Twenty Four Hours by Ariel Dawn
 
 
Chapter #1 - Twenty Four Hours
 
Disclaimer: Joss left it hanging...I gave it an ending, sorta.

Author’s note: This fic was written as a birthday present for and beta’d by the incomparable and fabulous Bloodytearsoflife. *Hugs and squishes* to my very wonderful Beta!
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Twenty twenty four hours to go
I wanna be sedated
Nothing to do nowhere to go
I wanna be sedated
Just put me in a wheelchair
Put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry
Before I go insane
I can’t control my fingers I can’t control my brain
Oh no

- The Ramones


Spike regained consciousness only to realise that he was lying on hard pavement and that something very heavy was on top of him. With a groan, he mentally assessed his state. His fingers wiggled, his toes curled, his lungs filled with unneeded air. Whatever it was that was on top of him was probably the only thing that saved him from the harsh LA sun. He knew that he‘d been lying there for a long time, if the way his back was feeling was any indication.

The last thing he remembered was being pushed back from the hoards of demons in that back alley. He didn’t know by whom, just that he’d been angry as hell that he was taken away from the fight. How he got knocked out, he had no clue. He had too many bumps to figure out which one was the culprit.

With another groan, Spike slowly opened his eyes and stared straight up and into the dead face of a demon that was deader than he was. He grimaced as he worked to push the demon body off of him, the twinkle of the stars greeting him as he did so. His arms felt weak and used. With a grunt he cleared off enough of himself to be able to sit up and look around him, taking in the masses of corpses that littered the alley. He pulled himself up from the ground and stood on shaky legs as he patted himself down to find a cigarette.

As he stood there inhaling the familiar smoke, there were a few thoughts that he couldn’t help but think. Where was Angel, Blue and Charlie? Why wasn’t he dust? What did he do now?

Not that he’d had a set purpose or goal in unlife for most of his existence. No matter what he contemplated though, the one prevailing thought in his brain skirted around one topic, one central theme.

Buffy.

Taking a tentative step towards the street, with the idea of possibly making his way to his apartment, not having anything else to do, or where to start with the whole, finding of his companions.

Spike turned back to take one glance back at the alley to make sure that there was no evidence that his, dare he say it, friends were not in the alley. The pain that radiated throughout his body bade him pause before he reached the street, as if it was the pain that willed him to stop and feel out all the sensations of his body.

On the periphery of his senses he could feel the existence of family, the constancy of Sire. But it extended no further. No grandsire. No Angelus, no Darla, no Master. The latter two he knew were dead and dust, but Angel was an eye opener. His lack of presence in the alley could have been a fluke.

In an instant, Spike was sad. The feeling only lasted as long. Angelus had been a thorn in his side long enough. No matter what sort of comradery that had developed since he’d popped into existence at Wolfram and Hart, was he going to make him shed tears over Angelus’ ashes.

He knew that whatever she had felt for the magnificent poofter, the slayer would be sad that Angel had kicked it. For that he felt something.

Spike stepped onto the street and headed down the familiar path to his apartment. As much as he wanted to just get home and crash, sleep for days, he felt that irrational sense that he was being watched. Something he was quite familiar with since he’d come to live in LA.

Spike entered his apartment cautiously, sensing another being in his home. Whom ever they were and whatever they wanted, Spike wasn’t in the mood to bother.

“Whatever beastie is in here,” he started, very tired, as he stripped his duster off and laid it on his couch.

Without a sound, a figure stepped out of the bathroom, her head bowed and hands clasped behind her back.

“Nibblet?” spat Spike, shocked that Dawn Summers was stepping out of his bathroom.

“Before you start yelling at me, for being here and not with Buffy I’d like to point out that you have been all not letting me know you were alive,” responded Dawn.

Spike stepped towards Dawn with his arms outstretched, letting her step into his waiting hug. He’d missed his Nibblet this past year, two years actually. The hug lasted a good five minutes, each revelling in the embrace of the other. Spike was happy in the company and acceptance and love of the girl he’d promised to protect until he was dust, and Dawn secure in the strong arms of the man she considered more of a brother than anything else.

“Why are you in LA?” asked Spike curiously.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she responded. “Accusations aside, you need to come to Rome, again.”

Spike pulled back from the hug and stared at his Nibblet in shock.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she chastised, rolling her eyes. “Do you really think that anyone was in the dark with your little Italian excursion? You were in the apartment. Buffy could smell you, which is way gross. Andrew can’t keep a secret, especially when under pain of torture and tickling. Also, The Immortal? That creepy, greasy, man has spies everywhere.”

Spike stared back motionless, his mouth unable to respond.

“You have to come to Rome. Today. Now. Like go to the airport now,” Dawn emphasised.

“I don’t know about that,” Spike started, moving further away from her and towards his couch again, making to sit down. “I just had me a rough night and all. Got some friends to look up.”

Dawn sat down beside him on the couch. “Ok, sure, I buy that. But it’s been longer than a night and your friends are the reason you have to come to Rome. Blue girl? She’s already there.”

“How long?” Spike asked stunned.

“A few days. Everyone thought you were gone. I don’t think Angel bothered to look.”

“Angel?”

“You really have to come to Rome,” reaffirmed Dawn. “Plane, now.”

Spike sat back, his head resting on the wall behind his couch, letting the cryptic information sink in.

“I want you in Rome in twenty four hours, Spike,” said Dawn in a commanding tone. “Sooner would be better. And drink some blood, human is better. I want you healthy and not limpy and sore when you get there.” Dawn stood up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

In a swift motion, Dawn ducked down and planted a chaste kiss against Spike’s cheek and then stepped away towards his apartment door. She looked back towards him with a smiled as she took the doorknob in her hand.

“Twenty four hours, Spike,” she reiterated. She opened the door and disappeared into the hallway. “Or I’ll kick your ass, you won’t have to worry about Buffy doing it.”

Spike’s delayed reaction to her exit had him rushing to the door only to see that she’d disappeared from the hallway, her scent unable to tell him in which direction she’d gone. Spike shut the door with a bang and limped towards the couch again as he pondered what Dawn had said.

Questions bombarded his mind. Why was she here? How did she know he’d come back to his apartment and not dust in that alley? Did Buffy really know he was alive?

With a sigh, he realised that he had nothing better to do with his time than do what his Nibblet said. He hadn’t initially trusted Dawn’s appearance in his apartment so soon after the fight with the Senior Partners, but her scent, her touch were all real.

So to Rome he would go, this time without the resources of Wolfram and Hart, this time without his brooding foreheadness, though if what Dawn said was right, then Angel was already in Rome and putting the moves on Buffy.

That thought made him mad, more than being left behind, more than the fact that the raging poofter had decided that he wasn’t worth looking for. Angel had given up Buffy, he was with wolfgirl now. But did he, himself have any claim to Buffy either?

Spike ran his hand through his hair, which was slightly gelled with demon goo, and decided that he had to go with his feelings. They’d not always done right by him, but it was the way that he’d always lived, come hell or high water. He’d been denying it for too long.

And he needed a shower.

Spike looked at his hand with disgust and stepped towards the shower shedding clothes as he went.

Why didn’t Dawn wait for him, to come with her back to Rome? Assuming that was where she was going. Why didn’t Buffy come to LA to give him hell if she knew that he’d been in Rome? What if she didn’t care anymore? What if...

Spike shook his head and stepped into the bathtub and turned on the water, rinsing the demon goo from his bleached locks, the water dripping over his alabaster shoulders and coating his skin with warm cleansing liquid. If he continued to think about the ‘what ifs’ he was going to go insane.

As he coated himself with manly soapy suds, washing away the grime of demon killing, he was surprised that he had so few wounds and marks after the battle. It struck him as odd, but he didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Slowly the ‘what ifs’ returned to his mind, bringing his thoughts to Dawn’s appearance, and inevitably to Buffy. He felt that familiar twitch in his nether regions as he contemplated Buffy Summers. Her face, her skin, the way she felt, the fact that he’d been so long without her painful and needy touch. Absently his hands went to his now hard cock and began stroking as he thought about her. She was the reason he’d never sought out a new companion, well, not after that complete mistake with Harmony. He wasn’t over her.

Was it possible to get over the woman for whom you got a soul?

The poet in him thought it impossible. He was lost in his own memories of his time with Buffy, that last night before the end of the world, how she had been so gentle, as if she had been trying to actually make him realise that she was making love to him that night.

Making love.

Spike leaned against the shower wall, his hand pumping his shaft to completion. He couldn’t help but whisper her name as he shot.

No, he’d not gotten over her. And he didn’t want to.
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He found himself cramped in the cargo hold of a plane destined for Rome, freezing and really wanting a fag, wondering just what he was going to say to his Slayer when he showed up at her apartment. He had butterflies in his stomach like nothing else he’d ever experienced. He just hoped that Dawn was right, that he was needed in Rome. ‘Cause showing up on her doorstep unwanted was not the route he wanted to go.

Spike suddenly wished that he had a gift for her. He contemplated going through the luggage that surrounded him but it seemed impersonal and just a little evil. He didn’t want to remind her of that.

Not that he expected her to rush into his arms. There were issues that needed to be resolved.

And he wanted the resolution before anything else. Except maybe a shag. A man has needs after all.
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Spike raised his hand to knock on the apartment door but stopped just as he was about to make contact with the wood. His nerves were getting to him and he was still unsure and uncertain.

Unexpectedly the door opened and Dawn’s face appeared, concerned and a little angry. He was about to inquire about the expression on her face when the reason came into view. Behind his Nibblet, in the main room of the apartment, came a screech that Spike instantly knew issued from his Slayer’s mouth.

Buffy’s lithe body struck out against the form of the man she was mad at, slapping at the hulking bulk in pure girly style, as if she had suddenly forgotten that she killed things for a living.

“You jerk!” she yelled at the man in the apartment finally landing a slap on his cheek, causing her opponent to step back from her and cease his attempt to comfort her or whatever he was trying to do when Dawn opened the door.

Spike’s eyes flew to the man’s face. It was Angel, but different, changed somehow. He knew instantly that Angel had been shanshued. The pillock had left him in the alley for dust and been given a new life, turning his back on the good fight, and the mates he’d taken into the alley with him.

Bastard.

Spike ground his teeth together trying to keep his temper and wait until Buffy had had her turn with the bloody wanker.

“How could you do that?” she cried, still not realising that someone new had come into the room. “How could you leave him!”

“I wanted to start new with you, as soon as possible! Buffy! We can be together!” Angel explained to her hurt face.

“Bullshit!” she screamed at him.

Quietly Dawn ushered Spike inside the apartment and shut the door. They disappeared into the kitchen, letting the drama in the living room play out.

“You wanted to get here as soon as you knew you were human, telling me he was dead, so that we could ride off into the sunrise fulfilling every fantasy you’ve ever had with me. It wasn’t about me, or him. It was all about you Angel. You selfish prick!” she yelled at him.

“Buffy, I love you!” retorted Angel trying to regain a footing in this argument.

“I. Don’t. Love. You!” she responded. “Not anymore. I don’t think I even like you anymore!”

“But, Buffy, I’m human now!”

“Get out,” she seethed. “Get out before I make The Powers That Be regret wasting their precious prophecy on you!”

“You’re upset. I get that,” started Angel, backing up towards the door, realising he wasn‘t going to get anywhere with her at the moment. “I’ll call you in a few days when you’ve calmed down.”

Buffy grabbed a vase off a nearby table and threw it at him, flowers and all. The resounding crash of glass against the wall made Spike flinch has he cowered in the kitchen with Dawn, who was barely concealing her mirth at the situation going on in the living room.

“Get out, get out, GET OUT!” screamed Buffy.

Dawn tugged on Spike’s duster and giggled. “She got that from me.”

Dawn pushed Spike further into the kitchen as Angel passed the kitchen door on his way out of the apartment. As the door slammed, Spike’s ears picked up a sniffle from the living room.

“Dawn?” Buffy called out. “Can you bring me the broom, and make sure you are wearing shoes, there’s glass on the floor.

Dawn stepped out of the kitchen and moved into the living room, broom in one hand and dustpan in the other. In the living room, Buffy was staring at the shattered glass and the ruined flowers.

“So, Angel didn’t get the hint, huh?” noted Dawn, as she handed the broom to her sister.

“In the worse way,” Buffy muttered. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I liked the get out, get out, get out,” commented the teen. “Nine points from the American judge.”

“Just nine? I think I did better than that,” countered Buffy. “What about the British Judge? What does he have to say?”

Spike stepped out of the kitchen shyly and stared his Slayer in the eyes. “Definite ten from the British judge, pet,” he observed, smiling softly at her startled expression. “Hello, Slayer.”

“Spike,” Buffy whispered as if she hadn’t fully expected to see him stepping out of her kitchen.

He thought it incredible that she hadn’t felt his presence. He was a vampire after all. Lost in her green eyes and she lost in his blue ones, the former lovers locked their gaze as Dawn made a tactful exit from the room.

“You’re here,” she continued.

“Looks like,” he countered.

“And not sneaking around, stalking me.”

Spike nodded.

“Why?”

“Beg your pardon?” he questioned.

“Why are you here?” she asked again.

Spike looked nervous as he ran his hand through his bleached locks and shifted in place. It wasn’t quite the question that he had been expecting. “Found myself alone and undead under a pile of demon corpses yesterday, then had the Nibblet show up in my loo in LA with the cryptic and grim predictions of doom. Didn’t have anything on my calendar, so I thought I’d drop by. It’s what I do, champion and all that rot.”

“Right,” Buffy muttered.

Her tone was inexpressive, her face impassive. Spike really had no idea what she was thinking. Did he give the right response? She looked down at the glass, her gaze leaving his.

“Dawn...You came because Dawn wanted you here?” She sounded disappointed.

Spike sighed. She was an enigma. A beautiful, sad enigma.

“Did you want me here?” he asked tentatively.

Pointedly, she looked back up at him, her mouth slightly parted. His eyes locked on her lips. Oh how he wanted to kiss her lips.

“’Cause it looked like, the last time I was in Rome that you were all goo goo eyed over the bloody Immortal,” he continued.

“The last time when you didn’t bother to talk to me face to face?” she countered, her ire rising again.

“What? I was supposed to interrupt your shaggin’ and say ‘Oh hello Buffy, I’m not dust?’”

“Why not? Seems reasonable, something friends to would do.”

“We’re not friends, Buffy,” he said softly.

“You’re right,” she sighed. “We aren’t. There was a time when I thought we were. But we weren’t then either, were we?” She paused for a moment. “Dawn’s right, I need you here. I’ve got a problem with a god...again. She’s been here for a couple of days and she’s already giving me problems. The Immortal is refusing to help. Angel’s being a pain in my ass.”

“Why do you need me? Don’t you have a squad of Slayers at your beck and call?” he asked, hopeful like.

“I need you, because you are you. I need you ‘cause I trust you, and that’s not something I can say about anyone else, except Dawn.”

Spike opened his mouth to protest being used or some such nonsense, ‘cause he knew that he was going to stay the moment she said she needed him, but she continued her explanation.

“And I miss you. Which brings me to the reason why I should be mad at you. You’d rather hang around Angel than me?” she asked, the sparkle coming into her eyes again, as she rested her hand on her hip.

“Didn’t think that you’d miss me with all the bitty slayers runnin’ around, had all the warriors you needed. Didn’t need the likes of me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said softly.

Spike looked up from the spot on the floor that he’d been focused on to her eyes, brimming with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Spike,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you think that you weren’t necessary. I meant what I said in the hell mouth. I did!”

Spike nodded as she spoke, wanting more than ever to wipe those tears away from her eyelashes, to take her up in his arms and hold her tight, begging forgiveness from her for not telling her he was alive, but the part of him that had got his bollocks back this past year refused to let him descend.

“Didn’t have a lot to go on with that little declaration, pet,” he said, playing it cool.

She smiled weakly and nodded. “Of course, my fault, I get that,” she sniffed. “Will you stay, help?”

Spike looked around him and found a comfy looking chair to sit in. He waved at her to continue her tale, about the woe and the god problem.

“I’m here now, might as well get myself into a rough and tumble. Could never resist a good fight,” he started. “Need to get up to speed on this problem you are having though, pet.”

“Right. She’s a goddess, that’s what the Immortal tells me, but she’s all mad at the world for the death of some guy, that’s where the info stops. Angel’s being a dick, all, ‘leave the world to fend for itself and come away with me, so we can make Angel/Buffy babies...’”

As Buffy ranted Spike stifled a chuckle. She was in her element, complaining about the poofter while dealing with an apocalypse. He missed her. It had been far too serious around Angel’s gang in LA. He had missed her useless babble and her murder of the English language.

“As if I ever want kids with a forehead that large. I’m not likely to ever to have kids as it is. Not with Miss ‘I’m a goddess with attitude’ stalking all the demon hunters in Rome, because someone she liked died. I just want to retire in peace, you know? I’m due. Don’t I deserve to be all crotchety with a walker and those ugly white orthopaedic shoes to go patrolling in?”

Spike couldn’t help the guffah that issued from his lips at that comment.

Buffy smiled. “I knew I could get you to smile,” she started.

Spike attempted to wipe the smile off of his face.

“It wasn’t a smile, pet,” he started, even though she was already far too pleased with herself. Spike clapped his hands together. “So, Blue, pissing off everyone. I think I can help with that. Then I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you want to be cuddled up with the Immortal...” he said leaning back in the chair.

“About as much as I want a third knee cap,” she muttered. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a smirk on his face. “So, Blue, where is she?”

Dawn came out of her room and walked behind Spike, smacking his head as she passed. “Stop being smart, Spike,” she barked.

“Oy! Watch the head, bit!” he retorted back at the teen. He turned his attention back to Buffy once again. “You and I, get Blue under control, then you and I, we’ll have a little chat, ya?”

Buffy nodded solemnly before grabbing her jacket and some stakes and heading out the door only glancing back once to make sure that Spike was following behind.
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They found Illyria at the Trevi Fountain, just sitting on the steps, looking on at the masses of people crowding around the fountain: lovers holding hands, friends giggling, families enjoying the evening.

“Violence gives me no purpose,” Illyria stated, looking sullenly at the concrete steps. “He’s gone. What is my purpose here? Demons clutter the earth. Warriors for good, warriors for bad. Still I am alone.”

Spike pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, glad of his short stop at the duty free shop. He lit up, as he sat down beside his friend.

“Oxford’s gone, Blue. The little part of Fred that was, that’s what’s making you blue, Blue.” Spike inhaled another puff of smoke. “It’s time you let Fred rest.”

“No, you are wrong,” she started, standing up. “It’s time to rest.” She turned to look at Spike for a moment. “Angel. He has been given a gift. He will waste it, like he wasted his first life. Concern yourself not with him. I go.”

And with that Blue walked off into the crowd, disappearing even from Spike’s vampire senses.

“Will she be back?” asked Buffy who had been looking on.

Spike blew out another puff of smoke. “Don’t rightly know, luv,” he said softly before patting the stone step beside him.

“Well, if that was it, then that’s the easiest apocalypse I’ve ever had. Are you sure that she’s not going to try sacrificing my unborn child from the future? Cause I haven’t had that one yet,” she noted sitting down beside him, letting only millimetres of space rest to between them. “Not that I’m intending to have kids. Dawn’s enough for me any day. Especially now with her hopping around dimensions.”

“What’s that?”

“Not important. Tell you later. Can’t we talk about something else besides the end of the world, or Angel? Here we are, at the most romantic place in Rome and all you can talk about is world endage?”

“I don’t think I’m the one talkin’ about it, love...” he noted.

Buffy sighed. “I’m doing it again aren’t I?”

Spike nodded, flicking his fag away.

“I love you. I want you. I don’t feel right living without you. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t ready for you not to be here. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. I’m not built that way. Here I am spilling my heart and soul to you in public... God, could I be any more pathetic?” she muttered, staring at her hands, twisting in her lap.

Spike chuckled softly, as he stared off into the distance. Yep, he loved this girl.

“Laugh it up, you aren’t the one that’s been mourning someone who’s not even dead,” she said sadly.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap, making her gasp audibly, only to cover her mouth with his. He pulled away just in time for her to gulp down some air before becoming too light headed. They pressed their foreheads together, Buffy panting heavily from the lack of oxygen. Tenderly his hand pushed away her blond hair that had fallen into her face, his thumb rubbing against her cheek.

“I missed you,” he said sadly.

“So much that you jumped a plane and came to find me,” she said sarcastically.

“So much that I didn’t want to mess up the life you’d made for yourself, here, in Rome.”

“Like Angel,” she continued, turning her gaze away.

“No,” he said sharply. “He left you when you needed him...”

“And you what? Stayed away when I needed you? So much different!” she said angrily. She took a few deep breaths to calm down. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need my issues on top of everything else.”

“I miss your issues,” he said softly.

“You are my issue,” she countered in a whisper. “Come back with me? Stay with me?” she asked.

Spike nodded back at her, his blue eyes pouring into hers.

“Forever.”
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Buffy and Spike returned to the apartment, to see Dawn smiling, smirking really, as if she had a secret she was keeping from the rest of the world. She probably had noticed the hand holding, Spike realised. He was too happy to do anything about it. Reunited with his girls, Buffy asking him to stay.

As the door banged open, it revealed the broody figure sitting in the living room, his head bowed.

“What is he doing here?” Buffy asked, refusing to disengage her hand from Spike’s.

Angel’s head perked up at the sound of Buffy’s voice. He stood and walked towards the pair who had stopped the hallway.

“What is he doing here?” asked Angel, glowering at the vampire.

“He’s invited, unlike some people,” spat Dawn at him before turning to address Buffy. “He’ barged in here and refused to leave. I was thinking about calling the police. He’s human now, subject to the laws of man and stuff, right?”

A bright smile passed over Buffy’s face. “Call the police, Dawn,” directed Buffy.
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fini