Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Spike or anyone else for that matter. I don't even own my titles - its from Dave Matthews Band "The Space Between"

In The Space Between

Spike followed just a step or two behind, gazing at his surroundings as strange expressions flew across his face. "It's all familiar," he muttered darkly, "But it can't be." A worried expression finally settled across his features, "Blue, do you have any idea…" But the words died on his lips as a figure stepped directly into their path.

Spike stared for a long moment at the creature before him, who like him, seemed to be frozen in shock. "Bloody hell!" the two blondes exclaimed, their identical accents drifting into the evening air as Illyria looked on, an expression of utter boredom across her blue-tinted face.

Chapter 2: You Cannot Quit Me So Quickly

"I don't… I don't understand…" A soft female voice interrupted the moment. "Spike, why are there two of you?" The voice was quivering now, rising in pitch. "What's going on?"

Spike's gaze fell from his double to the brunette at his side. "Dawn," he murmured softly, moving forward. "Nibblet," in an instant he was crushing her to him in a tight hug, "You're alright." It couldn't be real. To one moment be in the demonic wasteland of what had once been Los Angeles and the next to be in an apparently undestroyed Sunnydale with Dawn safe and… he pulled away for a moment, taking in her wide dark eyes and scared expression. And so young. He let her go, swallowing hard. She wasn't his Dawn. Not that he had any right to the Dawn he'd known either. As far as he knew she still hadn't forgiven him for what he had done... almost done.

"Who… who are you?" This Dawn said softly, stepping closer to the other Spike who was staring at him warily.

Spike stared at the pair for a long moment before turning to Illyria. "Blue, just where the bloody hell are we?" His voice sounded heavy in his ears. Thick with something like disappointment or sorrow or maybe just regret.

Illyria stared at him with emotionless eyes. "Another dimension."

Spike stared at her incredulously, a spark of annoyance flashing through his eyes.

Dawn's tentative voice interrupted softly, "Can we just, maybe go see Buffy?" Her dark eyes had a haunted look behind them, as if something deeply important had just been overwhelmed.

Spike caught the tremor in her voice and gave her a studied look. He glanced from his double to Dawn, looking so young and vulnerable, but lacking the sadness that had surrounded her after the whole Glory-incident. He winced, realization settling upon him. "What year is it?" He said suddenly, his voice a little hoarse.

Buffy's house looked so familiar it made his unliving heart ache. Golden light streamed from its windows and it looked like a home. Spike sighed softly, just under his breath, as memories of his last days in Sunnydale swam to the surface. Trainee Slayers racing everywhere, preparing for a battle they had barely dreamed they might win. Buffy staring at him with her unreadable eyes, letting him hold her when it seemed possible the world might end. This was before all that. Long before all that.

"Don't suppose the Bronze is still serving bloomin' onions?" Spike said suddenly, the impertinent whim making its way to his mouth before he could set any filters on it.

He watched his double turn dark eyes onto him. A look of suspicious incredulity passed through them. "The Bronze is closed right now. Repairs." Was his terse reply.

Spike stared at his double for a long moment, suddenly hoping to drag out the moments before he had to face Buffy again (after just how long? He'd lost count this time.). "Didn't happen to be 'cause of a troll?" he asked softly, an amused look passing across his features.

The suspicion in his double's eyes increased. "How'd you know that?" he muttered, as the young Dawn inched closer to him, something akin to fear and confusion rising in her eyes.

A sad smile drifted across Spike's tight lips. At least he finally knew when he was.

The door to the Summers's home opened slowly in response to his double's knock, silhouettes moving across the golden glow from the windows at an almost leisurely pace. The golden glow of the light reflected off the loose curls of the woman who opened the door, a dish towel held loosely in one of her hands, as she half turned to reply to someone's question before she directed her attention to those on the other side of her doorstep.

"Joyce," Spike murmured weakly, his voice cracking. He hadn't even considered the possibility. The Slayer's mum, alive and well. Well, alive at any rate. Knowing what he knew, he could make out the tiredness around her eyes, the slight furrow of her brow, and the paleness of her skin. How had he ever missed it before? The next thought to cross his mind, in the moments before anyone said anything, was how exactly he could save her this time around.

"OK, run this by me again." The young man's voice was as grating to his ears as it had ever been. "Spike was… walking with Dawn, and bumped into… Spike from the future," he raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Spike, "and his new skanky girlfriend." Xander craned his neck around the room, "Did I get this right?"

"Negative." Came the terse reply from just behind Spike, where he sat stiffly on a straight-backed chair from the dining room. Illyria had refused a seat, choosing instead to stand just behind Spike's seated form, bristling with defiance and disinterest. "The vampire is mine. I am not his."

"Thanks Blue," he murmured wearily, "Couldn't have gone without that distinction." He was walking on thin ice, taking a shot at Illyria, but anything he said to anyone else in the room was likely to come out in a pathetic sputter or tears. The concerned gaze of Tara watching him from just behind the shadow of her long hair, Anya's frank stare as she spouted off suggestions on how to test the veracity of his explanations, Joyce hovering in the background. There was a fountain of disbelief under his skin that just kept bubbling every time he looked around the room. This was the Scooby gang, whole, unharmed, blissfully ignorant of what would become of them.

"He's too quiet." Buffy was the one to interrupt the growing span of silence that had suddenly engulfed the room. She was staring at him intently, her face a mask. It made him alternate between joy and an aching sorrow born of loss. It was all just too much. "Spike never shuts up."

"Oi!" His double exclaimed from where he was lounging in the doorway of the room. "Its not my fault I'm the only one who ever has any bloody useful information."

"Shut up Spike," was Buffy's automatic reply. "Remind me again why I'm not staking you for taking my baby sister for an evening stroll?"

"S'not my fault the Slayer's sister decides to run off. Should be thanking me, Slayer, for keeping her from being demon lunchmeat." Spike watched his double's eyes flash. Not the way to her heart, mate, he thought silently.

He let his gaze fall back to Buffy, who was once again staring at him as if she could make him spout whatever it was she wanted to hear by drilling holes into him with her eyes. "One more time," she said slowly, "Who are you and why are you here?"

Spike sighed. "I'm Spike. William the Bloody." He paused, pointed at his double, "That guy, in a few extra years, and a stint in a demon dimension." He was tired. And sick of answering this particular question.

"And your girlfriend?" Buffy prompted.

"Not my girlfriend, as Blue so pointedly stated." He replied drily. He motioned behind him, "Illyria, demon god, inhabiting body of former Fred. Who's probably not former at this point. Unless your dimension is incredibly different from the one I lived this particular chunk of history in."

The room was silent again, interrupted only by Xander's squirming and Giles polishing his glasses. Spike took the moment to look around the room, noticing Dawn's absence. She was smart, he found himself thinking, escaping the Inquisition. Except she had been the one to suggest bringing this to Buffy. Any other girl, Spike would have let this train of thought slide, but he knew his Nibblet, and she wasn't one to voluntarily miss out on Scooby Slaying action. He found his gaze wandering to the staircase, which was mostly hidden from his view by the angle of the wall, and his slouching double.

"Just where were you and Dawn?" He asked suddenly, his attention suddenly focussed, as a sharp realization flew across his mind, memories niggling at his soul.

"What's the dumbest thing you've ever done?" Dawn asked him, gazing at him over the top of a sundae balanced precariously on one of her knees as they sat watching a made-for-TV movie in the living room.

"Don't reckon I could choose just one." He'd replied with a cocky smile, trying too hard perhaps to keep the mood bright, when the loss of Buffy was still a sharp pain in his gut.

He watched Dawn stare studiously at her sundae. "I can." She'd said softly. "When I found out about the whole Key-thing, after you brought me home, I…" Her voice had crumbled. "I cut myself." She'd shaken her head then, her eyes lifting to meet his, unshed tears shining. "If I'd known then… that all it was going to take was a few drops… I lost more than that, that night." Her voice had cracked then, and Spike had pulled her into an awkward hug.

"Shush now, it's alright. Buffy wouldn't want you to be thinking 'bout this kinda thing now…"

He watched his double shift beneath his gaze. "Just around."

"Around the Magic Shop?" He pressed.

That suspicious glow was shining from his double's eyes again. "Maybe." He admitted, gruffly.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, flying from his chair and out of the room, his footsteps falling heavily on the stairs as he hoped that he could at least prevent one painful memory from ever existing.