Title: End of Days

Chapter: Chapter Eight – The Revelation

Author: Queen Akasha

Rating: R in some chapters

Summary: B/S. Season Seven. OK – they're out of the cell. What now? And why was Spike so freaked out over JB?

Feedback: I'd love it!!!! This site or e-mail me at Queen_Akasha@telus.net

Disclaimer: I KNOW!!! My therapists say it's all in my head. They're all trying to tell me that Sunnydale isn't real. Can you believe that????? If Sunny D wasn't real, then SPIKE wouldn't be real, and that would be, well, crazy, wouldn't it? Cause I know for sure he's real. It's impossible to imagine anyone that fine being in my head. They tell me that someone named Joss owns him. I don't think that he can be "owned". (Except by me of course.)

Spoilers: Up to the end of Season Six. This is my fictional season seven.

Distribution: Sure, if you WANNA. Let me know, K?

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Buffy rode in silence back to her motel. JB had gently placed Spike on the back seat, settling him as comfortably as he could. She knew that she should question JB about some of the issues that his presence during their escape had raised, but she just didn't feel like it right now. She was strangely satisfied just to have found Spike. She didn't let herself think about it, but, she promised herself she would. Later. And that was OK. Generally she shied away from being too introspective, but she instinctively knew that it was soon time. She needed to have a 'talk' with herself. But not now.

JB, on the other hand, was conversational. He spoke to her about casual things – the scenery, the tourists, the weather – calmly and soothingly in his deep and comforting voice. He didn't seem to expect a response and she didn't give it to him. Just the sound of his voice seemed to relax her. By the time that they had arrived at her motel, she felt better and in charge of the situation.

Since no other motel patrons seemed to be about, she directed JB to carry the still unconscious Spike into her room. She watched anxiously as the big man laid Spike on the bed. JB turned to her questioningly.

"I guess the first thing we need to do is get him cleaned up," Buffy said. "I can't tell how badly he's hurt."

"The best thing to do is just plunk him in the tub," JB agreed. "Once we get some of this gook off of him we can assess damage."

JB raised Spike while Buffy gently took off his duster. His shirt wasn't worth saving, so she just ripped it off. His jeans she carefully slid down over his hips, relieved not to find further injuries underneath. When Spike was naked, Buffy went into the small bathroom and ran the tub. JB cautiously lifted Spike and placed him into the water, which immediately took on a reddish hue. Buffy splashed and rinsed him as best as she could, and then drained the tub, starting again with fresh water. The blood was rinsing off fairly well, as was the black soot that covered one side of him.

JB watched her ministering to the vampire for a few minutes; using the detachable shower head to rinse some of the filth from the vampire's hair, and then asked her "Will you be OK on your own for awhile? There's some things I should get for when he wakes up."

Buffy nodded her agreement, and listened as JB left the motel room, locking the door behind him. She drained and ran the tub for a third time. This time the water was only slightly pinkish.

*Alone with naked Spike, * she thought. *Alone with naked HELPLESS Spike, * she amended. She felt strange, almost voyeuristic, as she surveyed his body. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him naked before. It was just that this time it seemed that he was MORE naked – if he'd had a soul she'd have thought that it was bared to her. She shrugged off these thoughts. *Later,* she promised herself.

The water was becoming cool, and there was no JB in sight. Spike seemed to be cleansed enough, and Buffy thought that he should be out of the tub. * Well, Slayer strength and all * she thought, as she pulled the plug out of the tub and gently hoisted Spike onto her shoulder. She staggered under his unbalanced weight, and carefully laid him on the bed.

The blaze of lights in the main room might bother his eyes, she thought, and she walked to the door to turn off the main switch. She looked back at him, lying in naked splendor on the bed. Even emaciated and battered, he reminded her of a Michelangelo statue, or perhaps a fallen angel. Her breath caught as she realized that he was INDEED a fallen angel. What were Lucifer and his minions if not fallen angels? Oh, she was really thinking too much. This boded nothing but trouble.

She walked over to the bed and looked down at Spike. Now that the blood and soot were cleansed from him, she wanted to take stock of his injuries, which seemed to mostly consist of severe bruising, except for the appalling cut on his arm. She pulled the blankets up over him. Looking at his body seemed to be very disturbing to her, and she wanted to avoid that right now. *Later,* she thought. She'd think of all this later. She took the extra blanket out of the closet and covered the window with it. The blinds seemed adequate, but she didn't want the morning sunlight to damage Spike any more than he was already.

Tidying the room while waiting for JB to return, she picked up Spike's discarded duster, meaning to hang it in the closet. * I think I love this duster almost as much as I love Spike, * she thought, walking to the closet. Then the implication of what she had thought hit her, and forced her to stop. Apparently, LATER was now. No-one could force her to deal with her feelings for Spike. No-one but herself.

She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, gazing at his peaceful face. *You can lie to anyone, * she thought, * but not to yourself. At least not for long. * For she realized that she had indeed been lying to herself for awhile now, not admitting the strength of her feelings for Spike. As hard as it was to face the truth, she realized that she did love him. Even after everything that had transpired between them – the pain she had caused him, and the pain he had caused her– all the pain and suffering and bad feelings were suddenly overwhelmed by her knowledge of his love for her and her love for him. It was as if shutters had covered her eyes, and had only just now been lifted. * I've loved him ALWAYS, * she thought. * I was just scared. Scared to even admit it to myself. What a hero I am, * she thought mockingly.

But everyone she loved left her. Even Spike. However, if she was to be honest with herself, which seemed to be the pattern of her day, she had driven him away – telling him to move on and that she couldn't and didn't love him. * Little bit of self-preservation there,* she thought. * If I get rid of him first then he can't get rid of me. * And she wondered where these self-deprecatory feelings came from.

She gazed down at his peaceful face, and slowly reached down and touched his cheek. His skin felt smooth and cool. Unbidden, the thought of him being touched by Drucilla came into her mind, and she felt herself flushing. *Well of course, I'm jealous, * she thought. *After all, I am in love with him, * she thought, to familiarize herself with her new situation. She realized that he was hers as much as she was his, forever. The strength of her feelings could not be denied. She had thought that Angel was her forever soul-mate. She realized now that while she loved Angel, she wasn't IN LOVE with him. (Evidently, there was a big difference.)

Buffy had been gently cupping Spike's cheek while she thought. She began lightly rubbing his face, and was pleased to note a response. * He's finally coming around, * she thought, as he sighed with pleasure at her touch. However, he didn't wake. She continued to stroke him, spurred on by his evident enjoyment. She moved the blanket from his now warmed body, running her hand down his chest. His excitement was immediately evident. She was amazed at his body's response to her.

She felt the same way, though. From either the sight or touch of him, she had become incredibly aroused. * Great, * she thought wryly, *Now I'm stooping to thoughts of molesting a guy in a coma. *

Buffy was startled by the sound of a key in the door. She guiltily pulled the blanket back up over Spike, and pretended to be studying the cut in his arm as JB walked into the room, carrying a grocery bag.

"How's he doing?" JB asked, emptying the bag and putting some of the contents – bags of blood and a bag of fruit – into the small refrigerator in the room. He reached into the bottom of the sack and pulled out some gauze and tape.

"Not as bad as I had first thought," Buffy replied. "Mainly just bruised and starved. The worst thing is this nasty cut on his arm. I can see bone."

JB leaned over Spike. "Well, Buffy, if you're willing, the quickest way to fix that is with Slayer's blood."

Buffy looked up, puzzled. "He already drank from me, and that didn't fix it."

"Maybe not, but I'm sure that it helped. However, I meant direct application." JB looked down at her. "If you want to, that is."

"Why not," Buffy sighed. "My last cut was just starting to heal. Can't have that now, can we?"

JB reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded knife, handing it to Buffy. "Maybe just a little nick on your palm," he suggested.

Buffy unfolded the blade. JB turned his back to her, saying "I really don't like the sight of blood." Buffy smiled at the thought of such a large man being scared of a little bit of fresh blood, when he had carried the incredibly bloody Spike around. She ran the sharp blade down the center of her left palm. Blood immediately welled up in the cut, and she pressed her dripping hand to Spike's wound.

"Just be careful not to mix his blood with yours," JB cautioned.

Buffy jerked her hand away, and let the blood drip onto his laceration instead. *Too late, * she thought. "Why, what would happen?" she asked, casually.

"I'm not sure," JB said, "But it very likely wouldn't be good."

* Great, * thought Buffy, squeezing her hand to make the blood flow quicker. * If I wake up with a severe sun allergy in the morning, Spike's gonna be deader than he already is. *

Buffy dripped blood onto Spike's arm for a minute more, then she reached over and grabbed a mug from the night stand, allowing her blood to fill it. *Snackies in the morning for Spikey * she thought. Must be the blood loss that was making her strange. When the mug was full, she carried it to the fridge, and went into the bathroom to tend to her latest cut.

She called out to JB "It's OK, I'm done bleeding now." He turned around and smiled at her.

"Buffy," he said, all seriousness now. "There really are things that we have to talk about, but you look exhausted. Besides, I'd rather wait until Spike was awake because he needs to hear them, too. So I'm going to go now," he handed her the room key, "and I'll be back tomorrow evening with some answers. Until then, please try and get some rest."

Buffy nodded as he walked to the door. "Oh, the fruit is for you," he smiled. "You must be hungry."

"Goodnight, and thank you," Buffy said. She walked over to the door after he had closed it, and turned the security lock. A girl couldn't be too careful.

She picked up the gauze and tape and went back over to Spike. She clumsily bandaged his arm, and then went around the room, shutting off all the lights, except for the bathroom light. She left that door almost closed, faintly illuminating the room in case she had to get up in the night. She stripped to her bra and panties and slid under the sheets on Spike's less injured side. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling his familiar Spike scent, now that the coppery blood had been washed from him. The cool touch of his flesh against hers called up ghosts of memories, some good, some not so good.

Why had she treated him as if he were beneath her? Why was it so hard for her to acknowledge him as her lover, her boyfriend, her mate? Why had she cared so much about what other people may think? Why did she need approval to do what she so desperately wanted to do?

* If they don't like what I do, and who I'm with, they can just go to hell, * Buffy thought fiercely. *I'll do what I want, with WHOM I want. I can make my own decisions, dammit!! *

She propped herself on an elbow and stared down at Spike's face in the dim light. He looked so innocent, sleeping. And he really was an innocent inside. He was just beginning to learn about real love and real feelings – not from a vampire's point of view but from a man's. It was his misfortune to love someone like her – someone who couldn't admit their love for him until it was too late.

* Too late? * Buffy thought. * Never!!! For tomorrow is another day!!! *

Buffy fell asleep dreaming of wearing hoop skirts, and Spike in a Rhett Butler outfit.

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TBC

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