In The Space Between

"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.

Chapter 3: There's No Hope in You For Me

"Dawn," Spike's voice was little more than a gasp as he threw himself through her open doorway. The teenage girl sat cross-legged on her bed, a kitchen knife resting before her on her comforter, tentative fingers tracing the handle. "Don't." His voice was choked, foreign to his own ears.

"Am I even real?" Dawn's voice was small and childlike as she lifted her tear-stained face to stare at him. "You're supposed to be from the future, right?" Her voice caught in her throat as she swallowed a sob, "Am I real?"

Spike swallowed hard, a faint tremor running through him as the enormity of the moment washed over him. He could change things, a triumphant voice screamed within. "As real as people get, pigeon," he said softly, making his way across her room to perch on the side of bed.

"Are you sure?" she sniffled, rubbing her sleeve across her face.

"Do you feel real, pet?" Spike murmured softly.

She stared at him with a look that questioned his sanity. "Of course I feel real. Isn't that the whole point of giving me memories? Giving everyone memories?"

Spike smiled, his heart breaking for her. Why had he never stuck around last time? "If you feel real then you are real. It's as simple as that, ducks." He reached out to push a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Your mum and Buffy love you very much. More than anything else in the world."

Dawn snorted in response. "Buffy doesn't care about me. More like cares about anything else more than me."

Spike clucked his tongue. "S'not true. I've seen it. She might not act it, but your sister is willing to give her life for you. Willing to let the world end for you." A sadness bloomed in his eyes. "Slayer's just not so good with showing her emotions."

Dawn was staring as him with suspicion in her big round eyes. "She'd die for me?"

Spike smiled bitterly. "It just happens she would. I've seen it, Bit."

"How do I know you're not just lying to make me feel better?" she demanded petulantly, her fingertips abandoning the knife that still sat before her.

"Because I would." Buffy stood in the doorway, an unreadable emotion in her eyes. "You're my sister, Dawn."

Spike let his gaze follow Dawn's toward the doorway, momentarily pausing on the knife. As Buffy walked toward them, he slowly lifted the knife and tucked it away in the pocket of his duster. No need for the evidence of what might have been to lie in plain sight.

"I'm not real!" Dawn exclaimed, her frustration evident. "I'm some sort of key. I don't even know what that means. What I open!"

"The door between dimensions." Spike murmured softly, pulling the attention of the two sisters towards himself. For a moment he looked thoughtful, "There's a lot I got to tell you, Slayer." His eyes burned in the artificial light of Dawn's bedroom. "I lot I think you need to know. Both of you."

Buffy stood in her mother's kitchen, her hand loosely holding the glass she had just filled from the tap. She stared into the water, absentmindedly swirling it before taking a long sip. In the kitchen window, the first traces of pink were illuminating the sky and Buffy wondered if she had ever experienced such a long night in her life. All the battles she had been through had not prepared her for this. One long night of some sort of insane emotional rollercoaster.

First the discovery of Spike's double from the future and his skanky demon god… whatever. Then the thing with Dawn. Then everything Spike's double had told them about their future. Or at least what had been his future. Or past. Or whatever. Buffy lifted her other hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. It was as if a nasty headache was about to explode behind her eyes, but refused to get beyond the gathering storm phase. She didn't know what to believe.

Future Spike obviously knew things. She had seen the knife he had lifted off her sister's bed. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The race up the stairs, the talk with Dawn, the sudden revelations about the future. He was trying to keep bad things from happening. God only knew what Dawn had done with that knife in his timeline.

But that was the sticky point. Why was future Spike so eager to keep bad things from happening? Why was he so eager to be helpful, but at the same time so sad? Why did every look at his eyes make her think he was keeping things back from them all?

"You okay, pet?" It was Spike's voice behind her. It was lower than she had ever heard it, making her guess that it was the future Spike who was talking to her. Besides which, she was certain she could still hear Spike making annoying comments in the other room where her friends and family sat still trying to make sense of everything.

"Why do you care?" She whispered, sensing his approach closer to her. "What are you leaving out of what you're telling us?"

"'Bout everything that happens after the night you defeat Glory."

"Why?" She heard herself asking, without turning around. "What happens after that's so bad that you can't tell us about it too? What makes you end up in a demon dimension?" She could feel her shoulders stiffening, tensing up as he continued his approach towards her.

"They aren't related," his voice was hoarse, "If that's what's worryin' you, Slayer." She could feel him directly behind her now, his unnecessary breath echoing in her ears. "You don't lose the battle. None of them."

"Then why aren't you telling me the rest of it?" Buffy couldn't figure out why her voice was coming out as little more than a breathy whisper.

"Cause if I have any say in it, none of its goin' to happen this time 'round."

Something in his voice made Buffy spin on her heel to face him. He was closer than she had thought he was. Only a few inches separated his body from hers and for a brief moment Buffy was surprised to find herself staring awestruck at his eyes. Had they always been so expressive? Had they always said… what she suddenly was seeing? "Why do you care?" her voice cracked, knowing the answer already. Knowing it because if she was honest with herself, there was nothing else the glances he had been giving her all night could mean. In off moments he had stared at her just as he was staring now: like a man drowning, or a man saved; as if she were the centre of his universe. No one had ever looked at her like that.

"You know why," he murmured, one hand rising to trace the side of her face. "And you don't want to hear it. Not really." His hand fell to his side. "So I won't say it." There was a short pause. "Sorry for wrecking your party, pet." He retreated then, out of the darkened kitchen and back to the living room. Buffy exhaled slowly, wondering dimly why she was trembling, and why she hadn't been repulsed by his touch. This was still Spike. Wasn't it?

"I tire of this repetition." Illyria's voice was flat.

"I actually second that ," Xander's voice was tired and bewildered. "I mean, c'mon guys, its like, six in the morning."

"I believe you may be missing the gravity of this situation," Giles' spoke suddenly. "If what Spike is telling us…"

"Oi! I'm Spike. This… this… you!" The Spike belonging to the dimension interrupted, pointing at Spike, "Are goin' to have to come up with your own…"

"Then call me William," Spike said drily, "I really don't care."

"Are you sure you're me?" The other Spike muttered darkly.

Spike sighed. As urgent as this had all seemed last night, he now found himself questioning his wisdom. As per usual, he had jumped the gun and spilt more of the beans than he'd meant to at first, barely stopping his nattering before Buffy's death in his narrative. There was no need to bring them more pain than necessary. And the story of what was to come was little more than a tale of pain becoming more painful.

"Giles, I think Xander has a point." Buffy sounded exhausted. Spike found himself gazing at her again, weighing the emotional toll of this night on her. She was so beautiful, in this here and now. The things being near her earlier that morning in the kitchen had done to him. She could never understand what just seeing her was doing to him. To touch her without her turning away in disgust or fear or looking as if the world was eating her alive. It was criminal. It was heaven. He'd die now if it would keep her from living the life he had seen her live. If he could know that the Spike in this dimension wouldn't bollocks things with her so badly as he had. Though from the way he was glowering at him from the corner, he found himself doubting that possibility.

"We're all tired." Spike watched her gaze flow over her friends to Dawn and her mother, who looked as emotionally worn as Buffy did. Hearing that Joyce's death was a very real possibility probably hadn't been the easiest thing to hear. Nor the fact that they were up against a hell god. "We should all go home, get some rest, digest the information. Get mom to a hospital." Her voice trembled on that last one.

"Right then." Spike eyed his younger self warily, waiting for him (himself?) to stick his foot in his mouth. "Guess I'm off then. Oh wait, you lot have dragged this on so long the sun's come up."

"I'm not entirely sure why you've stuck around for it then." Buffy's voice was icy.

Spike snorted, "It's my bloody future self giving away the game, ain't it?"

"Which makes me wonder why we need you at all." Buffy replied sweetly.

Spike wasn't sure how to describe the situation playing out in front of him. It was just another one of their nasty back-and-forths, but here he was sitting and watching it. And every one of her barbs was still stinging him. Even if it wasn't exactly him who was supposed to be getting hit with them.

"Charming." Illyria said from behind him. "I cannot understand why you would burden yourself with a soul for her."

Dimly, Spike wondered if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Everyone who only moments before had looked ready to drift off into dreamland was suddenly staring at him, eyes big as saucers. He caught the wide eyes of his younger self, the fish-like gape of his mouth, before his face turned cold and closed up. The peaked interest in Joyce's eyes, the shocked expression on the Scoobies' faces, and the Watcher, too surprised to even clean his glasses. He saw Buffy. Her bright green eyes turning to catch his. He watched her run through emotions: disbelief, understanding, fear. The long silent moment seemed to stretch, broken only by the sudden slam of the door. His younger self's exit.

It was Buffy who finally broke the silence. "You have a soul?"

"Like Angel?" breathed Willow.

Spike felt something within him growing taut, readying itself to snap. Only his exhaustion had kept him from exploding simply at the sound of the great poof's name. "Not like Angel." His voice was icy. "Mine's not some bloody stupid curse with strings and loopholes. Won mine back proper like. Wanker wouldn't go do that now, would he?"

"You won your soul?" Giles interrupted, his face a mask of disbelief. "This is… unheard of. A vampire actively seeking his soul…"

Spike growled in the back of his throat. "Its not bloody important."

"I beg to differ," Giles began, "If what you say is true…"

"Of course its true," he snarled.

"But… for… why… Buffy?" Xander's voice cracked as he stumbled to process the full meaning of Illyria's statement. "She said you got your soul for Buffy. Why would you get your soul for Buffy?" He was staring between the two of them, something akin to growing horror in his eyes. "Don't tell me Buffy gets involved with… you?"

Spike wasn't sure if he felt more like staking himself, Illyria, or the Whelp at that moment. He kept his eyes down on the floor, unwilling to meet Buffy's. "I got it because I wanted to," he spat from between gritted teeth, "So I wouldn't hurt people just 'cause I didn't know the difference…" His eyes had worked their way back up, unconsciously searching out Buffy's. "'Cause I didn't know right from wrong. Didn't want to hurt…" he swallowed hard. Here he was again, giving away too much of the game.

Her eyes were still wide, her lips moving ever so slightly in the shape of his name. "But… you hate me." She murmured softly. "I mean, you hate me now. Or… the you who is now."

Spike laughed. Low and bitter. "You really believe that, love? You really believe the Spike you know haunts your doorstep just 'cause he's got no one else to bother? Think he can't go fight the uglies all on his own?" There. There was the rising horror in her eyes. That much was familiar.

"Spike's in love with Buffy?" Willow whispered, a cross between horror and confusion in her voice.

"Can I… can I talk to you?" Buffy was saying; sputtering really, "In… in the kitchen? Away… away?"

He followed her mutely back into the kitchen, his eyes landing angrily on Illyria who was currently observing her fingernails. Her eyes met his dispassionately. "They fail at absorbing new information," she told him. Guiltless.

In the kitchen, Buffy retreated back to the sink, resuming her pose from earlier, as if unable to face him. "You… you get a soul for me?" She asked softly. "Because you love me?"

"Because I hurt you." He replied flatly. There was no use hiding it, was there? No matter what time or dimension he landed in the outcome would always be the same. She was the Slayer, he was a demon. He was unworthy of her love. He was destined to forever pine after it. She was destined to forever withhold it.

"Hurt me." She echoed, her head falling. He ached to touch her. To pull back the hair that even now was slipping forward to screen her face. To run his fingers through the spun gold and copper strands. "Spike," she began, turning slowly to face him, "Do we… are we… in your time?"

"No," he answered her simply. "You don't love me." Her eyes were shining in the morning light that was filtering in through the kitchen curtains and blinds. "No epic love story here. You can save your heart for Peaches. Don't worry your little head about it."

"You aren't telling me something." She replied, her eyes clear as she stepped closer to him, within inches of him. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I told you before, Slayer, nothing I plan on happening again this time 'round." He couldn't comprehend the blank expression she wore in response to his statement. Shouldn't the bint be happy that he wasn't going to hassle and harass her over it? If she knew the truth of it all, she'd just hate him more. Hate herself. Pain she didn't need to shoulder. Pain he wasn't going to let her feel.

It was in that moment that Spike saw with perfect clarity what he would have to do. What needed to be done to save her. To save all of them. He'd stop Glory. And then he'd disappear. Both of him.