Only an hour had passed before Tara's fears began to consume her mind again.

During that hour, she had given Dawn the PG-13 version of the parts of the story she had not been aware of, filling her in on what she knew about the strange mark Buffy had placed on Spike, the magical bond she had apparently initiated with him against his will.

Spike had quickly fallen asleep, in what Tara was sure was mostly a defense mechanism to allow him to deal with the trauma of the past few hours, and the escape which had to be as terrifying for him as his captivity had been. She did not know all of what had happened to him -- not yet -- but she knew that he was very afraid of Buffy even now, afraid that she might catch up to them, and of what she would do to him when she did.

And Tara could not blame him at all for that fear.

Once Dawn drifted off to sleep with Spike, leaving Tara alone in the silent, ever waning darkness, her own fears began to close in again -- not the least of which was the impending sunrise.

*If only Buffy hadn't taken his DeSoto,* she thought ruefully. *It was equipped for a vampire. We're gonna have to stop before daylight, to either fix the car up and make it safe for Spike, or sleep somewhere for the morning. If only we hadn't left so late...*

But "if only"'s weren't going to help anything, she knew. All she could do was try her best to take each challenge, each decision, as it came.

She sighed as she looked into the rearview mirror at the sleeping teenager, and the invisible form she was leaning against.

It would at least have been nice to have had some input besides her own into the decision.

It was just after six, and she had been driving for nearly two hours, when she finally had no choice but to pull the car off the highway into the parking lot of a small, rather non-descript rest stop. There was a gas station, a little diner, and a suspicious looking little motel, which did not seem to be very highly frequented -- all in all, not the most stand-out place in the world.

*Perfect*.

Glancing uneasily at the rosy pink light just beginning to show on the horizon, she hurried out of the car in front of the motel and up to the front desk, making a last minute decision to use the last of her cash to pay for a single room, instead of using her credit card.

Willow still knew her passcodes, could still access her information and track their progress, if she wanted to do so.

And when Buffy finished putting her spin on the story of what had happened -- she would most likely want to do so.

"Come on," she gently urged Dawn, shaking her shoulder lightly when she returned to the car. "Wake up, Sweetie, we've gotta get inside before the sun comes up -- come on, guys..."

Spike jerked awake with a gasp, his wide, confused eyes darting between them for a moment, as if he had forgotten the events of the night before as he had slept -- but after a moment, the panic faded from his eyes and he visibly attempted to calm himself, obediently taking Tara's offered hand and allowing her to help him out of the car and lead him into the motel room.

Once they were inside, with the door locked and dead bolted and the curtains tightly drawn, Tara turned to face her friends. Dawn had crawled onto the double bed farthest from the door without pulling the blankets down, and was already asleep again -- clearly still accustomed to trusting in those around her to ensure her safety, a throwback to her days as The Key, no doubt.

Spike was sitting on the edge of the other bed, his back rigid, his eyes wide and fearful as they met Tara's in an anxious, unspoken question -- one she wasn't sure she could answer with words. So instead, she settled for a question of her own, her lips pursing slightly in a frown of concern.

"How's your mouth, Spike? Feeling any better?"

"Sh-she'll find us," he whispered, ignoring the question, and answering it at the same time. The words came out slightly distorted, but intelligible, after a night's rest and healing time for his abused mouth. "She'll track me, Tara..." His hand rested over the covered mark on his leg, absently tracing the outline of the letter she had carved into his thigh.

Her initial.

Her mark.

He was still hers, in so many ways.

"I'll block it," Tara assured him softly. "It's okay, Sweetie, she won't wake up for hours yet, not until close to ten, and she probably won't even know you're gone until much later, when she gets off work. Besides, once you go to sleep, I'm gonna perform a kind of generic cloaking spell -- whatever magic she's using, it won't be able to get through. It'll sort of -- deflect off the area around us, like a wall, and won't let her see us here."

Spike was quiet for a moment, taking that in, before his eyes lowered to the bedspread beside him, his teeth working his lower lip anxiously before he added with an almost apologetic tone, "She'll find a way through it. Red -- she'll..."

"Spike," Tara gently cut off his fearful words, coming to stand in front of him and place a gentle finger to his lips. "Not today, she won't...it'll hold at least that long, I promise."

He flinched at the soft touch of her fingertips against his mouth -- and then leaned into it, his eyes closed in a futile attempt to mask the raw hunger in his heart for any form of affection, of this gentle touch that did not seek to break him, to hurt him. For so long, he had experienced nothing but abuse and violation, and now he longed desperately to feel the tenderness that she was offering him.

Her fingers on his lips became a gentle caress of her palm along his jaw line, and her other arm went gently around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. Her own heart ached with a mixture of sorrow and relief, as she felt him lean gratefully against her, his breath hitching with his attempts to hold back his sobs.

For the past two hours, she had wanted nothing more than she had wanted just to hold him, to comfort him, to reassure him, and herself, that he was safe, free, back with those who truly loved him and cared for him.

But -- for how long?

For this day -- she knew that much.

She felt his trembling, cautious hands at her waist, clutching her desperately to him as his head fell against her breast, and she felt the cool wetness of his tears seeping through the thin fabric of her blouse.

"Come on," she said softly, her voice thick with her own tears. "While Dawnie's asleep, let's get you checked out, okay, Spike? Let's go in the bathroom, and let me take care of..."

Her voice trailed off, as she felt his body tense beneath her gentle hands, felt a shudder go through him that was clearly linked to the very thought of taking off his clothes in front of her -- in front of anyone, after what he had been through. Her heart broke for him, even as a cold wave of dark fury washed through her for the monster that had reduced a monster to this.

"It's okay," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair as she shifted them slightly, sitting down beside him on the bed and pulling him in close to her as she did. "Come here, Sweetie -- it's okay -- we don't have to worry about that right now, all right? Let's just get some rest, okay?"

She started to lie down on the mattress, drawing him gently down with her, but froze when she felt his body seize up even further, resistant to the attempt, and heard a soft, shuddering gasp from his trembling mouth. She cursed her own stupidity, sitting back up again and pulling far enough away from him to make him face her, tilting her head downward in an attempt to recapture his averted gaze.

"Spike -- hey," she whispered, "look at me, Sweetheart..."

Hesitant, shaking violently now, he forced himself to meet her eyes, a mixture of instinctive terror, and shame for that terror, in his wide, breathtakingly expressive blue eyes.

"You know I'm not going to hurt you, Spike," she whispered. "You know that. I just want to hold you -- to help you, Sweetie. That's all, I promise." She paused, still holding his gaze earnestly as she added in a soft, firm voice of gentle reassurance, "But if you'd rather I go over there and sleep with Dawnie, I can. Whatever you want. I just want to be here for you -- what *you* need. Okay?"

Spike hesitated a moment, his eyes still downcast, before nodding slightly.

Tara waited, uncertain still as to what it was that he wanted, before rising awkwardly from the bed. "Okay, then," she conceded, thinking she understood. "I'm right in the next bed, if you need..."

His cool, trembling hand, still inhumanly strong, caught her wrist before she could move away too far, and she turned back toward him with an expression of surprise on her face.

He was looking up at her, a pleading, vulnerable expression in his eyes.

"Please," he whispered, the words barely a breath as he lowered his head, his face turned away with shame and uncertainty. "Please, Tara -- could you just -- could you...?"

He couldn't quite say it -- but he didn't have to.

Moving with a quiet grace, Tara moved around the bed to the other side, drawing back the covers and lying down carefully several feet away from him, on her side facing him, one arm extended to take him in -- on his own terms, in his own timing.

Awkwardly, clearly fighting the fear that had become so much a part of him over the past few weeks, Spike swallowed back a fresh sob as he stood up from the bed, pulling back the blankets on his side as well, and climbing slowly under them. Tara's heart nearly broke to watch him; gone was the casual confidence with which he had always moved, the suggestive flirtation that the Spike she had once known would have put into this little scene.

He did not even look at her as he lay down beside her, his body rigid and trembling, not quite touching her yet. His head bowed humbly, he edged hesitantly closer to her, reaching out shaking hands to rest at her waist, and allowing her to gently place her arms around him, nestling gratefully into her embrace as she did.

"It's all right," she whispered soothingly into his ear as she cradled him close to her, one hand smoothing gently through his hair, the comfortable warmth of her body gradually easing the pent-up tension of terror still so evident in his taut, trembling body. "It's okay, Spike -- you're safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you here, Sweetheart. I won't let her come near you. It's okay, Spike..."

And with the gentle, lyrical rhythm of her promises echoing in his troubled mind, Spike drifted off into the first nightmare-less sleep he had had in weeks, allowing himself to accept the comfort she offered, though deep in his heart, he doubted she had the ability to keep the promises she made.

Deep down -- Tara doubted it too.

But she knew beyond any doubt that she would willingly die in the effort to keep those promises, before she would allow Buffy to get her hands on Spike again.

*********************************

A few short hours later, less than thirty minutes before she was expected for her shift at work, the Slayer awakened -- only after her alarm clock and been blaring its warning at her for over an hour. Cursing under her breath, she stumbled hurriedly out of bed and toward the shower, rushing through her morning routine as best she could -- which was actually pretty good, since she was beginning to make a science out of rushed preparations.

The whole time, she didn't spare a single thought for her captive vampire suffering in the basement.

Once she was dressed in her Doublemeat Palace uniform, and had run a brush hurriedly through her damp hair, she grabbed her purse and headed down the stairs to the front door.

Only standing in the doorway did she remember the brutal punishment she had inflicted on Spike the night before, and the terrible, unspeakable agony he had to be in right now. She wondered briefly how far the holy water would have eaten into his vulnerable flesh by now.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she shrugged as she rushed out the door, without even going into the kitchen. She had not put much of the holy water on the rag, anyway; and besides, it wouldn't be enough to kill him. He was a vampire; he healed quickly.

And besides, she thought with a vindictive smirk -- he deserved it.

By the time she got home from her shift that afternoon, he would know better than to ever talk back to her again.