In The Space Between

Buffy spun around to glare at her Watcher. "I fell asleep on the couch and he carried me to bed," she said softly, "But thanks for the vote of confidence, Giles." With that, she brushed past her ex-boyfriend who still hovered in the doorway and ran the distance home. There was so much going on, and she just couldn't deal with it. Not when all she could see when she closed her eyes was her mother's pale face, looking tiny and sandwiched between beeping life support machines. That, and the look in Spike's eyes when he had agreed to stay with her last night.

Chapter 10: And Hope To Keep Safe From The Pain

Spike awoke with a start to the front door slamming shut. He could hear Buffy gasping for breath and choking on sobs, and it had him to his feet in an instant. He was up the stairs before he knew himself, the basement door flung wide, heedless of the filtered sunlight that beamed its way into the hallway. His hands were on Buffy's trembling shoulders before he'd fully taken stock of the situation, and he heard his own voice as if from a distance, demanding to know what was wrong, who was after them, what he needed to do for her.

It was her shocked green eyes that brought him back to himself. The skin of his bare torso was smoking lightly, though the burn of sunlight was one he'd long ago learned to ignore. His rambling mouth stilled and he realized, with utterly clarity, that he was completely under her power yet again. Her well-being came first. Her life before his. He would burn forever, if it could keep her whole and unharmed. He bit his lip, as he leaned back, standing to bounce lightly on the balls of his bare feet. He extended a hand to Buffy's crumpled form, a suddenly silent ball of emotionally wiped-out woman curled at the foot of the front door.

He watched her swallow hard, her delicate throat working with indistinct movements. She placed a shaking hand in his as he pulled her towards him. "We should get out of the sunlight," she whispered softly, "You're burning."

Wordlessly, he pulled her down the first few steps of the basement stairs, pulling the door closed behind them. They stood silently in the basement gloom, Buffy's hand still wrapped in his own. They stood too close together. Spike could feel her warmth on the bare skin of his chest. She shifted slightly, and the lightly ruffled bottom of her skirt brushed against the denim of his jeans. "I thought," he began softly, his voice trailing off drily. What could he possibly say that didn't make him look like a whipped puppy? She was in pain. He'd heard it and he'd come running without a thought. It really was just that simple.

She opened her mouth, though her eyes remained steadfast, focused somewhere in the middle of his chest. He watched her mouth work silently, no words coming out. Her free hand rose slowly, settling heavily on the skin that lay above his unbeating heart. Her fingers flexed softly against his skin, fingernails rasping ever so gently against him. "Why me?" she said finally, her emerald eyes suddenly staring at him accusingly. "What do I do to deserve this?"

He was taken aback for moment, his attention riveted on the sensation of her fingertips against his chest. Distractedly, he struggled for the words to explain himself. "It's not you, pet." He plead desperately. "It's me. I'm… I'm not right. I shouldn't even…"

"No." Her voice was hard, the single word ground out in frustration. "I mean, what do I do to deserve you? What do I do to be worth this kind of attention? You… you never leave, do you? You just… you're always here. And you, heard me, and came literallyrunning. Despite the sun. Despite the… despite everything I've ever said or done." The tears were back in her eyes, glittering like diamonds on her dark eyelashes. "What do I do to deserve that kind of love?" Her hands spasmed erratically, the hand he still held flexing, clawing out of his grasp to land alongside her other hand on his chest. Her voice held an element of desperation. "I'm never enough for anyone," she cried, her fingers splayed against his chest. "What do I do to be worthy of this?"

He couldn't think. No one in the world could hold him accountable for his actions. How could they? The woman who owned his heart and soul was in his arms demanding to know what made her worthy of his love. How could his love be worthy of her? His mouth fell against hers, his arms wrapped around her body, crushing her to him. To be honest, he was ruthless. He was in a dream, and she was willingly there with him. One hand raked carelessly, desperately through her hair, forcing her lips against his own.

Buffy swam in a state of hazy confusion. Spike's mouth was on hers, his lips and tongue pillaging her mouth expertly, his hands seeming to suddenly be everywhere at once. Her hands were pinned between their bodies, flat against his muscular chest, and they needed to be elsewhere. They needed to be everywhere. Something wild rose up in her chest. She felt alive with his mouth on hers. She felt like she might never need to breathe again, and with a desperateness, she clawed against his skin. If she could only get closer. If they could just be the sum of everything and everywhere, she might never want for anything again.

"Buffy?" The voice called out in the front hallway. "It doesn't look like anyone's home," the voice added in a softer tone. "Buffy?"

Spike pulled away suddenly, his eyes wide with a mix of emotions Buffy couldn't begin to label. She felt thoroughly kissed, her lips bruised and her hair mussed. She wanted nothing else but more, more of this intoxicating feeling of freedom and exploding fireworks of need and desire. And he looked suddenly like he wanted nothing else but to be elsewhere.

"Spike?" she whispered softly, her heart breaking softly. Could she have misread everything? Could this all be some grand delusion, some misinterpretation of the situation?

His blue eyes focused on her for a moment, and they burned. She felt herself swallow despite herself, her whole body suddenly tense, responsive to nothing but the look in his eyes. She threw herself at him. Her lips warred against his, as his arms wrapped around her more tightly even than before. The force of her body against his pushed him against the wall of the staircase, their careless feet poised on the brink of thin air.

"Buffy?" The voice called once more. "I thought I heard something."

Suddenly, Spike was holding her still, his blue eyes staring straight into hers. "This is your chance, love," his voice was little more than a husky growl.

She met his gaze and pressed her lips against his in silent acceptance. His lips caught hers in a slower, softer dance. Her knees felt weak as her hands gained purchase on his bare shoulders. His strong arms swept her body even closer to his.

"I think I was wrong." The voice in the hallway said softly. "I guess we might as well keep looking somewhere else. Maybe she went back to the hospital? She's pretty upset."

The sound of the front door shutting was enough to cause Spike to pull away from her lips again, forcing a tiny mewl of need from Buffy's lips. He did everything right. Every movement, every evil little flick of his tongue or shift of his lips seemed designed to drive her wild. Every shift of his body mirrored her own. She felt like a puzzle piece that had just found its interlocking piece. How did he know…

Buffy swallowed, her green eyes riveted on his solemn gaze. "We've done this before," she whispered, realization trickling in. "I mean, in your world…" The slight incline of his head, the shift of his eyes away from her face. "We do." She said in soft wonderment. "This is what you weren't telling me…"

His eyes turned back to hers with anguish written in them. Buffy felt her jaw moving against her will. "When you said that you hurt me," a growing sense of dread rose within her, "It was because of this, wasn't it?"

The second his hands left her body she felt bereft. His entire presence was suddenly across the basement, leaving her alone on the staircase. He was suddenly closed off to her, the moody, foreboding aura back in place. The one she hated. His back was towards her now as he shrugged on a black t-shirt, his pale skin which only seconds ago had been open to her touch now hidden from view.

"It wasn't good," he said softly. "You weren't… you were hurting and you hated… just about everything just then. I knew it, but I was so desperate for anything. Any part of you that could be mine. And the darkness of it all just about swallowed you up, and you ended it. Unsullied by your time in the muck."

Buffy stood still, shocked by the revelation. "What do you mean?" she heard herself saying, as she slowly descended the staircase.

His shoulders were already tense, but the question seemed to make him curl in onto himself somehow. "Couldn't take no for an answer, could I?" His voice was bitter, filled with reproach. "That's why I had to get a soul. Didn't even know when I was hurting the girl."

Buffy reached out a tentative hand, surprised to see it shaking. It only rested on his shoulder for a moment, hesitant and fragile as a butterfly, before he spun on his heels, eyes blazing as he knocked her hand away. "It's not something to be sympathetic about," he growled. "I almost rape you, Buffy. Don't you get that? I'm a monster. A dead thing."

Buffy felt herself shaking under the emotional onslaught of his words, the terrible sadness in his eyes. The sudden weight of his revelation was too much. He was supposed to be the support from all the other weights in her life, not the bringer of more… something inside of Buffy snapped and she did what she did best. She ran.