In The Space Between

OK, folks. Major character death warning. It's not how I meant to write this… but… I can't seem to get around it now. Please don't hate me…

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?"

Chapter 6: The Space Between…

Spike knew where his younger self was. Just as he knew with chill certainty why he had sunk his teeth into the broken neck of the woman in the alleyway. Would he have wanted to know, years before the time came, that he would go out searching for a soul? "Not bloody likely," he muttered under his breath, raking one hand through his hair. He wondered idly if his roots were showing. It was almost funny the idle thoughts one landed on when faced with the worst.

"Where are we going?" Buffy's voice was almost unnaturally soft. He turned to look at her, her face pale in the illumination of the streetlights above them. She looked so young. And nervous. He gazed at her for a long moment, realizing he could read her emotions as they played out across her face. She was staring back at him, trusting him to lead her.

She never trusted him to lead. Not in his world.

"Does the soul really make all the difference?" He heard his voice ask, as if from far away.

She looked momentarily taken aback, "I… I thought it did." She shook her head, "Now I don't know. Not since you…" She stepped closer to him. "You're the one who went from not having a soul to having one. Does it make any difference?"

"Didn't Angel tell you it did?" he prompted, trying hard to keep his disdain from showing.

"I… Yeah, he did," she began, "But I'm starting to wonder… if it's different for each of you." Her face was clouded with suspicion and uncertainty, but she'd said the words, not him.

He wanted to laugh. Or cry. If only the Buffy he had known had been half as open-minded as this one. He might have stood a real chance. What could he tell her? That his soul demanded that Dru and his younger self pay for the crime of a murdered family in an alleyway? That it similarly cried out for his own atonement? That despite the burden of guilt he continued living, continued wanting and hoping and wishing for something better than the lonely, dusty end that he deserved? Nothing was easy.

"Does having a soul change whether you could ever love me?" he said finally, his voice cracking slightly. Internally he was raging against himself, the pansy.

She looked at him with something halfway between horror and understanding. The words were there in his head, "I could never love you, Spike. I'll never be your girl." But she didn't say anything, just sighed, one hand weighing the stake she held onto, her eyes drawn to its sharpened tip.

"The Bronze, right?" She said finally, eyes lifting to meet his own, "That's where we're headed?"

It turned out that knowing and believing were very different things for Buffy that night. She entered the club just behind Spike, who seemed haunted now, spooking at every odd noise. It was only when they were actually inside the club that Buffy realized that she was still expecting to see her Spike in the same place as always (hanging out near the bar, a frown on his angular features and a beer held carelessly in his long fingers). She skimmed the crowd near the bar and didn't catch even a glimpse of his peroxide-brightened hair.

"Won't see him there, love," the souled Spike muttered lowly in her ear, "Not tonight."

She followed him up the stairs to the darkened corners the owners had included in the new design (a stupid move, she found herself thinking dimly). She followed his gaze, finding it dwelling on the front rail for a long moment. "What happened there?" she asked, her voice light.

"Nothing," was his monosyllabic reply, darker than she had expected it to be. As if something had happened there. Just one more of the things he wasn't telling her about.

"There," he said finally, his head angling toward a corner, his voice little more than a hiss. Buffy turned to look, expecting maybe her Spike standing next to Drusilla, perhaps some dance that was just icky… she wasn't prepared to see him fang-deep in some girl's neck. Blonde, she noticed, as if from a distance. Petite. The girl could have been her, lacking only the Slayer powers that might have protected her. She felt her fists curl, even as something inside her iced over. She'd forgotten what he was. How could she have let that happen?

"Can I trust you to deal with Drusilla?" She heard herself murmur, a steel edge to her voice.

"Wouldn't be the worst you've made me do," he murmured cryptically, drifting away from her like a panther on the prowl.

Whatever that was supposed to mean, she would have to figure it out later. In this moment, a pair of yellow eyes had flickered open and landed on her. A bleach-blonde had slowly raised his head and purposefully licked his blood-stained lips in her direction before letting the limp corpse fall and stalking towards her, the pale woman swaying behind him forgotten. Everything dark and predatory in his character was on full display. She stood her ground even as something inside her screamed in frustration. She had begun to trust him, to almost expect something from him.

"Slayer," he whispered in her ear as he came closer, circling around her as she stood still.

"Vampire." She replied, her voice betraying just enough of the hurt she was feeling that she knew he would pick up on it.

"What? You forgot what I am, Slayer?" He came full circle around her, one hand wrapping itself around hers. The one that held her stake, of course. "Tsk, tsk," he murmured into her ear, his unnecessary breath tickling her ear, "This for me, love?"

"You know," she began, "I'm dumber than I thought. 'Cause see, I actually believed that you were changing." She stood stiff as he moved fluidly in front of her, his other hand resting gently on her waist. "And then you do something like this," she rebuked, "And that theory is just… out."

"Dance with me, love?" His voice was little more than a darkened purr.

"Like hell," she hissed, trying to jerk away from him, even as his grip tightened around her. "What kind of game are you playing, Spike?"

"Just figured you might give a dead man his last request," Spike murmured in her ear, "The stake is for me, isn't it, Slayer?"

Buffy fidgeted awkwardly, "If you're dangerous, Spike…"

"Slayer," he shook his head, pulling her in closer and drawing her into a slow, sensual dance. "I never stopped being dangerous."

Inside her there was a battle being waged. Part of her was reacting in ways she would never have thought possible with Spike, his body only as far away as the clothing pressed between them, his mouth so close that his whispered words were in her ear before they left his lips. Another part was screaming to get this all over with, to wrench her hand from his and let the stake find its mark. Her eyes slid closed involuntarily, "I thought you loved me?"

"Do, Slayer," his voice was thick, his hand sliding from her hip to the small of her back, "Not gonna be your whipped puppy, though."

"Then what will you be?" She murmured against his neck, "'Cause you keep this up, all you'll be is dust."

"Big words from the little girl," his hand let hers go and made its way down to join the other. "But do you really mean it, love?"

"This your way of trying to get me to admit I feel something for you?" Her voice was harsh, disinterested, even as her own hands betrayed her by sliding around his neck, the stake sliding from her grasp to join the broken glass and spilt drinks on the dirty floor.

"S'workin', isn't it?" His voice was husky now, his face buried in her hair. He was breathing in her scent, she realized with a start, feeling him breathing in and out.

She was supposed to fight this, she thought dimly. He'd just been accomplice to Drusilla's crimes. At least five people were dead that night. At least five deaths he hadn't stopped. Had watched instead. At least two broken necks he had slipped his teeth into. A family. A lump rose in Buffy's throat as she registered disgust with herself. Her hands slipped down from around his neck, under her control again as she placed them against his chest and pushed him away.

"You ever do this again, and you're dead, Spike." Her voice was calm, even. "And I'm serious. Doesn't matter that you didn't kill them, you could have saved them." Her voice was trembling now, disgust and remorse rising in her throat.

He stood just a few feet away now, the distance she had pushed between them. His eyes glittered darkly as he laughed. "That's rich, Slayer," he scoffed, "Givin' me a second chance?" In the blink of an eye he was in her space again, "Why can't you just admit it?" His face was just inches from hers, "Admit you feel something too." In the space between one moment and the next, his lips had crashed down to meet hers.

The kiss was brutal, his fingers digging slightly into the flesh of her arms as he pulled her tightly against him. It would have almost hurt, if his lips hadn't been doing something almost wicked to her own. Buffy could taste the blood on his mouth as his tongue begged admittance, sliding between her shocked lips to dance with her own. It was wrong, wrong, wrong, but it felt as if every nerve-ending her body had turned on, focused on this one kiss. "Spike," her voice was foreign to her ears, halfway between a gasp and a moan.

"Buffy," he echoed, his voice holding something like wonder as he leaned back in to kiss her again. His kiss was almost savage, bruising her lips in a way that was leaving her breathless and hungry for more. Even the coppery taste of the blood on his lips and teeth wasn't turning her away. His kiss seemed to have awoken a need as urgent as breathing.

"Spike," she murmured, pulling away, "I can't…" Her open eyes caught his, blue as summer skies, as they flashed with such desire that the words caught in her throat.

"Buffy," he lifted a hand to trace her lips, his fingers tinted red with the blood that now stained both their lips. Dimly, she knew she should be horrified by this. But the desire to touch him was overwhelming all else, and for a moment her hand ghosted along the side of his face. But just for a moment, before his figure crumbled away, the last look in those deep blue eyes one of shock.

Buffy stood numb for a long moment, her eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. Her still-raised hand ached, her fingertips coated in the fine dust that she knew far too well. Her jaw worked slowly, her brain processing in slow-motion.

"Buffy," Spike's voice called behind her, sending a dart of pain and loss through her system, mocking this moment. "I lost… Dru…" he trailed off, apparently landing on the figure who now dominated Buffy's vision, even as it swam. "'ello Whitebread," his rough voice mocked, "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Spike." Buffy finally said, her voice cracking, breaking, as the world seemed to spin out of control.

"Love?" the voice behind her murmured in concern, apparently moving towards her, as she suddenly felt his body behind her, supporting her.

"He killed Spike." She whispered, the ghost of emotion on her voice. She felt the Spike who still existed stiffen behind her.

"Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Riley's voice carried just an ounce of agitation within it.

Buffy had never wanted to hit anyone quite so much.