Chapter 4

AN: Expect this to be a long one, folks. Lots of twists and turns. Faith had a lot of secrets. And of course, the romance. Who else besides me can't wait for me to get to the Johnny/Tara pairing? Snicker. They are too cute. And of course, there will be lots of Spuffiness, cause really, that's what this is all about, right? So, sit back, relax and watch it all unfold. We will see a lot of familiar faces that were around at the time of the murder. Remember, only twenty years ago. Some histories will change, obviously. I will try to stay true to character, and hopefully, bring the fun in. Enjoy.


Mark squealed to a stop in front of the huge house, noticing that Spike and Johnny were both home. The windows were dark, so he assumed they were in bed, a place he desperately wanted to be himself. After he'd left the house, he'd gone into town, finally stopping in at the only club in town, the Bronze. He'd gone in, pleased when everybody inside was too preoccupied with each other to pay him much mind. The brunette had spent the evening sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and watching people. The music left a lot to be desired, in his opinion, but the evening to himself had been enjoyable.

The tension that had been surrounding the three bandmates since Lorne had handed down his proclamation, melted off his shoulders, making him feel mellow for the first time in weeks. He chuckled a bit at the memory of their argument in the car that day. He didn't show his temper often, but when it did, he could be just as snarky as Spike.

Mark's boots crunched on the gravel of the driveway, the noise startling the night birds into silence. His keys jangled loudly as he pulled them out of his pocket, searching in the dim light for the right one. He stood in front of the door and tried the knob just in case. Cursing softly, he went back to his keyring, sorting through them. Buffy had given them each a set of keys, similar to the one she had. They were labeled, but in the near dark, it was impossible to tell which was which. His head snapped up at the sound of creaky hinges and watched as the door swung open. He waited a second, expecting to see either a white head or a purple one pop out and grin at him. When neither appeared, he pressed a long fingered hand on the wood and pushed it the rest of the way in, slowly entering the house. He figured it was just one of them playing a joke, and were now getting ready to jump out at him from the dark interior of the foyer.

He tensed, prepared to strike back, only to stare in confusion at the empty area. With a shrug, and a mental reminder to tell Buffy about the faulty lock, he swung the door shut and made his way back to the kitchen from the hall by the stairs.

Once there, he went straight to the large refrigerator to hunt for something to eat. All he'd eaten at the bar was some pretzels, and he was starved. Pulling out the makings of a sandwich, he spread them across the counter and started to build a Mark special. The quiet of the house filtered around him while he worked, reminding him of nights back home in Arizona. In LA, there was always some sound, from traffic, to sirens, to voices. Silence was an oddity to be inspected, not to enjoy. The three of them all lived in the city, wanting to be close to the action. But, times like this, when the quiet was so still, Mark missed Arizona. He hadn't been back since last Christmas, and that had only been a brief stay. They'd been able to take three days off to see their families for the holidays. It hadn't left much time to appreciate the slower way of life.

Mark finished making his sandwich and started to put the stuff away. When he turned back around, he thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Assuming it was one of the other men, he just went and got his food, taking a big bite while he waited for him to come into the kitchen. The seconds ticked off with the clock on the wall, the sound making Mark edgy. Just a second ago he had relished the quiet, now he wanted to hear something, anything other than that damn clock.

"Spike?" he called out quietly. The blonde had a habit of moving with a noiseless ease, scaring the shit out of anybody he came up behind. Mark waited a beat. Nothing. Shrugging, he went back to eating. When he heard the door creaking, he cursed, finishing off his food and walking out to close it again. It was too late to call Buffy, but he'd do it first thing in the morning.

Sure enough, the front door stood open where Mark had been sure he had locked it. Sighing in annoyance, he stalked over to it and shut it firmly. Keeping his hand against it, he flipped the lock, as well as sliding the chain on. Satisfied that it would stayed closed, he nodded to himself and started up the stairs. He'd only made it up three steps, when impossibly, he heard the squeaky hinges once more. He stopped dead, one foot resting on the next step, his back rigid with tension. Slowly, he turned his head, his dark brows pulled together in a frown. His heart slammed into his chest when he saw the door wide open, and the shimmering white figure standing just outside.

"Who are you?" he asked her, turning fully around. She only smiled at him, her slim hand raising to beckon him outside. "You're not supposed to be here," he told her instead, backing up a step. "Get outta here before I call the cops." She beckoned him again, her silence freaking him out even more. "GET. OUT. OF. HERE!" His voice raised with each word, until he was shouting.

"Man, who the fuck are you talking to?" Mark nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Spike's voice at his back. He whirled around to face the blonde, nearly tumbling down the stairs. Spike's hand snaked out to steady him, concern clear in his bright, blue eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Johnny's tired voice had them spinning towards the living room. He walked out of the dark room, a hand rubbing absently over his bare chest. He looked as if he had just woken up.

"Why were you sleeping in there?" Spike asked him, forgetting about Mark talking to himself for the moment. Mark in the meantime, was staring wide-eyed at the now closed door, the locks firmly in place. Johnny stared at the blonde, dark eyes blinking to clear the sleep out of them, while he tried to come up with a reason that didn't make him sound like a scared little girl.

"Musta fallen asleep reading," he finally said, his tone warning Spike not to argue. Rolling his eyes, Spike looked back at Mark, uneasiness settling over him at the brunette's shocked expression.

"Mark." Mark just continued to stare at the front door. "Hey, Mark. You still there?" Spike's words were teasing, but his voice was anxious. He glanced over at Johnny, who moved to stand in front of his cousin, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Mark! Snap out of it." He smacked the taller man's cheek hard, the action causing the brown eyes that had been staring blindly to blaze.

"What the hell was that for?" Mark demanded, running a hand through his hair.

"Hey, don't yell at me. You were the one standing here all numb like you saw a ghost." As soon as the word passed his lips, he wanted to call it back. A tremor shook through the three men, and they exchanged looks.

"No such thing as ghosts," Mark said firmly.

"Bloody well right," Spike agreed, involuntarily remembering phantom hands crushing his larynx. Johnny nodded his head in agreement, forcing away the recollection of his earlier dream.

"Just tired, I guess. Think it's time for bed," the brunette told them, turning to head up the stairs. Spike went to follow him, pausing to regard the purple haired drummer.

"You coming?"

"Not presently." A wicked grin split the younger man's face, causing Spike to chuckle.

"You know what I meant, you prat."

"In a little while. I think I got an idea. I'll go write it down." Johnny pointed towards the living room, hoping Spike didn't see the anxiety he was feeling. The Brit looked at his friend, those piercing eyes of his making Johnny feel like he was being seen straight through. After a minute, Spike merely nodded and headed upstairs, mumbling goodnight.

Sighing in relief, Johnny turned back to the couch, the thought of writing a song the furthest thing from his mind.

~*~*~

"Dawn, if you don't calm down, we will turn around and go home," Buffy warned, tossing her hair off her shoulders. It had been three days since the band breezed into town. Three days of listening to Dawn whine and groan about how mean she was. Three days of having Spike constantly on the brain, and three days of having Willow, and even quiet little Tara, tell her she was an idiot if she didn't go back.

So, by the time Mark's call came about the faulty front door lock, she'd agreed to come by and meet the locksmith. Dawn had immediately announced she was going, crossing her arms over her chest and giving Buffy that 'I'm really going to make your life hell if you don't take me with you' look. The only thing the blonde could do was sigh and agree. Now all she could do was hope the her teenage sister didn't embarrass her too much.

"Do I look alright?" the younger girl asked, sliding a hand over her smooth hair.

"You look fine. It wouldn't matter anyway. Jail. Bait." Buffy pointedly looked at Dawn, smirking when the other girl pouted. Before she could retort, the door swung open to reveal a very tired looking Mark.

"Hi," he said, giving them a smile. The fact that it didn't quite reach his eyes had the two girls looking at each other.

"Is this a bad time? I can call the locksmith and reschedule," Buffy offered, waving her thumb in the air to indicate said locksmith.

"No, no. It's fine. Please get the damn thing fixed. It's driving me nuts." Especially since it only happened to him, at night. And always accompanied by the girl in white. For three days he'd dealt with it, wondering if he was slowly losing his mind. Johnny and Spike never indicated that anything funny had been happening to them, so he had kept his own mouth shut.

"O-Kay," Buffy said, walking inside when he stepped out of the way. Dawn followed, her blue eyes wide with awe and trained on Mark's face. "Dawn," the blonde girl hissed, trying to draw her sister's attention.

"Huh?" was all the girl could muster. Mark chuckled at her starstruck look and held out his hand.

"Mark Lynch. And you must be Dawn," he said, his eyes dancing at the girl. Dawn managed to pull herself back and shake his hand, her head bobbing her yes answer.

"Sorry about her. They keep saying she's really my sister. I personally think they found her under a rock."

"HEY!" the teen cried indignantly, making both Mark and Buffy laugh.

"Well, what have we here?" They all turned to look up the stairs to see Johnny, his long purple hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, wearing a pair of black jeans and a white polo shirt.

"Why, John. You're practically dressed up. Where are you headed?" Johnny leveled dark eyes on his cousin, barely refraining from flipping him off. He saw the young girl when he walked downstairs, and remembered his manners just in time.

"Just want to go out for a little while. Being cooped up with you two for a couple a days is enough to make me scream."

"Don't think you're Mr. Charming," Mark growled.

"Uhm, Johnny. This is my sister, Dawn." Dawn whimpered a bit when he took her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. He then looked up and gave her a rakish grin.

"Pleasure," he practically purred. Mark rolled his eyes, then noticed the look on Buffy's face. She looked like she was ready to run the drummer through with his own drumstick. He caught her eye and shook his head.

"He's just teasing her," he whispered. She arched a brow, but relaxed a bit. The brunette smiled. Johnny liked his women, yes. And that was just it, WOMEN. The idea of going to jail for a quick roll in the sheets, certainly did not appeal to the young man. Not that he didn't flirt shamelessly with girls when he met them. He just never took it further than that.

"So, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Johnny asked, letting go of Dawn's hand and eyeing Buffy appreciatively. She gave a slight shake of her head, but had to grin back at him. He was just so darn cute when he was being all cocky, she just couldn't help it.

"Mark says the front lock's broken. I'm here to meet the locksmith," she explained. Dawn still stood speechless, her eyes shifting between the two. Johnny's grin faded, and he looked over at Mark.

"What's she talking about?" he asked. Buffy's confused hazel eyes settled on the brunette.

"Uh, the front door has been swinging open. Something isn't catching, or. . .something."

"Alrighty. I'll be back. Pleasure meeting you Dawn. Buffy, you really must let me take you out sometime," Johnny offered, his grin back.

"Oh, I don't think I could handle you," she teased, giggling.

"Oh, I think. . ."

"Bugger off, rainbow bright." Spike's clipped, British voice came from the top of the steps. Johnny bit back a laugh at the jealousy seething in the bleached blonde's voice. He trotted down the steps, barefoot, in a pair of well worn khakis and a white button down shirt that was hanging open.

"Hi, Spike," Buffy breathed, bringing Dawn out of her shock long enough to roll her azure eyes. Of course, that lasted until Spike settled those soul searching, breath stealing, several-shades-of-blue-at-the-same-time eyes on her. Then, she was pretty much struck dumb again.

"Right then. Didn't you say you had somewhere to be?" Spike clapped Johnny hard on the back, practically rattling the younger man's teeth.

"Yeah, yeah. I can take a hint. You guys want me to bring something back to eat?"

"Isn't there enough food?" Buffy asked, worried. She could have sworn she had the kitchen stocked. Johnny flashed her a grin, chuckling.

"Oh, there's plenty. It's just, we can't agree. Ever."

"Unless it's those little wings," Spike inserted.

"Or fast food," Mark supplied.

"What, not even basics, like spaghetti? Everybody likes spaghetti," Dawn said. At least she felt that way. That was her favorite.

"Nobody makes spaghetti like my mom," the three said together.  Buffy thought it was cute that Spike’s came out ‘mum’.

"See?" Johnny chuckled.

"I didn't know spaghetti was a big thing in England." Dawn angled a little closer to Spike and batted her eyes. Spike smirked down at the girl, his scarred brow raised.

"Don't think that spaghetti is specific to America, pet." She blushed and dropped her eyes. He propped her chin up on his finger, and drew her gaze back up to his. "Anyway my mum's from New York," he told her.

"Oh." She gave him a shy smile.

"Well, do you think you guys could give mine a try?" Buffy offered. Three sets of male eyes landed on her. She shifted nervously, clasping her hands in front of her.

"You'd cook for us?" Spike turned towards her, the look in his eyes setting her to stuttering.

"Well, uhm, yeah. I mean, it's just us two, and. . .If you don't want, I understand."

"We'd love it. Wouldn't we, gents?"

"Hell yeah," Johnny agreed enthusiastically. Mark snorted at the bottomless stomach behind him.

"That would be great. You don't have to."

"Oh I know. It's okay." Buffy smiled at them, wondering just how she was going to get through this one. "Would you mind if I called a couple of my friends and invited them, too? They really want to meet you." The three musicians shrugged at each other.

"Sure, pet. That's fine. It doesn't look like we're going to get any work done today." He pinned Johnny in his gaze.

"I won't be that long. Especially with such a lovely lady cooking for us," Johnny told him, laughing at the scowl on Spike's face. "Bye." He slipped out the door, nearly running into the locksmith while he was at it. "Hey, lock guy is here," he called as he ran to his car.

"Lock guy?" Spike asked Mark. The brunette just shook his head, and waved a hand in the air.

"Mr. Finn? Hi." Buffy walked over to the open door and let the fortyish, greying man inside.

"Hello, Buffy. Dawn. How's your mother?"

"She's fine. She went to go stay with Aunt Kathy for a bit."

"That's good. Always nice to see your family. So, what's the problem here?" Riley Finn smiled at the small group in the foyer and put his tool box on the ground.

"The door, it just opens. I double check the locks, and it just swings. . .open," Mark explained, feeling all eyes hit him. He dropped his black gaze down to the floor and searched for his cigarettes. "Yeah. Think I'll just. . .yeah." Mark turned and walked into the living room, leaving the others to stare at his retreating back.

Riley turned away and looked at the lock, not seeing anything wrong. He looked up at Buffy, thinking absently what a pretty thing she had turned into.

"Well, I'll look at it. Go ahead and change it too, just in case," he assured, smiling down at the blonde.

"Thanks Mr. Finn." Buffy returned his smile and started to turn back to Spike. What Riley said next had her stopping.

"Course, if it's Faith, nothing's going to keep this door closed."

"Mr. Finn. . ." Buffy started to protest, glancing at Dawn. The girl just shrugged.

"You knew her?" Spike asked, taking a step towards the man who had knelt to start fixing the lock. Riley peered up at him, his hands never stopping in their task.

"Yeah. Went out with her in high school. I was a football player. She was the head cheerleader. Kinda like one of those teen movie couples." Riley snorted at that, the humor on his face fading. "That was until I blew out my knee."

"That's too bad," Spike sympathized.

"Mr. Finn. Please, don't start the ghost stories, okay?" Buffy pleaded with the older man, her eyes imploring. Riley regarded her for a minute, before giving a short nod.

"Sure thing, Buffy. I was only pulling your leg," he told Spike, the look in his eyes telling Spike the opposite.

"S'alright."

"Hey, I'm gonna go call Willow and Tara. Then I guess we'll start cooking. Right Dawn?" The teen looked unimpressed.

"Sure thing, Buffy." The two girls turned to go towards the phone. Dawn wondered just how Buffy was going to pull this off. Everybody knew she couldn't cook. Of course, if Tara came, she'd be alright.

Spike watched them leave, his eyes roaming over Buffy.

"So, have you seen her yet?" The blonde turned back to the man at the door.

"Wha?"

"Have you seen her yet?" Riley looked up at him, pulling the lock from the door and inspecting it.

"No. I don't believe in ghosts," Spike told him, pulling his cigarettes out of his chest pocket. He offered the pack to Riley, who shook his head.

"No thanks. Quit five years ago."

"Good for you." The snap hiss of his lighter followed this, the light playing across the sharp features of his face.

"So, why don't you believe in ghosts?"

"No reason. Just don't." Spike took a long drag, then released a plume of smoke into the air.

"Uh huh. Wait till you see her. You'll change your mind," Riley informed him, finishing off putting the new lock on and standing. "Tell Buffy it's all fixed and I'll send the bill to Wes."

"Right," Spike said, eyeballing the man as he packed up to leave. Riley rose up to his full height, towering over the blonde, his broad chest straining against the tan material of his uniform shirt.

"Have a good stay in Sunnydale," Riley told him, his smile as false as George Washington's teeth. Spike clamped the cigarette between his lips and shook his hand, returning the smile with one of his own.

"Thanks ever so," he told the man, feeling the slight pressure as his hand was squeezed. They stood like that for a minute, sizing each other up, looking for weaknesses. Finally, they gave curt nods and Riley turned and walked out the door, shutting it tightly behind him. Spike stood there, contemplating what was said, before going into the living room to find Mark.

Chapter 5

Johnny trotted up the steps of the old University library, ignoring the stares of the people around him. For once, he didn't notice the pretty girls that stared appreciatively at his long, muscular body. He didn't feel the need to smile and flirt at the moment. He heard the few gasps of recognition, but wasn't in the mood to deal with fans. He lengthened his stride to hurry through the doors, mind set on one thing. Find out who the bitch was that kept tearing him up in his dreams.

The past two nights hadn't been any more restful than the first one for him. He'd thought that he had solved the problem by not sleeping in the room again. Spike and Mark quit asking why he didn't, much to his relief. But the dreams kept coming. Each more violent than the last. It was almost enough to turn him off sex forever. Almost.

The part of him that didn't want to admit even the POSSIBILITY of ghosts, was yelling at him to turn around, go home, and spend the evening flirting with Buffy to piss Spike off. The other part of him, the part that wanted to believe that there was life after death, told him to get in his ass into the library and find out just WHO Faith Pryce was.

He pulled open the heavy wood door, and walked through, his white sneakers making no sound on the black and white tiled floor. He headed straight for the information desk, where an apparently agitated man was freaking out on the poor girl standing behind it. Johnny leaned against the wood counter, glancing around the library, and waited his turn. Several college students were milling around, or sitting at the tables with their noses in books. Several computers were set up against the back wall, and there was a line for them. Stairs to his right and left led up to the second story where even more books were set up, and a sign pointing to the basement told of the AV room and newspaper archives.

"Are you stupid or something?" That comment had Johnny's head snapping around, his eyes narrowing at the tall, dark haired man. He glanced over at the girl and scowled. She was around his age, he figured, maybe a year or two younger, with long blond hair and pretty blue eyes. Her eyes darted to his, then back to the man in front of her. Her skin was flushed with embarrassment, and when she spoke she had to force the words out past a stutter.

"N-no. B-but I wasn't the one -h-here yesterday. I-if they said they would hold it for you, there's no r-record of it," she stammered. Johnny could tell that this confrontation was taking its toll on her. Just one look at the girl and you could tell she was shy. The way she kept dipping her head, using her hair as a shield. The way she avoided eye contact. The man in front of her apparently didn't notice, or didn't care.

"I don't care WHO was here yesterday. I was told that fucking book was going to be held for me, and I want it NOW."

"Why don't you fucking chill out?" Johnny asked him, his dark eyes boring holes into the man's grey ones when he spun around. He saw the distaste in the man's face at his appearance and settled back to give him a couple of minutes to look down at him. Johnny glanced over at the girl while he was doing this, and nearly chuckled at her wide-eyed expression. Her mouth was hanging open in shock and he could just see the tip of her pink tongue. He gave her a wink before he turned back to the asshole who was badgering her.

"Who the hell do you think you are? This isn't any of your business." Johnny rolled his eyes, oblivious to the stares from the other people in the vast library.

"She said she wasn't the one here yesterday. Why don't you find out who was and direct your shit their way?" the purple haired man suggested, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"She's the one who's here now. So she should have the list, or the memo, or whatever. I want that book." He directed this last part at the blonde girl, making her jump and drop her head with the harshness of his tone. Johnny decided he REALLY didn't like that look on her.

"Listen, you condescending sack of shit. She. Wasn't. Here. Now, BACK OFF, before I teach you a lesson in manners." He never raised his voice as he spoke, but he straightened his stance, until he was at his full height. His face had taken on a sinister quality, his eyes nearly black with anger. The other man took an involuntary step back as Johnny crowded him.

"N-no need to get threatening. I'm sure it was all some big mistake," he stammered, fear lancing through him. He caught the predatory gleam in Johnny's eyes, and quickly turned back to the girl. "C-could you take my name again a-a-a-and call me when it comes in?" The blonde nodded, and scrambled for a pencil. An evil smile settled on Johnny's mouth, sending a shiver running through her. She quickly jotted down the title of the book, his name and phone number, and assured him that as soon as it came in, he would be called. The man stammered a thank you, and backed away from the counter, keeping an eye on Johnny the whole time. The drummer waved and widened his feral grin just a little more, causing the other man to spin on his heel and bolt out the door, nearly running a couple of coeds over in the process.

"You alright, honey?" he asked, turning back to the girl. She nodded again, sending her silky hair into a frenzy. He had softened his smile and his eyes were kinder, laughter making them sparkle.

"Y-you're Johnny Lynch," she whispered, her eyes large. He nodded and leaned his arms against the counter.

"Sure am, sweetness. What's your name?"

"T-Tara."

"Well, Tara, maybe you could help me out."

"Sure. Oh, and thanks." She dropped her eyes, her hands moving nervously over the papers in front of her. Johnny decided, in that second, he really didn't like that look on her. He reached over, propped the tip of one, calloused finger under her chin, and tilted her head up to look at him.

"No problem. Don't let people treat you like that," he told her, his handsome face turning serious for the briefest of instants. She gave him a sweet, shy smile and nodded. Neither noticed the people still staring at them, for a moment, it seemed like they were the only two in the room. The phone ringing was what brought them back. She gave him another smile, and fumbled to pick it up, her soft voice thanking the person for calling. Johnny watched her as she talked, wondering about what had just happened. He found himself comparing her to the type of women he usually hooked up with. Where they were normally surgically enhanced and leggy, their clothes accentuating their wares, she was softer, fuller, and very obviously NOT fake. She was dressed in a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, and a white t-shirt with a rose unfurling on the front. Those other women used make up as a weapon. Her skin was fresh as a peach and unpainted, a light sheen of gloss on her lips. Her blue eyes were flecked different shades of blue and green, making them seem a thousand different colors at once. Her sleek, honey colored hair was straight, and brushed just past her shoulders, the ends curling under ever so slightly. He felt a stirring of something start, deep inside, but before he could get a chance to examine it, she hung up the phone and turned back to him.

"T-that was my friend Buffy." Tucking the little phenomenon away for later inspection, he gave her a grin.

"Buffy's your friend. That's great. I guess you're one of the friends she wanted to come over for dinner." A little giggle exploded from her and Johnny found himself fascinated with the sound.

"Yeah."

"Cool. Now, can you help me?" She stared at him for a minute, lost in the silky, deep sound of his voice. She blushed, turning her skin rosy.

"Y-y-y-yes. Sorry." She giggled again, a nervous twitter that charmed him.

"That's okay."

"Uhm, what did you need?" Johnny thought that was probably the most loaded question he had ever heard, but he didn't think she would be able to handle the answer that came to mind.

"Well, since Buffy is your friend, you know that I'm staying over in the mansion on Crawford Street." She nodded, blinking those eyes at him. He got caught up in the play of light over her feathery lashes before continuing. "Anyway, I just wanted to know more about the house. She told us about the murder, and I have a secret fascination for such things. I was wondering if there was any information on it." When she smiled, a full, real smile, he struggled to breathe. Did she have any idea how stunning she was when she did that?, he asked himself. He had a feeling the answer was no.

"That just happens to be a secret obsession of mine, as well," she told him, walking out from behind the counter. "Come on, I'll show you what we have." She started to walk away from him, turning to look over her shoulder when he didn't follow immediately. "Coming?" she questioned, her light brows drawing together.

It took everything in Johnny's power to bite back the comment that sprang to his lips. He didn't know what it was about her, but it made him want to mind his manners and hold back his racier comments.

"Yeah. Right behind you," he said instead, pushing his long frame away from the counter and moving towards her. Tara's mind blanked out while she watched him approach, the sensual movement of his muscles under his clothes making her mouth dry.

"O-okay. Right th-this way." She turned away again, and started to walk towards the stairs leading to the basement and the newspaper archives. She could acutely feel his presence behind her, and his eyes on her, making her even more self conscious than normal. She remembered the smile that came over his face when she mentioned Buffy's name, and frowned at the jealousy that snaked through her. Normally, she didn't let it bother her that Buffy, and Willow for that matter, commanded male attention. But for some reason, this man smiling so wide about her friend hurt. She had pretty much known, when Buffy had first told them about the band renting the house, that she wouldn't have a chance in hell with any of them. She was introverted and unexciting, her looks bordering on plain. But having the evidence of it staring her in the face had stung. More than she thought it should have.

Shaking the depressing thoughts away, she pushed through the glass door that led to the paper archives, and walked straight to the section that held the 1981 papers. Pulling out a thick text, she set it on the table, and beckoned Johnny over. She let out an involuntary gasp when he pressed close to her, not touching, but so very much THERE, it sent a shiver down her skin. The musty smell of the old papers did nothing to cover his scent which seemed to wrap around her at his closeness. She couldn't place it, but it was clean and woodsy, making her dizzy.

"Uh, these are also on film, but it's easier to find them this way," she breathed, wondering if her voice sounded as wispy to him as it did to her.

"Mm, hm," he mumbled, finding himself as intrigued by the soft aroma of raspberries that clung to her skin. He wasn't looking at the pages as she flipped through them, instead he was contemplating the pink shell of her ear, wondering if she would speak in the same breathy tone if he nibbled on it. He nearly groaned when he felt himself harden at the possibility, and tried to imagine Sumo wrestlers in lingerie to cool his raging hormones. He didn't understand the affect she was having on him. She was so not the type of woman he went after. Suddenly, as if in surround sound, he remembered Spike's words of the other day.

"She's not the type you fuck and leave. She the type you stay with." The bottle blonde had been talking about Buffy, but those words would apply to this shy thing in front of him as well. That cooled him off quick. He stared down at her, his dark eyes wide. What was he doing? He wasn't ready for this, he told himself. When she looked up at him, those bottomless eyes confused, it was all he could do to keep himself from finding out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. These warring reactions to her were making him edgy, and he'd only been in close proximity for the last ten minutes. What the hell was the night ahead going to be like?

"Mr. Lynch?" Her soft voice penetrated through his internal debate, and he shook his head slightly.

"Call me Johnny," he said, after he cleared his throat.

"O-okay. Johnny." Oh, that was a mistake, he thought. His name tumbled off her tongue, soft and almost like a caress. His fingers itched to touch, his mouth to taste. "Here's a picture of the house when it was first built. It's still the biggest in Sunnydale. The Wyndham-Pryce's were the richest people in the county. If it weren't for LA, probably the state." She gave him that shy smile again, and lowered her lids to look up at him through her lashes. He knew that she wasn't doing it intentionally, but her innocent flirting was making him crazy. He tore his eyes away from her and looked down at the picture.

Sure enough, there was the house. It hadn't changed in the twenty five years since it had been built. A man, who the caption underneath identified as Frederick Wyndham-Pryce, stood scowling in front of it.

"He looks like a lot of laughs." She giggled again and turned the page. He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him when he saw the girl that had been tearing him up at night, staring back out at him from the yellowing page. She had on a flowing, white wedding dress, her veil tipped back from her beautiful face. An almost secretive smile curled her full lips, and her dark eyes sparkled, even with the graininess of the paper.

"That's Faith. She married Mr. Wyndham-Pryce the year after she graduated.

"She," Johnny pointed to the picture, then flipped back to the previous page. "Married that?" His voice was incredulous as he took in the sour looking old man.

"Money knows no age barriers," she said, sounding wise beyond her years.

"I guess not," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair by her ear. He felt her tremor, glanced up at her, and found himself swimming in a pool of blue. He hadn't really realized how close they were, until right then. All it would take was a slight turn of his head, and he could cover that incredibly soft looking mouth with his own, and drink deep the sweetness he knew he would find there.

*Shit,* he said to himself, straightening away from the temptation. He couldn't bring himself to take what he wanted, knowing instinctively she was inexperienced. However, when that tempting little tongue darted out to moisten said lips, he nearly said screw it.

"Uhm, there's n-not too much more, after this. Until the trial, of course. Th-then there's not much either. The p-police decided it was open and shut," she managed to get out. For a second, she had been sure he was going to kiss her. But when he pulled back, she chalked it up to her overactive imagination, and got back to the subject.

"Why don't you just leave this here, and I"ll look through it. When you get off, come find me, and we'll go to the mansion together," he offered, moving a step back. They both took a deep breath when he did, as if a spell had been lifted.

"Al-alright," she agreed, walking back to the shelves and pulling out another book. "The articles about the arrest and trial are in here. If you need anything, there's a phone on the table over there. Dial *1 to get the desk upstairs," she told him, her voice sounding very business-like. He smiled a bit at how she didn't stutter when she was talking about the articles.

"Thanks." She smiled again, clasping her hands in front of her and dropping her eyes to the floor. "I'll see you in about an hour then." Her voice was so quiet, he nearly strained to hear her.

"I'll look forward to it. Buffy's dinner should be a treat," he said, conversationally, eyebrow raising when she actually laughed. "What's the joke?" She blushed, a bright red at that. "What?"

"I- I shouldn't say anything," she stammered, moving to go around him. His hand snaked out and gripped her arm, gently. She stared down at it like it was a live wire, her eyes huge. Johnny figured it had something to do with the electric shock that was now singing up his own arm and causing things to stir once more.

"Come on, I won't tell." He gave her a half grin, his brown eyes searching her face.

"W-well, it's. . .you see. . ." She huffed out a big breath of air. "Buffy can't cook. At all. Sh-she can b-barely boil water," Tara admitted, looking away. She felt like the worst friend in the world for giving away her friend's confidence. "I'll be cooking," she murmured. He let go of her arm and tilted her chin up.

"I look forward to it." His voice was so soft, so sensual. She felt herself leaning towards him, her lips parting ever so slightly. She nearly cried out when he dropped his hand and stepped away from her once again. "Don't worry, her secret's safe with me," he said, giving her another smile. She nodded and fled, feeling the tears burning behind her eyes at his unspoken rejection. He cursed himself to hell as he watched her retreating back, wondering just when he grew a conscience.

*You've always had one,* that annoying voice in the back of his mind chimed in. *You just never had to use it before with the women you usually go after.*

"Shut up," he growled, glad that he was in a closed room by himself. Wouldn't do to see it in the paper that the drummer of a well known rock group was talking to himself. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the papers, and pulled out the chair to sit. Within minutes, he was immersed in the tale of marriage, sex, and murder.

Chapter 6

AN: This is for Heller :)

Mark stared down at the crystal water of the pool. The sun glinted off the ebony of his hair, the breeze teasing the ends. Slowly, his arms raised above his head, until they formed an arrow. He didn't notice the girl that had let herself in through the gate hidden in the tall hedges surrounding the pool. His gaze was focused on a point in the water, all his concentration centered on the dive. The redhead watched in fascination when with a small bounce, and the sound of the board snapping with his weight as he launched off, he sliced a perfect jackknife into the water. His powerful strokes slid him through the chilled water, taking him to the other side in seconds. When he reached the wall, he turned and did it again, lapping the pool, trying to out swim his thoughts.

After they had all looked at him like he was crazy, he had gone into the living room, hell bent on writing something. Pushing the memory of the shimmering girl in white away, he picked up his guitar, his fingers caressing the neck like a lover. As soon as he picked it up, a melody started to play through his mind, almost forcing his fingers to move across the frets. Spike had come in, the strains of the haunting melody stirring something inside of the blonde. In seconds, he was at the piano, his questions about the lock forgotten. With the ease of a person who knew his partner well, his fingers picked out notes to compliment Mark's. When they were done, they had the melody, words and bass line written. By unspoken agreement, they decided it would remain acoustic, with Johnny maintaining a light beat behind it.

They never wrote music for the drummer. Mainly because he couldn't read it, and had no intention of learning. However, he had a perfect ear, and often delivered what they had wanted, or better, just by listening to what they had written.

After they finished, and the last notes had faded, Dawn and Buffy started clapping, startling the two men. Buffy's eyes had been wet with tears, her heart breaking with the sadness of the song. Her gaze had sought out and met Spike's, electricity practically igniting the air between them.

The sexual tension in the room had been too much for the brunette, and he'd left the room. He didn't know if Dawn had left or not, but he figured Spike and Buffy would have to keep it G rated around the teen. When he had gone back to the living room, to make his way to the pool, the trio was gone. He'd just shrugged, and walked out the french doors, a towel draped around his shoulders, and black swim trunks accenting his dark skin, and long, muscled legs.

Mark took one final lap, grabbing onto the wall and resting his arms on it. He heard a muffled sound to his left, and he whipped his head around, the chlorine in his eyes making his vision blurry. He felt his heart slam against his rib cage, when all he saw was white. Thinking it was his phantom visitor, he backed up.

"What the hell do you want?" he snarled.

"I-I'm sorry. Buffy called and said I could come over. I didn't mean to bother you," the girl said quickly. By now, Mark had blinked to clear his eyes, pushing the hair that fell across his eyes out of the way. He cursed inwardly when he saw the redhead, who was indeed wearing white. But it was a t-shirt, tucked into a pair of form fitting black jeans. The words 'The Bronze' were written in zig zaggy letters across the front in the same color as the name of the club. Her red hair fell across her shoulders, a few strands blowing across her pretty face with the breeze. Wide, green eyes studied him, widening further when he pulled himself out of the pool. Water cascaded down his body, rivulets sliding down his chest to the band of his trunks. She squeaked when she followed those paths of water, seeing the now clinging material of the suit leaving not much to the imagination.

*Yum,* her mind supplied, as she forcibly moved her eyes back to his face. That wasn't much better, she decided. He reminded her of one of the calendar guys, all wet and tempting, with the long hair that just begged you to run your fingers through it. It took her a second to realize that his deliciously full mouth was moving, and he was talking to her.

"Huh, wha? I'm sorry. What did you say?" she stammered, blushing the same shade as her hair at being caught ogling him. His grin flashed across his angular face, threatening to blank out her mind again. She managed to stay focused, so she could hear what he said, and not look like some mentally challenged groupie.

"I said that I was sorry. I thought you were someone else." He stuck out his hand, and smiled at her again. "I'm Mark. And you said you were a friend of Buffy's?" She nodded and took his hand, fascinated by the way it swallowed her much smaller one. The calluses rubbed against the soft skin of her palm, sending a thrill singing up her arm.

"Yeah. I'm Willow," she said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. Mark tilted his head to the side and studied her upturned face, liking the way the setting sun glinted against her bright hair. He found her almost ethereally beautiful. Her eyes were the purest green he had ever seen, and her skin was almost translucent. He felt attraction start to bloom for this girl, and happily went with the distraction

"Well, Willow. It's a pleasure." She felt a shiver run up her spine at the way her name sounded falling from his lips. Buffy hadn't been exaggerating when she said that they were doubly hot as they were on TV. Granted, this was the first one she had met, but he was beautiful enough to have her scrambling for words. "I went there the other night," he said, pointing a long index finger at her shirt.

"What? Oh." She looked down at her shirt, guilt flaring in her eyes when she brought them back to his. "I was supposed to work tonight." She scrunched up her nose at the prospect.

"Decided to call out, huh?" He smiled when she gave a nervous giggle.

"Yeah. It was either spend the night serving drinks to ungrateful college students, or meet a famous rock group. You do the math."

"Guess it is kind of a no brainer, huh?" He chuckled, and went to get the towel he had thrown over one of the lounge chairs. Willow's mouth went as dry as dust when he started to dry his skin, her eyes avidly watching each swipe of the terry cloth against his skin. Mark was just conceited enough to make the show a good one, his eyes burning into hers as he did so. The redhead definitely felt that she made the right choice in blowing off work, even though she would have to give up one of her nights off to make up the money she lost.

"Hey, Will." Buffy's voice broke through the haze that formed around the pair, a blush creeping up Willow's cheeks when she turned to talk to the blonde.

"Hey, Buffy." Her voice sounded breathless, and Buffy couldn't say she blamed her. One look at Mark in his half nude state, was enough to turn a gay woman straight. At least in her opinion.

"Hi guys." Dawn followed Buffy out onto the patio, her sixteen year old brain seizing up at he sight of so much male skin. Mark hadn't been embarrassed until then, and quickly draped the towel around his shoulders, hiding his body from the girls' view. Dawn pouted in disappointment, filing the memory away to gush about with her friends later, and moved to join Buffy and Willow.

"I think I'll just go get changed," Mark said, nodding to Spike as the blond made his way outside. Spike smirked, when he saw the three women staring appreciatively after the brunette. He had the brief thought of taking a dip himself, if it would get Buffy to look at HIM like that.

"Well, well. Who's this?"

"Spike, this is one of my best friends in the whole world, Willow Rosenberg. Willow, Spike Giles."

"Pleasure," he said, taking her hand. Willow smiled brightly at him, nerves twittering under her skin. Good god, if Johnny was as gorgeous as these two in person, she didn't understand how Buffy and Dawn weren't in a coma from the visual overload.

"I really loved your album. Had to buy a new cd, because I wore my first one out," she told him with a giggle. Spike grinned at her, then released her hand.

"Glad you enjoyed it so much, luv. Bring it over and me and the lads will sign it," he told her, making her eyes widen.

"That would be so cool. Thanks." Of course, that meant she would have to buy a THIRD cd, since she would never play that one again, but hey. It was only money.

"So, now we're only waiting on the rainbow bright and your other friend, right?" he asked, his eyes piercing straight through Buffy's, making her feel like he could see her soul.

"Yeah." Willow arched a brow at the near sigh the answer was, and exchanged a glance with Dawn. The teen rolled her eyes dramatically, letting the other woman know that this had been going on all day.

"Well, may I offer you ladies a drink?" Spike waved an arm, so they would precede him back into the house, and moved over to the bar.

"Got any coolers, back there?" Willow asked, giggling at the distasteful look that crossed the Brit's face.

"Let me see." Spike turned to the fridge, and scowled when indeed, he found a selection of wine coolers. "Here you go." He pulled out two strawberry daiquiri flavored ones, and set them on the bar, then snagged a soda for the teen. Dawn pouted again and glared at the red and white can. "Sorry, bit. Contributing to the delinquency and all that."

"Fine," she huffed, flopping onto one of the stools with a dramatic sigh.

"Want a beer?" Spike asked as Mark made his way back into the room. His dark hair was still damp, and he was wearing a pair of blue jeans, and a tank top.

"Sure." He accepted the long neck bottle from the blonde, and took a long swallow. Spike reached for his cigarettes and lit one, offering the pack to the guitarist.

"When's Tara supposed to get here?" Willow asked Buffy, idly picking at the label on her bottle.

"She said after work," Buffy answered, a flash of panic clouding her hazel eyes. Willow couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her throat at her friend's fear. *That's what you get for offering to cook,* her eyes told Buffy. The other girl just scowled, hating that she had felt the need to lie. She should have just told them that Tara was going to cook, and not make it seem like she was the next Sara Moulton. She supposed that's what happened when you tried to impress famous people.

"Hello!" Johnny's voice followed by the sound of footsteps reached them from the foyer. The drummer was grinning wide when he walked in, followed by Tara. "Hey all. You must be Willow." Johnny walked straight to the redhead, and took her hand, kissing the back like he had Dawn. A small frown formed on Tara's face at the action, but it disappeared when Buffy walked over to her.

"Yes, I am," Willow giggled, liking him immediately.

"Hey, where you been?" Mark's voice was sharper than he had intended, but anger had sliced through him when Johnny started his antics with the redhead. Johnny smirked at Willow, and gave her a wink, then dropped her hand.

"Went to the library and bumped into the lovely Ms. McClay over there. A person whom you have not even acknowledged yet. What would Wanda say about your manners?" The drummer tsked, walking over to the bar. The mention of the two men's grandmother had Mark snapping to. Tara's eyes widened when the other two men's gazes hit hers.

"Sorry, luv. I'm Spike," he said, giving her a grin. He turned and pulled out another cooler, and went over to offer it to her.

"Mark," the brunette said, moving to shake her hand.

"T-Tara," she replied, blinking huge blue eyes at them, taking the cooler and Mark's hand, respectively.

"Don't crowd the girl, jeez." Johnny walked behind the bar and pulled out a beer for himself, popping the top and taking a sip. "She's shy." He gave her a smile and leaned on the bar.

"Thank god you're here," Buffy hissed, pulling the blonde girl into a hug. Tara smiled back at her, returning the embrace.

"Well, when can we expect this culinary masterpiece?" Spike asked, flopping on the couch, and propping his bare feet up on the coffee table.

"Soon." Buffy smiled, and took Tara's hand. "Willow, wanna come with?" The redhead merely arched a brow, telling her a big 'NO' was the answer to that question. She had noticed Mark trying to look at her when she wasn't paying attention, a situation much more interesting than cooking. Buffy rolled her eyes and gave Tara a tug. "Well, I guess I'll go get started. Come on, Tara." The two crossed the living room, both very aware of the eyes watching them go. Willow and Dawn snorted at each other, each looking innocent when the men looked at them.

"So, Johnny. YOU went to the library? I didn't think you knew what one of those was," Mark teased, chuckling when Johnny flipped him off. He'd waited until Dawn had turned away, which made the move even funnier. It was always a treat to see Johnny having to restrain himself.

"I was looking for an old Drum Roll magazine," Johnny covered, lifting the bottle to his lips.

"Can't get enough of your own press, can you?" Spike snickered.

"Yeah well, at least I don't troll the message boards to see what's being said about me," Johnny threw back. Spike scowled at the younger man, a tinge of pink staining his cheeks. Mark snorted at the two, and rolled his eyes at Willow. She giggled, her eyes lingering on him as she moved to sit next to Dawn.

"So, Dawnie. Any sightings of our resident ghost?" she asked. Johnny set the bottle down with a hard crack, giving her an apologetic smile when they jumped. A glance at the other two revealed their eyes glued to the two young women. "Sorry."

"No, that's alright, Red. Just didn't know that anybody actually saw her." He looked at Dawn with interest. It only took a couple of seconds for the teen to spill, her imagination embellishing the actual events.

~*~*~

Tara moved with ease around the kitchen, quickly finding the things that were needed. When she had it all assembled, she turned to Buffy, who was nervously peering out the door, making sure nobody was coming to check on them.

"Buffy. Come here," she called to the other girl.

"What?" Buffy moved to the counter, and looked at the knife Tara handed her with trepidation.

"I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it."

"What? But, I thought that you were going to do this. You know that me and cooking aren't mixy." She dropped the knife on the counter and backed away like it would bite her.

"Buffy, this isn't hard. And I'll still be in here to make sure nothing goes wrong. But do you really want to pass off my cooking as yours?" The other woman frowned, shaking her head. She hadn't liked lying, and this way, she'd be the one cooking. Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at Tara, setting her shoulders like a soldier heading into battle.

"What do I do?" Tara smiled, and sat down at the counter.

"First, cut the peppers in half and pull out the seeds." Buffy did everything Tara said, a feeling of accomplishment rolling through her with each step she finished. When the sauce was bubbling on the stove, the rich aroma filtering through the air, she turned to Tara and clasped her in a tight hug.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, let's get the water boiling for the noodles, and make the salad." The two girls moved to finish off the preparations, working in a comfortable silence, neither noticing the figure hovering in the doorway, watching.