. The thought, that no matter how late she stayed up again tonight, he wasn't going to come home. Yawning widely, she closed the folder, and stood, stretching. She took her cup to the sink then went down the short hall to her bedroom, moving without the benefit of a light. She didn't let herself think as she got ready for bed, just went through the motions of brushing her teeth and now short dark hair. Then, she slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar tang of his aftershave that clung to it, before slipping between the cool sheets of her empty bed. She shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable, grabbing his pillow and holding it close, her eyes closing against the tears threatening to spill. With a forced determination, she settled deeper into her covers, and blanked her mind, willing sleep to come. Which, blissfully, it did.

~*~*~

Buffy paced restlessly around the waiting area outside the gate at the airport. Her nervous fingers twisted the ring on her left hand, the small diamond cutting into her skin. People passing the young woman dressed in faded blue jeans and a pink tank top, wondered what could have such a pretty thing so addled. Her heart was pounding against her chest, and her palms were sweating at the thought of seeing him again. She could kill Xander for taking off and leaving her to deal with this. She felt a pang of guilt at that selfish thought, knowing that the brunette had his own share of troubles, but dammit. She didn't want to deal with this. Not yet. Not when she thought she had finally gotten over him. She could admit that she still loved him. Probably always would. But, she had a new life now. One that didn't need the complication of Spike Giles. And everything about Spike was complicated.

She should have sent Dawn to do this. The seventeen year old had gotten her license the day after her birthday this past summer, and was always looking for a reason to drive. Plus the fact the she was chomping at the bit to see Spike. But Buffy hadn't wanted the girl to deal with the angry, hurt man who was sure to emerge from the plane. So, she had volunteered when Giles called, brushing away his protests and offers to take a cab.

Now, though, she wished she had let him. With each minute that brought the landing of the plane closer, Buffy's panic rose. She couldn't even really say what she was so panicked over. She was older, happy with her life, and content with the choices she had made. She had a feeling though, that when she saw him again, all of that was going to change. She had to remind herself, several times, of just why they broke up. And he was coming back a broken man, if Giles' reports on his mental state were any indication. His leg had healed, and he was walking without any outside assistance. But his vision couldn't be repaired, not without a risky operation that could leave him blind as easily as it could fix the problem.

Buffy forced herself to sit down when she caught herself gnawing on the her nonexistent thumbnail. Taking deep breaths, she rested her head in her hands. It had been over a year since the last time she had seen him. She remembered, standing next to Dawn at her mother's gravesite, the light rain beating down on their heads as the heavens themselves seemed to weep for Joyce Summers' passing. She had been surrounded by her family and friends, only two notable presences not felt. Her father. And Spike. Somewhere near the end of the sermon, Buffy had felt a pull to look over her shoulder, and she did. There, at the edge of the crowd, dark stubble marring his cheeks, his white hair in a wild disarray, Spike stood, his dark suit crumpled from the hours he had spent traveling to get there. Their eyes locked for a long minute, sympathy and support singing along the lines of the bond that could still be felt by both of them. Too soon, her attention had been drawn back to the grave, her grief slightly lessened at the knowledge that he was there. But when she had turned back to go see him, to talk to him, he was gone. If not for confirmation from Giles that yes, he had been there, she would have thought that he was a figment of her imagination. That night, after all the people had finally gone home, and Dawn had demanded to spend the night at Willow's, loathe to stay in the house where her mother had died, he had shown back up. No words were spoken as they stared at each other. None were needed.

Almost immediately, they were in each other's arms. Clothes flew as she sought to outrun her grief, her mind screaming that she shouldn't be doing this. They would only break each other's hearts again. But all thought was lost when he had plunged into her, deep and hard, the feel of him taking all her pain, and all her doubts away. She clung to him that night, trying to hold onto him, knowing that when the morning came, he would be gone, making their joining even more bittersweet.

And in the morning, when she had woken up alone, the only evidence of his ever being there the soreness between her legs, and the rose resting on the pillow by her head, she had started to cry. Finally releasing the pain that she had been pushing away over her losing her mother, and the intense, blinding hurt at losing him once again, she had huddled in her bed, not coming out until she was cried dry. Then, she had picked herself up, and shut away the girl she had been. She had a sister to raise, and a house to pay for. No time to worry about lost dreams. So, she had gone out and gotten a job, leaving the running of the gallery to Giles and Cordelia. It was there, that she met Riley Finn.

She was on her second day as a bank teller, nervously left on her own for the first time. He had been her second customer of the day, right after the little old lady who didn't understand that she couldn't take the one hundred dollars in unrolled coins as a deposit. Once the manager had come over and diffused the situation, she had been prepared to quit. But then she had looked up at her next customer, his smile large and kind, and had decided maybe this job wasn't so bad after all.

He had introduced himself, and had almost immediately asked her out to dinner. She had smiled, but refused, her heart still raw from Spike's second departure. He had laughed, and said maybe some other time. Then, he had left, leaving her to ponder the tall, very well muscled man with the sandy brown hair, and open face. Every week he had come in, he had asked her out, until finally, she had accepted. They had been together ever since.

She came to learn that he was the football coach at the high school, his dreams of an NFL career dashed when he blew out his knee in his junior year of college. Buffy had spent the first six months of them being together telling herself that this was what she wanted. A nice, safe man who was devoted to her, and had no use for race cars. She spent the next six months believing it.

However, as every second ticked closer to bringing Spike back, she felt that belief start to shatter. Buffy sprang up from her seat once more, when the announcement came that the flight from Atlanta had landed. She watched the gate with anxiety clutching at her as the people started to file off. When she finally saw Giles, her smile was large and genuine. He had become a sort of surrogate father to all of them over the years, his quiet dependency a balm for their troubled lives. He raised a hand in a wave, his face tired and strained. She started over to him, her hazel eyes searching the rest of the people for the telltale white hair.

When she saw him, she staggered to a stop. His usually proud form was slumped, his handsome face haggard. His hair was laced with dark roots, the locks a mass of unruly curls. He was too thin, his black jeans and t-shirt hanging on his slim frame, the added thinness making his already sharp cheek bones sharper. But, it was his eyes that had her heart seizing in her chest. Still the same brilliant blue, the look of confidence and mirth was gone. In its place was a look of hurt and defeat, the look making her think that he had given up on life. He looked over at her, and she saw the dark bags marring the skin underneath. She saw a flair of something nasty in his eyes, and had to fight back the wave of tears that threatened to spill.

Forcing her feet to start moving again, she walked over to them, forcing a smile onto her face.

"Hello, Buffy," Giles said, his voice tired. Spike stayed silent, regarding the woman approaching them with disinterest.

"Hi, how was the flight?" she asked, clasping her hands in front of her. The motion caused the light to flare off the ring on her hand, and Spike's eyes widened when he saw it. He looked away from them, ignoring their small talk, and for the first time thankful that his vision was marred, so he didn't have to see her clearly out of the corner of his eye. He started to pray violently for a cigarette and a drink, promising himself that as soon as he could get away from them, he would get himself both.

"Will?" Giles drew his attention back to them, "Are you ready to go get the bags and go home?" Home, Spike thought. Is that what this was? No, home was behind the wheel of a race car, the wind rushing through the windows and the smell of the track filling his nostrils. This wasn't home. Nothing would ever come even remotely close again.

"Yeah," was all he said to his father, however, and he started to walk away from them, not wanting to see the pity in their eyes. Buffy turned and walked with Giles, studying the still fluid gate of her ex. Even with the limp, he was graceful, his too thin frame still moving like a cat.

"How is he?" Buffy asked Giles quietly, glancing over at him.

"Not good, I'm afraid. He's started drinking. Heavily. It was worrisome while he was still on the pain medication, but he managed not to kill himself. Won't listen to anybody about it. Not me, the doctors. I'm hoping that being home will help him. Seeing his old friends. And you," Giles added, looking down at her. He saw the flare of resentment in her eyes and sighed. She could lie to herself all she wanted, he thought. He was hoping beyond hope that his two children could find their way together once more. They needed each other like they needed air, and he was afraid for them if they fought it too long. Mistakes had already been made. How many more needed to be made before they stopped being so stubborn. Giles was of the firm opinion that if they had been together, the pain of Joyce's death, and the anguish this accident was causing his son would not have been as crippling.

"I don't see how I can help. What was between us is long over," she denied, stepping onto the escalator to go downstairs. Spike had made sure to stay as far away from them as possible, his stance rigid. Her heart broke for him, but there was nothing she could do.

"Just being there, when he needs, should be enough," Giles told her.

"Giles, I have a life. One that doesn't involve him. Now, I'll do what I can, but I'm not dropping everything." She knew she sounded bitchy, got her confirmation of it by the look that crossed Giles' face, but she couldn't help it. She had to distance herself from this. It wasn't her place anymore.

"Whatever you feel you can do, Buffy," Giles said, stepping off the escalator and moving to catch up with his son, leaving Buffy to stand and stare after him. She watched father and son walk to the turnstile holding the bags, tears threatening to spill once again. *Good job, Buff. If there's an award for insensitivity, you just won it,* she told herself, miserably. With a sigh, and a heavy heart, she walked after the two Brits, hoping to get this over with soon so she could escape back to her nice, safe life.

Buffy watched as the two Giles men made their way into the apartment. As they disappeared inside, she rested her head on the steering wheel of her mother's SUV, taking deep breaths to stave off the emotion threatening to choke her. The last twenty minutes had been tense and silent, neither male feeling the need to talk, and Buffy finding herself with nothing to say. She didn't think that Spike would want to hear about anything that had been going on in her life, especially since it involved another man. And she didn't know what other safe topics they could talk about that he wouldn't already know.

He had kept in touch with the rest of their circle of friends, often seeing Mark while he was on the road. Xander and Cordy had spent a weekend down in Florida, right before the accident, the tickets to Daytona, as well as the stay in the hotel a gift from Spike. She knew that they had celebrated together afterwards. Even though he had come in fifth, that was still plenty to be happy about.

Hell, he'd even called her mother once a week once he had found out she was sick. He had told her, the night of the funeral, that his biggest regret was not being there at the end. He had always respected and liked Joyce, and was saddened to see her pass. The illness had taken a long time to kill her, the tumor slowly growing over the years. By the time she had gone to the doctors to get something for the headaches she'd been having, the tumor on the base of her spine had been inoperable. He remembered what it was like to lose his own mother, the wounds still fresh in his heart, and he would have wanted to be there for Buffy, and Dawn. Despite their being apart.

He also sent letters to Dawn, as well as little trinkets that had whatever city he had been in at the time emblazoned across them. The only one he didn't keep contact with, was her. And she couldn't say she blamed him. They were over, and she didn't have the right to expect anything from him.

She hadn't expected it to hurt so much to see him. To know he was in pain, and she couldn't help him, was tearing her apart inside. He had barely looked at her, and hadn't said a word to her. Just got into the car, and slumped low in the backseat, staring out the window as the houses and shops went by.

Sighing, she pushed away from the steering wheel, took one last look at the apartment, then put the SUV in gear. With a heavy heart, she pulled into the road and started home.

~*~*~

"Will, would you like something to eat? You didn't eat anything on the plane," Rupert asked his son as the somewhat blonde stalked into the apartment. Spike didn't answer him, just walked past the familiar leather furniture, and the walls lined with his father's treasured books, and went down the hall to his room. Giles took off his glasses and cleaned them as he listened to the definitive slamming of the door. His eyes drifted closed against the worry he harbored, the tension of the last few months finally starting to catch up to him.

It had been a relief to find out that his son would require no further surgery on his damaged leg. The breaks had been cleaner than the doctors had first thought, and they had healed relatively quickly. Spike would only need physical therapy once a week now that he was home, and that would only last until the bone was completely healed.

He had wished that Spike had been happier about the news. But, then, it wasn't the use of his leg that was keeping him out of a race car. Car owners, as well as NASCAR licensing officials wouldn't trust a driver that couldn't see. His peripheral nerves had been damaged so badly, that he could barely see outlines. Not something you want in a driver. He couldn't see what was to the left or right of him with out fully turning his head, a condition that could prove fatal on a race track.

Harker Sheldon had told them as much in the meeting they'd had before heading to Atlanta to the rehabilitation center there. Spike had felt that since he had been the Winston cup champion his second year out, that afforded him some loyalty from the man that had been his boss for the last five years. Unfortunately, Mr. Sheldon, although sympathetic, was first and foremost a business man. Spike had been paid for the remainder of his contract, and had been released. To Giles, it had seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. Spike had withdrawn inside of himself, barely speaking to anyone, allowing his father to make the decisions regarding his recuperation. He had also started to drink, usually passing out at night, with the bottle still clutched in his fist. He barely ate anything, choosing instead to drown himself in liquor. Giles was at a loss as to what to do. His son was in pain, and he had no clue how to help him.

Spike had steadfastly refused the idea of a psychiatrist, and no amount of badgering from Giles had been able to change his mind. He hoped that being home, with direct access to his friends once again, would help. He'd call Xander in the morning, and let him know that they were back. Maybe he could talk some sense into Spike.

With a sigh, Rupert replaced his glasses, and walked into the kitchen, glad to be home. Thoughts continued to tumble around in his head, and he found himself asking Rosemary to look out for their son, to maybe guide him on some way. He scoffed at himself even as he did it. His analytical mind didn't believe in things such as the afterlife, but in this instance, he prayed for any help for his son.

~*~*~

Spike stood just inside the doorway, looking around the room of his youth. His father hadn't changed much, except to come in with a shovel and clear out the mountains of dirty clothes he had left in his haste to pack and leave before Rupert had come home that day. His posters still hung on the walls. His double bed still had the same (hopefully clean) sheets on it. The picture of his mother still sat on the dresser, next to the picture of him and Buffy at the Fourth of July picnic. Everything he had left behind was still where he had put it, and Spike wondered vaguely if Giles was hoping that if he left it so, Spike would eventually come home.

Dropping his bag on the floor, then the duster on top of it, Spike moved to the dresser and snatched the picture of him and Buffy up. He looked long and hard at the image, seeing their happy faces, but too far removed from it to actually remember it. With a scowl, he put it back face down, then turned to go back to his bag. Shoving the leather to the floor, he pulled the zipper back, and rooted around for the bottle he had shoved at the bottom. He pulled it out triumphantly, staring at the label a second before twisting the cap off.

"Here's to you, Jack," he mumbled, before tipping it back and taking a long swallow. He relished the burn that followed the liquor down his throat, sighing as the soothing heat suffused his body. He then reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one and taking a drag before moving to the window to open it. He then sat on the ledge, and alternately smoked and drank, his mind turning over the events of the last five years. All of it culminating into the sharp point of the accident that stripped away the last thing he had ever wanted.

When he had first pulled on a fire suit and gotten into a car, he had put up with the insults that had been flung at him. What did a Brit know about stock car racing? Why wasn't he in the Indy league, since that was where most Europeans raced? He ignored them, and strapped in, taking to the asphalt track as if he had been borne there. It was hard, being an Englishman trying to make it in a world dominated by good old southern boys, but by the time he had finished his first race, he had their respect. By the time he had won his tenth, they hated him. He was brash, and aggressive, going just short of being fined to win a race.

The fans couldn't decide whether to love him or hate him. He was young, had the looks of a model, and a driving style that rivaled that of the Intimidator himself. With his distinctive white hair, and the rakish scar cut through his brow, he was a photographer's dream. With his tendency to rub paint, and pass in the most dangerous of moves, he was the other drivers' worst nightmare. But, his distinctive style had earned him the Championship his second year, a feat unprecedented to this day. He had won the Daytona in his third year, giving him a high like nothing else. He was soon sought after for ads and commercials, his popularity pushing the sport even more into the spotlight, taking up where the late Earnhardt left off.

He had plenty of money, and lots of pretty girls vying for his attention. Life had been damn near perfect. The only thing that had kept it from being so was the lack of THE pretty girl he wanted, and his best friend. The last time he had seen Buffy, he hadn't meant to. He had only planned on going to the funeral, and saying hello to his friends, and Nibblet, then take the first flight back to Florida. He had skipped out on the pre-racing festivities down at Daytona to attend, ignoring his owner when he threatened to put someone else in the car, permanently. He hadn't paid any mind to the threat, knowing full well that Sheldon wouldn't be so stupid. Besides, he had promised to be back for the race on Sunday, and that was the important point.

So, he had gone to Sunnydale, prepared to visit and run. His heart still hurt from the break-up with Buffy, even though it had happened almost four years prior. He didn't think he'd ever get over her. Every other time he had been back in town, he had made an effort not to see her, and this was to have been no exception.

However, almost as soon as he had shown up at the rain drenched cemetery, she had turned and looked at him. It had been like no time had passed, and they were back to being able to read each other's thoughts. Then, when the eye contact had been broken, he had fled, afraid of the feelings still churning around inside of him. He had spent some time walking around town, not noticing where he was going until he found himself outside of her house. He cursed himself even as he climbed the steps and knocked on the door. It had only taken one look at her tired, devastated face for him to have her in his arms, their lips fused together as if he had never left. Their joining that night had been the realization of several sleepless nights, their bodies demanding to be together, even if their minds wouldn't cooperate. He knew then, how much he still loved her. How much he would always love her.

It didn't change anything, though. He still raced, and she was still scared. So, he had left, early the next morning, leaving nothing behind save the red rose on her pillow. He had then flown straight to Daytona, having probably the worst race of his career. Afterwards, he'd crawled inside of a bottle and stayed there for a week. He didn't even care that he had gotten fined by his owner. It didn't matter, not when his heart was freshly bleeding from walking away from Buffy a second time.

Then, the following year, just a mere six months ago, the accident. He'd watched it, time and again on the telly, the sportscasters toting it as the worst since the one that had taken Earnhardt away. But, at least it hadn't killed him. Spike almost wished it had. When the doctors had handed out their news, he'd felt like he had died anyway, so what was the difference? He could have the operation and see again. Or, he could come out of it blind. Even he knew the risks weren't worth it. No matter how much he wanted to race again, being blind was not an option.

Now, here he was, back in the place where it had all started. And she was wearing an engagement ring. Yep, life was pretty much shit right now. He didn't want to admit to himself just how much he had been wanting to see her. Some part of him had hoped that things would go back to the way they were. He should have known better.

Spike let out a bitter chuckle, tossed his cigarette out the window, and took another long swallow off the bottle. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he thought of all he'd lost, his heart seizing painfully in his chest. It didn't matter anymore, he told himself, drinking more to help convince himself.

~*~*~

The next day Cordelia looked up at the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum of the gallery floor. She sighed as she saw her mother walk in, her purple, linen suit impeccable, her sleek, dark hair twisted into a bun. A cloud of Chanel enveloped her, encircling Cordy as she leaned down to brush a kiss across Katherine's smooth cheek.

"Hello, Mother," she said, giving her a tight smile.

"Hello, darling. I've come to take you to lunch," Katherine told her, her eyes telling her she wouldn't take no for an answer. Still Cordy tried.

"Mother, I can't. Giles isn't coming back to work just yet, and Anya is still learning the ropes," she explained, waving a hand in the direction of the pretty, young blonde woman speaking to a customer about an early work of De Vinci's. Katherine barely spared the girl a glance, her clear, grey eyes turning to steel.

"I'm sure she will be just fine, dear. I have something I wish to talk to you about. Now, get your things. I'll meet you out at the car." Cordelia sighed as her mother walked out of the gallery, a headache already forming behind her eyes. Her mother had commanded, and now she was expected to follow. Resigning herself to her fate, she walked over to Anya and told her she would be gone for about an hour. Then, she went to go get her purse and meet her mother in the car.

Katherine Chase studied her daughter over the rim of her White Zinfandel. It saddened her to see Cordelia wearing the red, COTTON obviously Kmart suit, and the imitation leather pumps. The only jewelry she was wearing was the plain, cheap band that man had slipped on her finger the day they got married, and a pair of obviously cubic zirconia earrings. Alexander Harris had done nothing but bring her daughter down since they had met, and it was Katherine's mind to pull her daughter out of the obvious slum she had dropped herself into.

Cordelia sat across from her mother, ignoring the scrutiny that she was being put under, to push her food around on her plate. To think, she actually used to LIKE water cress salad. Now, hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill were what she called Nouveau cuisine, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Cordelia, dear, your father and I were talking last night, and we feel. . .in light of this new situation, that you should come home," Katherine started, taking a delicate sip of her wine. Cordy's eyes drifted closed briefly, fighting hard against the anger that hit her.

"Mother, I am home," she said, leveling her dark eyes on her mother. The older woman's lips twisted in disgust, telling her daughter just what she thought of that.

"Darling, he left. I told you that day he came storming into the house, with the ridiculous idea of getting married, that that's what would happen. He's no good. Never has been." And never will be, she added silently. Cordelia's finger's gripped her fork hard, as she stared at the woman that had birthed and raised her.

The memory of that day came to her, crystal clear. She had been in her room, crying for like, the eighth day straight. She had just told her parents about the pregnancy, and the fight that had followed had crumbled the last of her hold on her emotions. She had looked up when she heard the yelling, jumped up when her door burst open and revealed Xander, who was followed closely by her father. In an instant she was in his arms, gripping him tightly as he whispered his sorries between kisses. He loved her, he wanted her and their baby, and could she forgive him for being such an idiot? Jefferson had tried to physically remove Xander from the room, only to pull back in shock when the brunette boy had reared on him, telling him to get the hell away from him and his woman. Cordelia had let with him that day, leaving behind everything she had ever known, to be with the man she loved. They had driven straight to LA, where they could get married, no questions asked. When they got back, Jefferson had threatened them with his lawyers and the police. But, since Cordy was barely two months shy of her eighteenth birthday, it was kind of pointless. So, he had pulled the ultimate, and cut Cordy off from all support. She wanted to play at being a mother and married, she could do it without his money. She hadn't cared, and neither had Xander.

They were young, in love, and expectant parents. They just knew that they could overcome anything. And they had. The first three years had been great. Hard, but great. They had moved into a tiny apartment over the garage where Xander had gotten a job, and they had both managed to finish school. He doted on her and Jazz, and they were happy. It wasn't until last year, that things started to fall apart.

Her parents had wanted to be a part of their granddaughter's life, and Cordy couldn't deny them. She now wished that she had.

"Mother. That's not fair. If you and Daddy hadn't spent the last year reminding him of what he can't give us, he wouldn't have lost sight of what he COULD give us," Cordelia shot back.

"Cordelia, it's not our fault that he has issues. Those seeds were sown before we ever did anything. It's time for you to let go. Come home. We'll make sure you and Jasmine are taken care of," Katherine countered, stabbing viciously at the salad in front of her.

"We're doing just fine. Thank you," the younger woman said, her voice tight. Katherine's fork hit her plate with a clatter, and she sat back in her chair, sparks shooting from her grey orbs.

"I don't see why you continue to hold onto this farce of a marriage. You are Cordelia Chase, you deserve better." Cordy was shaking with anger, her mother's one sidedness making her seethe.

"My name is Cordelia Harris. That's who I am, and I like her A LOT more than I ever liked Cordelia Chase," she shot back. "I let you get into my marriage. First, by letting you buy the house. Granted, we're paying you back for it, but I never should have talked him into it. It's as much my fault as it his that we're having troubles right now, and I'm not ready to give up. I WANT my marriage, Mother. I wish you would understand that," Cordy said, dropping her fork onto her plate, any appetite she'd had was definitely long gone now.

"If you don't want to come home, that's fine. The house could be yours, free and clear." Katherine dangled in front of her daughter.

"Why aren't you listening to me?" her daughter snapped, her slightly raised voice drawing the attention of the other diners.

"Cordelia, lower your voice," Katherine hissed, eyes darting around the restaurant. Cordelia glared at her mother, then threw her napkin onto the table. She stood, her body held regally as she got to her feet.

"Mother, back off. This is MY life, and if you want to be part of it, and Jazz's, you WILL stay out of my marriage." With one last, pointed look, Cordelia spun on her heel, and stalked out of the restaurant, leaving Katherine sitting in an embarrassed silence.

~*~*~

Giles dropped his keys in his jacket pocket as her made his way into the gallery. Spike had sequestered himself into his room, and didn't seem to be coming out, so he had decided to go to the gallery to get some work done, and check over the things that Cordelia had left for him. He moved quickly across the parking lot, leafing through the pamphlets in his hands. He was going to try one more time to get Will to consider going to a psychiatrist, maybe seeing if Xander or Mark could help talk him into it. He was disappointed that Buffy didn't seem more willing to help, but he could also see her point of view.

She was getting married, even though they hadn't set a date yet, she was engaged. He didn't figure that Riley would appreciate her running to help her ex. And Riley wasn't a bad man. If anything, he was solid, dependable, and polite. Giles couldn't say that he disliked the man, but he just didn't see the fire that had been so evident between his son and Buffy. He had been on a similar path himself, before he had stumbled, literally, into Rosemary. She had been fire personified, passionate about just about everything, and spurring the same reaction in him. He had loved her fiercely, and wanted that for their child.

So enraptured in his thoughts, he didn't see the young blonde woman until he was practically tripping over her. His hand darted out to steady her, and he was immediately reminded once more of a different time, a different woman.

"Oh, dear, excuse me," he said, giving the woman a smile. She answered with her own, her large blue eyes sparkling.

"Oh, no, excuse me. I wasn't looking where I was going," she said. "Is there anything I can help you with? I'm new here, but I'm sure I can help you find what you're looking for," she offered, smiling again. Giles found himself staring at the beautiful woman, and quickly stammered to cover.

"Uhm, er, y-y-y-es. Actually, I'm the curator," he got out, taking off his glasses to clean them, remembering too late the papers in his hand. Her face brightened as she recognized him.

"Oh, you're Rupert Giles? Well, I am very happy to meet you. My name's Anya Torrents. Cordelia just hired me," she said, holding out her hand to shake his. He replaced his glasses, and took her soft hand, feeling a rush of heat sing up his arm. He immediately felt like a dirty old man, and extracted his hand quickly.

"Er, good. Uhm, speaking of Cordelia, do you know where she is? I need to speak to her," He asked, hoping to distract himself from the attraction he felt for this young woman.

"Actually she went out to lunch with her mother. She should be back soon."

"Oh, very well. When she gets back, could you tell her I'm in the office?" he asked, already starting to walk away. He hadn't been this nervous around a woman since his wife, and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling.

"Sure. I'm looking forward to working here Mr. Giles. It seems like a wonderful place," Anya said with another luminating smile.

"Well, er, yes. I'm sure you'll enjoy working here," he said, retreating quickly. Anya watched him go, her eyes appreciating the way he moved.

"Yes, I think I will like working here, very much," she said to herself, turning to greet the customer that had come in.

A/N: A quick note for some of the things I referenced. The Daytona is the Super Bowl of Nascar racing, even though it happens at the beginning of the season, instead of the end. The entire week beforehand is called Race Week, and it consists of a series of races and other events that lead up to the Winston race on Sunday. Earnhardt and the Intimidator, are in reference to the late Dale Earnhardt, who lost his life last year at the Daytona 500. He was arguably the best driver ever (in my fiancé's humble opinion that is) , and his driving style was what earned him the nickname. That's just a little FYI for those that don't know any Nascar history. L.

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