In The Space Between
Heh… so while I'm currently updating this story like a fiend, don't get too used to it folks… my grad program starts next week and I don't know about the workload, so no promises on the update speed then. My muse is just finally churning out ideas for this one.
"What am I supposed to believe?" She asked him softly, wondering where the sudden sympathy was welling up from within her. 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?
Chapter 5: But I Got All the Time For You, Love
"Spike! Wait!" Buffy cried to the receding figure, chasing after the vampire. She came to a stop a few feet from where he had paused. "Listen, if you see that demon god Illyria person… just let me know, ok?"
"Guess I should be thankful you didn't ask me to wait 'cause you wanted to stake me." He was muttering under his breath again, seemingly ready to curse her out at a moment's notice.
Buffy deflated, "Would you listen to yourself? If I was going to stake you, don't you think I'd have done it by now?" Her voice sounded tired. "If you were a threat…"
"But isn't that what you just accused me of being?" He was staring at her now, his blue eyes piercing her, demanding answers she wasn't sure she had.
"No, I… I just told you what he said. Doesn't mean…. It doesn't mean anything." Buffy felt her frustration rising. Why was it that every conversation she had with Spike seemed to have double meanings these days? Ever since the trouble with Riley… or no, it was before that. When had things gotten so complicated? "I'm tired, ok? I'm just not thinking straight. And with mom…" she swallowed hard, a lump rising in her throat. "I just… in another world I walk in to see her dead in a week or two. I just found out I'm up against not just a hell god, but one who wants to use my sister to open the door to a bunch of dimensions and on top of it, I've got a missing demon god and a mopey souled version of you kicking around my house."
"He mopes?" Spike looked at her askance. "And you still think it's really me?"
Buffy spared him a small smile. "He's not brooding. If that's what you're thinking."
Which prompted a snort in response. "Bloody read my mind, Slayer." Buffy watched him light a fresh cigarette, placing it lightly between his lips. "What?" he added gruffly, as he caught her staring at him.
"I just…" Buffy paused, suddenly uncertain why she was staring at Spike at all, "You shouldn't smoke."
"Not gonna give me cancer," he replied around the cigarette as he began to walk once more.
"No, but second hand is worse, you know." She replied, settling into a gentle stroll beside him.
"Didn't ask for your company, Slayer."
"No, but apparently you're in love with me, so shouldn't you be grateful I'm walking with you?"
He stared at her for that one. "Never gonna let this one go, are you?" He raised an eyebrow.
Buffy smiled weakly in reply, her stomach churning, "So it is true then?"
She watched him duck his head, looking away for a long moment, though he kept walking alongside her. "S'like this," he began finally, "S'not something I asked for, to feel like this, about you. But… its like I'm drowning in you, Summers." He was looking at her now, his blue eyes trained on her face, waiting for a response. Her feet suddenly felt as if they had been glued to the ground. He was turning now, facing her, his hands suddenly wrapping themselves around hers. Cold. Though not so much colder than her own really. "You're…"
"Stop," she choked out finally, "Don't do this, Spike. Please. I just… I can't handle this right now." She began to pull her hands away, out of his grasp, only to have him pull them back, pulling her in closer.
"No, you stop, Summers." His eyes were dark, fathomless, "Stop fighting me. Stop fighting this. You feel it too." He punctuated his statement with another pull, forcing a ragged gasp from Buffy's lips. "I love you." He paused for a moment, searching her eyes for something she wasn't sure she had, though a strange fear was rising in her gut. "Didn't want to hurt…" the future-Spike had begun in the living room, his haunted eyes telling Buffy that she was the one he was afraid of hurting.
"Spike," she murmured, "Stop. Please. Whatever you feel, whatever you think you feel, it's not real." She wished she could stop the words from escaping her, even as she said them, for anger was rising in his eyes with every word. "You can't love without a soul," she whispered.
"Cause you're the expert on that," he spat, releasing her so suddenly she almost stumbled forward.
"I…" What could she say? Did she even know really? What if he could love? What if his loving her was the reason he got a soul? Only… only why then wasn't the souled Spike giving her the same speech? Lost in a maze of confusion, Buffy latched onto the one thing she understood. "You know he said to stake you if I ever questioned your," she searched for the word he had used, "morality."
"Generous of him," Spike jeered.
"I think he meant for him too," she added, concern unwillingly writing itself across her face.
"Go to hell, Summers," was all she got before he disappeared into the night. This time, she let him, wishing she hadn't just made things worse.
Spike lay on the cot in the Summers' basement, his eyes trained on the dust motes caught in the single beam of sunlight that forced its way in through the uncovered corner of one of the small, high basement windows. Time was passing slowly. Upstairs he could hear Dawn and Joyce eating a late breakfast, discussing the tiny, insignificant details of everyday life: the back of the cereal box on the counter, just how Dawn liked the bacon cooked, the fact that Buffy was still sleeping. He couldn't sleep. Somewhere out there Illyria was roaming free. A forceful being with powers he didn't entirely understand or know the limits of. Though he knew where she would be drawn. Places of power. Any bigwig demons, witches, what-have-you, would be on her list. It was the fact that there was also a hell god in town that had Spike really nervous.
At some point he drifted into a restless slumber, tainted with dust and blood; leftovers from the demon dimension that had swallowed L.A. The smell of blood became stronger and Spike woke in a daze, his demon demanding that it feed while it had the chance. A form moved to his right. Spike leapt from where he lay and lashed out quickly. Danger. Always danger in this place.
"Hey! Last time I do anything nice!" Buffy's annoyed voice cut through the haze of dream that still surrounded him. Spike opened his eyes fully, finding himself in a heap on the basement floor, Buffy crouched a few feet away, a mug of blood in her hands. "Geez, just thought I'd bring you some food so we could get an early start on the search tonight…" Her eyes were flashing brightly and the trace of a smile danced on her lips, and Spike found himself dimly wondering if she was teasing him.
"Hey? Anyone alive in there?" She waved a hand in front of his face. "And by alive I mean not alive… undead… You know what? Forget I asked."
"Right," he said suddenly, still feeling disoriented. "Sorry 'bout that. Wasn't here. Was just… reacting."
She was looking at him with strangely compassionate eyes. "Dreamt you were in the other dimension, huh?" He nodded up at her as she stood, accepting the mug she offered to him. "I get it. When Angel… he was in a demon dimension after the whole Acatha thing," her eyes weren't looking at him anymore, her words seeming to tumble from someplace inside of her, "It took him awhile to adjust too. Guess they must be pretty nasty to leave that kind of impression."
God, he had missed her. The Buffy who had still been able to talk. Who hadn't edited every unnecessary word out of her vocabulary. Too many of his memories of her involved tired eyes and veiled features, thin lips that were pursed into a frown that never really left her. This Buffy, still so innocent, in comparison at least. It was like waking to a dream rather than from one.
"Ready to go yet?" she prompted him as he finished draining the mug, bouncing slightly from one foot to the other. "Gotta get my patrol on," she rambled. He nodded his acquiescence.
He smelt blood in the air. They hadn't been walking long before the smell assaulted him. Different from what he'd had earlier, this had a tangy spiciness to it, the coppery taste hung in the damp air, the light rain amplifying it. "Someone's bleeding," he murmured to Buffy, who walked at his side, a vision in her tight jeans and even tighter sweater.
"Can I just say eww here? The whole smelling blood thing? Really gross."
"And really useful." He smirked at her, enjoying her chatter as she flounced along in her heeled boots. He had missed those. In his last months on the Hellmouth all the girls had given up their heels in favour of being able to move more easily.
"Well, I guess," she admitted, her face twisted up into a cute look of confused uncertainty. "Still gross though."
"This way," he nodded, heading in the direction of the smell. Whatever had been out that night had been vicious, more blood had been spilt than taken, from the scent of things.
"Oh my god," Buffy whispered next to him, her eyes growing wide as they turned into the dark alleyway he had lead them to. "What the hell did this?"
Spike gazed down dispassionately, swallowing the horror his soul was screaming about, and the memories the mangled bodies below them were conjuring. A family. The body of a small child lay there, her throat ripped out, her body crumpled like a rag doll. Her mother a second crumpled form, bloody neck at an angle that could only suggest it having been snapped like a twig. The father a broken pile against the wall of the alleyway.
"Like a box of dollies!" Drusilla had cried, clapping her hands with glee. "A perfect set! All ready for tea with Miss Edith!"
"And all your's, Dru," he had replied, blood running down his chin as he spun his dark princess around the family of still-warm corpses.
"My prince does love me indeed," she smiled up at him, leaning closer to lick the blood from his features. "One day I shall have to repay the favour."
Spike swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the tiny crumpled heap in the pale pink dress. "I know who did it." How could he have forgotten that Drusilla had yet to visit in this time?
"Drusilla?" Buffy's eyes widened. "You mean you just neglected to mention that your ho-bag of a girlfriend shows up and goes around massacring families in alleyways?" The horror of what lay just a few feet to her left was burning away all reason in her mind. She wanted to stake the thing that had done this. Free the world of this kind of senseless and cruel evil. Her eyes turned to take in the crumpled forms again. There was a child!
"Not been my girlfriend for a long time," was the clipped reply. She found her gaze trailing back to Spike, taking in the haunted blue eyes and thin pale lips that stared back at her for a moment before he stepped forward, closer to the bodies. "Still warm," he said softly, one hand reaching down to gently graze the forehead of the woman before he stilled.
Buffy shifted nervously, wondering what had suddenly caught his attention. "Shouldn't we go…"
"Buffy," she stopped shifting and stared at the form in black leather that was now looking back at her. The anguish in that one word was rivaled only by the look in Spike's eyes. "This was me."
For a very long moment, Buffy gazed at the creature standing before her, one hand touching the stake in the back of her waistband before two and two came together. "You mean," she began, her voice coming out hoarse and unrecognizable to her ears, "You mean this dimension's you, don't you?"
His tortured blue eyes told her everything. "This was what you meant when you said…" she began.
"No," he replied, shaking his head, "No, this didn't happen." He stared down at the bodies at his feet and within a blink of her eyes, he was at her side again, his expression so lost that she ached to reach out to him. "This wasn't what… this is different. She… he couldn't hurt them… unless dead. Neck broken… then he… watched?" His gaze was locked on the bodies.
Buffy realized with growing discomfort that the Spike in front of her was shouldering the blame for these deaths. "Hey," she said softly, "Its not your fault. You aren't the one who did this." His eyes flashed towards hers, something panicked shining in them. "He's not you. Not really." She bit her tongue, "I think…" she looked at the bodies and swallowed hard, "I think this is my fault." The panic in his eyes switched to a look of rattled confusion. "I mean, I bumped into him last night, and I said things… and with the whole soul thing…" she trailed off. "I pushed him into this," she said finally, firmly.
"No," he murmured suddenly, one hand gently lifting her chin so she was staring him straight in the eyes. "He did this. Not you, love. It's not your fault. Less than mine." His voice was soft, soothing against her conscience in his refusal to let her carry the burden of guilt. "But we need to find them."
She swallowed, suddenly sensing the proximity between them, the heat of his gaze, the touch of his skin. His hand was cold, but unlike the other Spike's touch in the cemetery the previous night, it was gentle. It didn't feel alien. Or unwanted, she realized with a start. "Yeah, we should go do that," she said, jerking away from his fingers which still lay against the soft skin of her throat. She blinked suddenly, "But what do we do when we find them?"