In The Space Between

Sorry sorry sorry…

"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.

Chapter 7: The Tears We Cry

"My knight has left me," Drusilla murmured, her eyes on the younger Spike as he let the body he was holding fall to the ground, his sights set on Buffy. Spike watched the scene play out, his feet leading him to Drusilla's side. "The stars told me about you," she began, without turning to look at him. "I thought I could save him, but he's already lost. My boy is gone. All we are is dust."

"Dru," Spike began, "Been awhile."

"Time and space are only relative," she replied, turning her sharp, dark eyes towards him. "Miss Edith missed you. I tried to tell her you were lost to us." Her gaze wandered. "Did you like our picture? I tried to paint the past with shades of red, but I couldn't feel your joy. Too empty now."

"I'm not like that anymore, Dru," he replied.

"No," she said sadly, "The sunshine ate you all up, and now you're just a ghost. She won't see you if you don't try." She smiled at him wistfully, "I always saw you, my brave knight."

Spike watched her as she spun lightly on her toes. "The blood rushes in my veins, my Spike. Would you dance? You always did love to dance."

"Not tonight, kitten," he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat down. It was hard to look at her. Memories he had buried sprouted into crimson flowers of pain in his heart. Blood-splattered images dancing through his mind, remorse crying out for freedom from the past he had made.

She pouted at him, her pale features that had once held him captive now looking washed out. The shell of a woman. Nothing inside but voices and a demon. He could recognize it now, after years watching over Illyria. "Do you remember, Spike, all the good times we had?"

"They're not so good anymore," he admitted softly.

"The spark," she replied with a tight nod, "I've lost all that was my Spike, haven't I?"

He smiled weakly at her, his once-goddess. "Don't want to hurt you, pet."

She looked at him with dark eyes, understanding love, even if she could understand nothing else. "Promise to the sunshine burns, doesn't it, Spike?" She stepped next to him, the ghost of a touch running against his arm. Her eyes searched his out, "Miss Edith says goodbye."

"And you, love?" he asked gently, "What do you say?"

She looked thoughtful for a long moment. "I can't see you anymore. You walk in worlds I can't begin to imagine."

Spike stood still for a long moment as she lost herself in the crowds, disappearing as she had promised, in words only he could understand. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if to clear it, though the back of his eyes prickled slightly despite it. Saying goodbye to Dru wasn't something he had ever really planned. Of course, admitting to Buffy he had let Drusilla go wasn't something he planned to do either. Focusing on the present, Spike let his gaze wander over the crowds, finally catching sight of a sweep of honey-gold hair, the faint scent of vanilla and determination that he associated so tightly with his Slayer.

"Buffy," he called, only a few feet from where she stood still, her feet apparently rooted to the ground. "I lost," he began, only to lose his words as the man who stood in front of Buffy was revealed by the shifting crowds, "Dru…" he finished, looking the unexpected figure up and down. "'Ello, Whitebread," he heard himself say, unsure what Captain Cardboard was doing back in town. This hadn't happened in his world. Of course, different dimension. Maybe this was the way things were supposed to be in this world. Captain Cardboard regrets leaving Slayer, returns and repents, swears his love to her forever, Slayer gets a human partner to look after her. It made a crooked sort of sense and if that was how this reality was supposed to play out, who was he to interfere?

"Spike." Buffy's voice sent a shiver down his spine and set his unbeating heart to aching. She sounded lost, alone, broken. As if something precious had been lost to her, and for a moment Spike wondered if she had heard something about her mother. Had he been unable to prevent death from touching her life, after all?

"Love?" He asked despite himself, ignoring the man who stood in front of Buffy, as he stepped forward, suddenly glad to have closed the gap as her weight sank against him.

"He killed Spike." He heard Buffy murmur. Involuntarily, Spike stiffened. This sadness, this grief and pain… were for him? The unsouled, unloved, just-aided-in-the-murder-of-a-family him? His eyes widened in shock even as he shifted to better support Buffy's weight as she leaned against him.

"Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Captain Cardboard announced in his rough, self-important tones.

Spike never in a million years expected to see Buffy spark to life against him, springing forward to land a solid punch in Captain Cardboard's face. Stunned, he felt a wolfish grin spread across his features. Hell, he'd never liked the bugger, and seeing the Slayer pummel him was undoubtedly one of the greatest moments of vindictive pleasure he'd ever had the pleasure of indulging in. Except that she was still pummeling him despite the groans that were growing somewhat fainter.

"How dare you?" she was shrieking, "You think you have the right?" The thud of fist hitting flesh. "You think you get to decide who lives and who dies?" The thick syrupy thunk of head hitting floor and yielding.

"Love," Spike murmured, rushing forward and pulling her off of the male form she seemed to have been determined to beat into non-existence. "Stop, you're gonna kill the git if'n you keep that up."

She was flushed, her breathing heavy, her eyes blind with fury as she struggled against him, fists still in Riley's direction. For a moment, Spike felt a surge of something approximating sympathy. One look in the human's direction suggested that she'd done quite the number before he had pulled her back. Having been at the end of many of Buffy's beatings over the years, he knew just how much pain the still-moaning git had to be in.

"Oh my god," he heard one dancer gasp, "What the hell happened to him?"

"Good lord! Someone call 9-1-1!"

"Who did this to him?"

Spike pulled Buffy closer to him, roughly turning her to face him. "Slayer, you gotta snap out o' it. We're getting' out of here now."

"He killed him." She whispered, the fight slipping from her stiff form, the fire draining from her eyes.

"And neither he nor I knew you cared so much, Slayer," Spike replied, searching for an exit as he slipped through the crowd and the shadows that kept the pair from being noticed by the growing circle of people around Cardboard's collapsed form.

It was with a sigh of relief that he pulled the Slayer into a cemetery and sat her down on the grass between the tombstone belong to Robert and Iris Pennington and the weeping willow that trailed its branches over top of it. "What the bloody 'ell was that?" He heard himself say in disbelief.

He heard Buffy sniffle. Sniffle! Over his death! "How was I supposed to react?" she whispered, "One second Spike is standing there, and the next, poof!"

"That's kinda how it works, love," Spike replied, kneeling in front of her, as she pulled herself into a tight ball, tears visibly running down her face. "Hey, hey," he patted her back awkwardly. "I think Cardboard will survive, so no need to feel bad for the beat down, Slayer…"

"What'd you say?" she snuffled, through her tears.

"Said Riley will be fine. You did a number on 'im, but he's a fighter, he'll…"

"No, not that." She waved a hand as she ran the length of her sleeve across her nose, "What'd you call him?" she choked out.

"Cardboard?" Spike asked one eyebrow raised. Truth to be told, he was more than a little freaked out by the Slayer at the moment.

"Yeah," she replied, choking on another sob.

"'ve always called the git that?" he continued, his eyes widening slightly as Buffy went from tears to smothered laughter.

"You really are him." She announced softly, her eyes still watery as she calmed down. She wiped at her eyes, "I don't even know why I'm crying. Stupid vampire. Stupid… you?" She looked at him with bright confusion. "Did you really love me? Even before the soul? Without it?"

Spike stared at her, dawning realization in his heart. The Slayer had cared. Even back then. Back now. She… cared. "With all my heart," he murmured softly, staring into her bloodshot eyes. "Love… doesn't stop being love just 'cause you don't have a soul. It's… not the same kind of love. It's… more selfish, less givin'. But still's love. Makes you do dumb things, makes you hate yourself, makes you change yourself, makes you better than you were." He tucked a stray strand of hair between her ear, "I always loved you, jus' took me time t' see it."

Somehow this earned him another snuffle and a sob. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I must be a disgusting mess… I didn't even… I shouldn't even cry, really. He was… such a pain in the ass." She hiccupped. Spike wondered if he had ever loved her more.

"Would you... Do you think it'd be ok if we don't look for Illyria tonight?" She murmured. "I mean, you can…"

"'m right behind you, Slayer," he murmured. "Blue can look after 'erself when the chips are down."

"So you can… you can walk me home?" Came the sniffled request.

Buffy wasn't sure exactly what had turned her into this sniffling wreck. Spike hadn't meant that much to her. The pain in her ass, the thorn in her side, the vampire she let live because killing him would seem unnecessarily cruel. She leaned against the other Spike as they walked back to her mother's house. He had one arm wrapped around her shoulders, steadying her. His face was unreadable as his eyes searched through the shadows, sifting through them for any danger as they walked. She leaned closer into him, feeling his arm tighten slightly.

He loved her. He had always loved her. One look in those earnest eyes had assured her of it. With soul or without. But she'd known that, hadn't she? Her Spike had been intense and dark and insistent. His kiss… oh god, his kiss. She'd felt as if she were being brought to life, as if every one of her senses was so filled she could have drowned in sensation. How could she have found that, only to lose it in the space of a moment? She felt the dull ache of more tears building up behind her eyes. She would never have believed she had so many tears to cry for Spike. Never would have believed that he'd filled the sort of space inside of her that demanded tears and mourning.

And apparently, neither did the Spike who walked beside her. She'd caught his curious glances, his bewildered expression. He kept trying to make her feel better about beating Riley to a pulp and leaving him on the floor of the Bronze to be scraped up by whoever was willing to help him. As if she were more upset about that. Truthfully, a part of her wanted to go back and make it final. Avenge Spike's death. No matter that she was a vampire slayer, not a vampire slayer slayer. She laughed suddenly, attracting another confused glance from Spike. "Slayer of Slayers," she said bemusedly, "That was you."

"'m not followin', love." Was his alarmed reply.

"I was just thinking that part of me wants to go back and finish Riley off. You know, avenge Spike's death. Slay a slayer." She giggled. "It would be kinda ironic, wouldn't it? Poetic justice."

There was a long pause. "He'd of liked that," he announced finally. "Though I don't think you should, Slayer," he added quickly, "Cardboard's a git, but don't think he necessarily deserves to die for it."

"How do you know he'd like it?" She whispered softly, one hand tugging lightly on the soft black leather of his duster. She kept her eyes trained on him as he turned to smile at her, the traces of a smirk in his eyes.

"Cause I like it, Slayer." He replied, the ghost of evil mischief passing across his eyes.

Buffy wrapped her fingers around the leather of his duster. "I'm glad you're here," she said softly, her eyes falling away to stare into the darkness that surrounded them, "It's like I haven't lost all of him."

She missed the stare that Spike gave her. One that spoke of desperate desire and awe. One that looked identical to how an unsouled Spike had looked at her just a few hours earlier. Spike swallowed hard, wondering how he was ever supposed to leave her, when she could say things like that.

"Would you tell me about him?" she asked. "What you remember from what you were like around this time?" Her request sounded almost shy and Spike felt a little delirious. As if he were dreaming. So he obliged her and told her everything he could remember about the time. Without shame he recalled the BuffyBot and Glory's kidnapping of him. The single kiss she had bestowed on him. Their failed escape attempt. That last night on the stairs. His promise to her.

"Told you I knew you'd never love me," he murmured, as they sat on her back porch, watching the heavens move above them.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"For what, pet?" He looked at her patiently, "Hasn't happened here."

She shrugged. "No, but…" she was struggling for words. They'd never been her strong point, he mused silently. "It sounds like I was a bitch to you. And… I was a bitch to him. And now he's gone and I can't tell him I'm sorry. Can't tell him that he was right, that I did care. That I believed that he could be better than what he was." She looked at him. "I guess I was right to believe it, though, wasn't I? I mean, here you are with a soul you chose to have." He nodded, unsure what to say. Here she was, extending understanding she hadn't been willing to offer even with the knowledge that he'd had a soul. There was a long silence. "Thank you," she said finally.

"Any time, Buffy," he replied, watching her stand with half-lidded eyes. He'd settle for friend. It was more than he'd ever really thought he'd be able to lay claim to. He watched her stand still, looking out over her darkened backyard. Listened to the thump-thump of her heart and the whisper of her breath in the still night air.

"He kissed me," she said suddenly, "Right before… Before Riley staked him."

He looked up at her with what he hoped were unreadable eyes. It was crazy to be jealous of yourself, wasn't it?

"I kissed him back," she continued, her gaze still resting on something out in the darkness. "I thought you should know."

"'e died happy then, love," he said softly, his eyes on her form. "Only ever dreamed of a crumb." He watched her head fall for a second, as she mumbled something about going to bed. He listened to the backdoor snick shut, listened to her footsteps pausing just behind the door, sensed her body pressed against it. The body he knew better than she could ever dream.

"He could have had the whole cookie," he heard her breath, so quiet and muffled it could have been his own imagination. He listened to her footsteps, light and quick, as they raced up the stairs to her room. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Staring at them for a long moment, he pulled the plastic wrapping off and slid a single cigarette from the pack. Reaching back into his pocket he pulled out his lighter and flicked it on. A tiny, bright spark of fire blazed as he lit the end of the cigarette that now dangled casually from his lips.

In the morning, Buffy walked the few kilometers from her mother's house to the college for her Monday classes. She paused by the big, old tree in her front yard, a sad smile spreading across her lips as she looked from the small pile of cigarette butts to her bedroom window. Her gaze falling back to the pile, she realized with a start that the butts were fresh, no more than a night old. The sadness of her smile drained away, leaving something between astonishment and contentment to dance upon her features. The strange sense that she might not have lost as much as she had feared began to bloom inside of her.