In The Space Between

Hey folks! First off, a huge thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I love reviews… they bring a little sunshine to my day. That said, I want to give everyone a severe angst warning. I've had a lot of reviewers angling for happy endings for everyone and I'm afraid that just isn't in the cards (not yet anyway… I'm a sucker for happy endings). So yes… be prepared for angst and possible character death. It's all part of the master plan.

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.

Chapter 4: No Corner You Could Squeeze Me

"So Ben is Glory?" Xander asked, his face earnest in his attempt to overcome the magic masking the shared identity.

"Wait, y-you're s-saying Ben knows G-Glory?" Tara added, her forehead wrinkled slightly in concentration.

Spike sighed and shook his head. They had been through this that first night and had run into these same difficulties then. Spike recalled how difficult it had been the first time around. This time it seemed all the more annoying, as it was bound to come up multiple times before the problem was actually dealt with. First things had come first, and even now they all sat gathered in the waiting room at the hospital.

It had taken several days to convince Joyce to fake a headache in order to get another round of tests done. The doctors had taken things surprisingly seriously and it had been the sight of Ben in the hospital hallways that had triggered this new round of incomprehension. Spike found himself staring dully around the waiting room at the assembled Scoobies. Anya sat idly thumbing through an old magazine, her head resting on Xander's shoulder. Tara and Willow sat hand in hand. Dawn was asleep against Buffy's shoulder, still reeling from the discovery of her "key-ness". It wasn't a moment that any of them would have held precious, but Spike found himself preserving it in his heart, even as he felt it breaking under the weight of their painful futures. He wouldn't be able to keep the Whelp from leaving Anya at the altar. He wouldn't necessarily be able to keep Tara alive. Unless he tracked down the trio of geekdom and instilled a healthy fear of evil in them now. Actually, that was doable.

He shifted uncomfortably. Illyria had had one of her episodes that morning. The Summers family had been eating breakfast and suddenly Illyria had ceased to be Illyria and had instead become Fred. The confusion caused by this had him bolting from the makeshift bed he was using in the basement (Joyce's idea, of course) to Fred's side in a matter of moments.

"I don't understand. Where are we?" She had asked, her lower lip trembling slightly.

"Shhh, its alright," he'd murmured softly, patiently ignoring the stunned looks of the Summer's women. "We're in the Slayer's house. We're safe here." He'd held her for a long time before she had stopped trembling.

"I had the most terrible dream," she whispered.

"It's alright," he had murmured, his heart breaking for the girl who wasn't really there at all, "You're safe now."

"I'm so tired. Why am I tired?" She had asked. How was she to know that Illyria never slept?

Even now she was sleeping in the Slayer's guest room. Tucked carefully between lavender sheets. He wasn't sure he felt comfortable leaving her there alone. But he had needed to be here for Joyce. He needed to be in too many places. He needed to be nowhere.

"I get it now." Buffy's voice was soft. She had waited for him to close the door to the bedroom slowly and silently before speaking. "You love her."

He had stared at her for a long moment, stricken. Did she really believe that? "It's not like that," he began. "Fred… Fred was the only one who was decent to me when I… well lets just say I barely existed at all for awhile. She was the one who tried to bring me back. The only one. She cared." He paused, taking in Buffy's expression. It was the one she used for listening. How often had he ever seen her wear that one around him? "It wasn't long after that Illyria took over her body." He gestured at the bedroom door. "That's not Fred. Not really. It's an echo. A memory in the cells of her body. Nothing more than that, not really. I just… I can't leave her when she's like that. Helpless. Lost." It frustrated him, and he was certain that his tone carried that frustration in it, "She deserved better."

"And Illyria?"

He sighed. How could he explain that? "I think I'm her pet," he admitted suddenly, his expression one of chagrin. At least she had smiled a bit at that. Would she believe that for a time he had been her pet vampire?

Spike shook his head to clear the memories. He spent so much of his time living in the past now. The future past mostly. Or maybe it ought to be the past future? He'd never been great with metaphysics. And Fred had been the girl for the real physics of it all.

"Wanna get a soda with me?" Buffy's voice was quiet. Spike looked up, suddenly realizing that he was the only one besides her who was still awake. "I think the doctors forgot that we're all here. It's been a really long time. Last time they kicked us out by now… told us to go home and sleep." He watched her chew on her lower lip for a moment. "I'm worried," she confided, her eyelashes brushing across her cheek.

"Yeah," he replied, "I'll come with you." He didn't miss the flash of gratitude in her eyes.

She wasn't sure what it was that had her spending time with Spike. Future-Spike, she meant. The real Spike had disappeared after that moment in the living room when the truth about future-Spike's soul had come out. No one had seen him since then, which didn't worry her any, but seemed to be giving future-Spike the wiggins. She could sortof understand why. It must be weird to have to see a younger version of yourself, and then wonder what it was doing.

"Your mum is going to be okay," he interrupted her train of thought.

"You don't know that," she smiled sadly. "You're just winging this now, aren't you?"

She watched him nod, that funny little smile on his face again. Like that morning when they had been talking about Fred. It was as if there was something different about this Spike, something shy and sad and earnest. He lacked the bluster of the Spike she knew.

"Slayer," he said softly, catching her off-guard with those strangely piercing eyes of his, as if he was seeing more of her than even she knew about, "Why are you treating me different?"

"Different?" she was confused for a second, "Different to what?"

"Different to how you treat the me you know?" he prompted.

"Oh," Buffy exclaimed. "Isn't that kinda obvious? I mean, you have a soul."

"Uh huh." Why didn't he sound convinced?

"The other you… kinda still soulless. You know? Evil? Bad?" He was looking at her with those sad eyes now. Somewhere inside her she felt something twinge. She was missing the brightness of his eyes. He wasn't supposed to be so sad. She was certain of it. But that was probably the soul. Atoning for his past. All that stuff Angel had tried to convey to her. Nuances lost.

"You really do believe the soul makes that big a difference, don't you?" Was that… pity in his eyes?

"Yeah, that's kinda how it works," she was confused now, "Isn't it?" There was uncertainty in her voice. Why was there uncertainty in her voice? If it wasn't how it worked… didn't that just make her…

"I don't know," his reply was soft. "The soul brought guilt with it. A conscience. But the things that came from your mouth didn't hurt any more or less with or without the soul."

Buffy stood still, her mouth falling open, "Wait. The things I say… they… hurt?"

"Meant to, aren't they, Slayer?" he was smiling at her. That sad smile again. She was starting to get really annoyed with that sad knowing gig he was pulling. "Do us a favour," he said suddenly, turning away to avoid facing her, "Next time my morality comes into question, just end it. Don't hesitate with the stake, love. It's nothing I don't deserve. And I'm speaking for this dimension's Spike too. Though he won't like it."

Buffy stood slack-jawed as Spike walked in front of her, leaving her where she was standing. Suddenly she remembered their conversation at the Bronze. Death. She made it with her hands, he had said. "Part of you wants it," she whispered under her breath, watching him stalk down the hallway, his duster spreading out like a cape, or pitch black wings. She swallowed hard, "Just like me."

"Vampire?" Illyria's voice echoed through the house. Empty. It was entirely empty. No humanity to fill it with its awful stench and noise. But also no vampire. She was disappointed. But then again, she had known that she would come second to the Vampire Slayer. He may have been her pet, but he had been someone else's slave before that. Bound then by love rather than duty and loyalty. Love was stronger than any of the other emotions among lesser beings. Amusing or not, the vampire was still a lesser being. And Illyria could sense that somewhere out in the night in this insignificant town, was another being not unlike herself. It was time to find them.

"And mauve? Mauve?" a high-pitched voice was screeching. "Do you scabby little minions really believe blue and mauve go together?" There was a tangible pause where one could hear a faint scrabbling sound. A dramatic sigh punctuated the air, "I need brains to deal with this level of incompetence."

"Of course your most perfectionate, supreme…"

"Shut up. And get me something to sink my fingers into. And a new red dress. My old one got all stretched out by stupid Ben."

Illyria moved closer to the voice, rounding a corner in the empty condominium to discover a lavishly decorated suite, and the blonde figure lounging in the centre of it, making demands and simply oozing the electric field of power.

"Wait." The blonde said suddenly, sitting bolt upright. "I feel…" her eyes raced across the room, homing in on Illyria. "You have power," she said, with a tilt of her head and an appreciative tone in her voice. "Who are you?"

Illyria raised an eyebrow artfully. "Have you forgotten so much, Glorificus?" She strode into the suite, the blonde hell god's eyes focused on her. "Of course, you wouldn't recognize me in this form." She let a terse smile crease her body's features, "But then you know all about time-sharing too."

"Huh. And I thought I was the only god chilling around these parts." Glory looked thoughtful, "What exactly are you planning? Cause I got big plans for this little hellhole."

Illyria cast her a condescending glance. "You reek of humanity. Surrounding yourself with the spoils and distractions of human kind." Her eyes hardened, "You're doomed to fail. Can't you see that much?"

She watched the blonde waver between rising to the bait and deflating, finally settling on the non-reaction of chilly denial as she settled back down onto her chaise lounge. "I don't know what you're talking about. I mean, really, red bodysuit? Like you know how to make an impression."

Illyria stalked around the suite, her eyes impatiently flickering between the view of Sunnydale provided by the windows and the grey-skinned minions who hovered anxiously in the corners of the suite. "Do you know how to suppress the human you time share with?" Illyria asked suddenly, her face betraying no real interest in Glory's answer.

"No," the blonde spat in reply, "More's the pity. I could accomplish so much more without gentle Ben taking control whenever I…"

"So I feared." Illyria cut the hell god off. "You have little real power in this dimension."

"Hey! I take offense to that, Miss Holier-Than-Thou. You still haven't said who you're supposed to be!" Glory was standing again, her human face betraying more hurt and anger than a god should really express.

Illyria stared at her expressionlessly. "I am Illyria."

The blonde sat back down with a small gasp. "Oh. I… I'm sorry. I didn't realize. One of the old ones." There was a pause as the hell god stared around the room in search of a minion. "You!" she exclaimed, one manicured finger pointing, "Go get our guest something to slake her thirst."

"No need," Illyria added with a cold smile, "I don't require humans for my power." She relished the hell god's look of disbelief. It felt good to be accorded proper respect again.

"She's not here." Spike's voice was oddly calm, as far as Buffy could tell for having lost his demon god. "Bloody hell. Should've known she'd head off…"

Buffy found herself staring after him with mixed emotions. Dawn was upstairs helping their mother into bed. Apparently it would take a few days for the tests to be fully analyzed, but the doctors felt as if something had been caught in time. They were planning to go back in. She felt like she should be with her mother, but something in Spike's hunched shoulders was holding her captive. Her earlier realization at the hospital that this Spike had… well, some sort of death wish was leaving her feeling a little lost and off-balance. Spike had always bubbled over with vibrant life and ferocity. Seeing him somehow so diminished, so worn out – it was doing strange things to her insides. As if the entire world was tilting off balance.

"I should go out an' look for her." His voice was tired, "There's still a few hours before the sun comes up."

"I'll look too," Buffy heard herself echo softly. "Better if there's two of us looking than just one. More likely to find her, right?"

The look in his eyes was tearing at her. A gratefulness that shouldn't be there. She missed his sharp quips and his snarkiness. Where was the Spike she knew? Was he even still in this shell of a man… vamp…. vampire. Buffy shook her head. If future-Spike didn't stop acting like this she was going to start getting a real headache keeping reality straight.

She took the cemeteries. It seemed like the natural thing to do. Everything was quiet and still as she strode swiftly through the grassy areas and the tombstones. There was a certain peace to these pre-dawn hours, when the dew coated the grass and the stars shone brightly, as if making their last stand. She was tired.

"Slayer." Came the calm, clipped tones of the vampire she hadn't been hoping to see.

"Spike." She nodded at the black silhouette lounging against the side of a mausoleum. She heard the soft click of a lighter and watched the tiny orange flame illuminate the angles of his face as he lit a cigarette. The lit end bobbed in the shadows and Buffy found herself drawn towards him with an odd fascination. How did a vampire like Spike handle the news that in a few years he'd be getting a soul? Asking for one, no less?

"Where's soul-boy?" Came the gruff question. "Surprised you're not palin' it up. Ain't that what you do? Milk the souled undead for information?"

She wasn't sure what she had expected. "You're a pig, Spike." She muttered under her breath.

"Oh ho, so that's how it is then, is it?" He was leaning up now, close enough to be conspiratory. "I saw the way he looked at you. You just soaked it right up, didn't you? Not good enough when its coming from me, but add a soul and…"

"Are you in love with me?" The words had flown from her mouth before she realized they had even crossed her mind.

His expression went blank. Then black with rage. "That… bloody… wanker… hell…" he was suddenly headed in the other direction, his heavy boots stomping away from her, the tiny embers of his cigarette a shooting star in the darkness as he flung it away.

"Are you?" Her voice was small. She was afraid of the answer. Afraid because she already knew what it would be. Afraid because she was suddenly understanding the future-Spike. The look in his eyes. The strange sadness. She found herself wondering if she had ever even given him the time of day.

"Guess if the future me said it, it must be true. Right, Slayer? Said 'e got 'is soul for you." He was still facing away from her, but he had stopped moving away.

Buffy found her feet moving to his side. "After you left," she heard herself saying, as if from far away, "He said he got it because he hurt me. Because he couldn't tell right from wrong."

"Hurt you?" He was turning to face her now, his face a mask of shadows. "You really think I could hurt you, Slayer?"

"What am I supposed to believe?" She asked him softly, wondering where the sudden sympathy that was welling up from within her came from. This was Spike. Horrible, piggish, nasty, unsouled Spike.

"Whatever you want, Slayer." Spike muttered, turning away from her, and leaving her alone in the midst of the tombstones. Surrounded by dead things. Buffy shivered. When was it she had started to think of Spike as other than dead?