"Where'd you get that soddin' thing?" Spike asked, eyes wide as he peered carefully through the window into the parking lot.

Tara couldn't help but smile. This was as interested as she had seen him in anything since they had left, and it was good to see. "I saw it pull into the parking lot at the diner, and figured it'd be better for us than my car. You can avoid the sun in the back, and they won't know to look for us in it. So I just - sort of -- turned on the charm, talked the guys who owned it into trading with me." She shrugged a bit awkwardly as she explained, feeling suddenly a bit shy talking about it.

"*You*?" Spike sounded almost incredulous, his eyes dancing with barely restrained amusement. "You managed to flirt us into that van?"

Tara felt her smile fading slightly at his mildly disbelieving tone of voice, and she knew that her voice was just a bit defensive, but she couldn't help it as she reminded him, "Hey - just 'cause I date girls doesn't mean I don't still have my feminine wiles."

Something about the statement itself made Tara feel just a bit uncomfortable, as if she wasn't quite sure of what she was saying. She wondered why Spike's reaction of surprise had bothered her, anyway. She *did* date girls, after all - so why should it matter if Spike didn't find her attractive?

She had acknowledged to herself a long time ago that the blond vampire had come to mean a lot to her - enough that she was willing to disrupt, even *risk*, her entire life to help him now - but he was just her friend, and nothing more.

So why did the indication that he thought of her in exactly the same way bother her so much?

"No," Spike objected, his eyes wide as he realized how she had taken his words. "I didn't mean - it's just - you're not the type - no, that's not..."

"What, are you blind?" Dawn cut off his rambling attempts at repairing his comment, her tone light and gently teasing. " Tara is *sooo* a major hottie! No wonder the guys gave her their van..."

"Well, it might have had something to do with my brand new car," Tara pointed out.

"Whatever," Dawn dismissed her modesty, raising her eyebrows a couple of times in a playfully suggestive way, "Go Tara - work that thang!"

Tara blushed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, and turned her full attention to Spike, her expression suddenly becoming serious as she abruptly changed the subject. "You need to eat, Spike, so we can get going."

" Tara," Spike objected, his amusement vanishing immediately, "There is no way that I'm going to eat *you*, love..." His eyes widened at the unintended innuendo of his words, and he looked down quickly, seeming a bit flustered. "I mean - I don't want to - to hurt you, Tara - or the Bit. I just don't want to do it. And - and I don't care what you do or say to try to make me - I *won't* do it. And that's that."

His voice was both firm and uncertain at the same time, further evidence to Tara of how very unaccustomed he had become to asserting himself in any way - but she was glad to see him so forceful again, even for a few moments, almost as he had been before Buffy's abuse had broken him.

It was a shame that she wasn't going to be able to let him win this one.

"Spike," she stated in a firm but gentle voice, "we're not going anywhere until you eat. Now, all it'll take is just a little. Maybe a pint? I personally donate blood all the time, and this isn't any different from that. The only difference is I *know* you, and care about you. I *want* to do this for you, Spike."

"Me, too," Dawn put in, nodding firmly in agreement to Tara 's words, standing at her side to prevent a united front to the reluctant vampire.

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes downcast, and Tara noticed with dismay that they were welling with fresh tears. " Tara ," he whispered thickly after a moment, "please...please don't make me do this..."

Those words were both her triumph and her defeat.

She knew in that moment, that if she pushed him, she *could* make him do what she wanted him to do, and drink from her.

She also knew that she could not bring herself to force him to - not in the face of his desperate, submissively voiced plea.

"You can't just go hungry, Spike. And we don't have time to go searching for a butcher right now," she explained, her own voice taking on a soft tone, as she came close to begging him to do what she knew he needed to, if his remaining injuries were going to heal - if he was going to survive at all. "Please - I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do - but we might not have any other option."

Another moment of silence passed, as she waited with bated breath for his response.

Finally he spoke, his eyes focused downward and his voice quiet, hesitant.

"There - there may be another option. I h-have an idea..."

Twenty minutes later, Spike had explained his reasoning to Tara - and she had to admit that it seemed to make sense, seemed to have the potential to solve more than one of their many problems. She agreed to it, and she and Dawn quickly ate the food she had brought for them.

Spike had a little bit of Dawn's sandwich, and a drink of her soda - but no blood.

When they were finished eating, it was nearly four o'clock, and past time to get on their way.

Using the bedspread from one of the beds, Spike made a mad dash to the side door of the van, climbing inside and sitting against the far wall in the wide open space behind the actual seats. Dawn climbed in the middle seat between where he was, and the driver's seat where Tara would be, wanting to be able to talk with both of them along the way, and

Tara closed the door behind them, taking the only-slightly-singed bedspread back into the motel room before locking up and heading out to the van.

It was 4:10pm when she pulled the old van onto the highway, in the direction pointed out to her by a road sign reading " Los Angeles - 200 miles."

With any luck, they would reach help several hours before Buffy left the Doublemeat Palace in Sunnydale.

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

"Uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah, I know...just get some rest, okay? You'll feel better, I promise..." Cordelia Chase was a master of saccharine-sweet insincerity - and she was putting everything she had into her words as she nodded slowly and patiently into the office from the safety of the doorway. "Uh-huh...*night*..."

She closed the door to Angel's office a bit more forcefully than was necessary, letting out a low growling sound that barely sounded human, as she rolled her eyes and sat down hard with a dramatic sigh on the circular sofa in the lobby of the Hyperion.

"Honestly, he can be *so* stupid and annoying!"

"Tell me something I *don't* know," the chocolate-skinned man sitting beside her remarked with a wry grin. "So, uh - what's the matter with Sir Broodsalot, anyway? Besides your typical vampire blood lust and moodiness?"

"I haven't the foggiest," she shrugged, feigning indifference, though just how much she really cared was obvious from the angry glint in her dark eyes. "He won't say a word to me! He just says he doesn't feel well, doesn't wanna be around people...but vampires don't *get* sick - and he won't be any more specific - so honestly, I don't know how he expects me to help him!"

"It would, ah - seem to me that he doesn't," Wesley put in from his place at what had once been the hotel registration desk, suppressing a slight smirk of amusement as he adjusted his glasses, and focused his attention back on the book in front of him to avoid the would-be starlet's withering glare.

Before Cordelia could voice the scathing retort to his words she was obviously formulating, Wesley went on in a mild, vaguely soothing tone, "Perhaps he simply has to work it out in his own mind first, and then he'll feel more open to the idea of -- sharing..."

Cordelia's expression almost did not change at all, the only slight shift a slight raise of a single brow, as she just kept staring dubiously at the former Watcher.

"Right," he concluded with a slight smirk and a sigh. "Highly unlikely."

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

Inside his office, Angel could clearly here their discussion of his behavior -- but it hardly registered in his troubled mind -- more troubled than usual tonight.

Well -- not tonight, actually. More like for the past couple of weeks.

It had been roughly two weeks earlier when he had become aware of the subconscious call of family -- that subtle, nagging feeling that someone in his line, someone he was responsible for, was suffering and in need of his help. It was highly unlikely, from what he knew of his remaining family, that the call was even a conscious, deliberate one -- but he knew that someone in his line needed him.

Problem was, he suspected he knew who that someone was -- and he had no intentions of extending himself to help him.

Darla, the once love of his unlife, was gone, forever this time. As for Dru -- she had taken off on her own a long time ago, and he was sure he would have known if it was her, due to the close bond they had always shared, no matter how much distance separated them.

That left Spike.

The last time he had seen Spike, he had hired a pedophilic freak of a vampire to torture him while he stood by watching and enjoying the show. And if that alone was not enough to keep him from wanting to help the blond vampire -- the thought of his friends' reactions to the idea sort of sealed the deal.

Cordelia had been around to see the aftermath of Spike's little Angel-torture session, and she would likely loudly voice her opinion on the matter, making sure that the others opposed the idea as well before she was finished. His friends were loyal to him, he knew, and the fact that Spike had tortured him would certainly make them suspicious and hostile toward the younger vampire from the start.

Of course -- none of them had any idea of the years of torture Spike had likely been attempting to repay with that single afternoon of suffering he had inflicted on Angel.

No -- Angel was not going to feel like "sharing" anytime soon.

*What does it matter what they would think?* Angel asked himself irritably, standing up from his seat and pacing the floor of his office restlessly. *It's not as if you're actually going to *do* anything about whatever mess Spike's gotten himself into this time! You don't have time, anyway! You have enough to deal with here -- the boy's just gonna have to figure it out for himself this time...*

*What if he can't?*

The quieter, worried thought echoed in the stillness of the office, and Angel's pensive frown deepened, a soft growl of frustration rising in his throat. The silence now coming through the office door told him that his friends had finally given up for the night and gone to their respective rooms.

He glanced at the clock, surprised to realize that it was already after midnight, as that softer voice insistently continued to hound him.

*What if whatever it is this time is too big for him? What if it kills him?*

"Then good riddance," Angel muttered aloud, becoming increasingly agitated. "He's still evil. He'd be killing right now still if he didn't have that chip thing Buffy told me about!"

*But he *does* have it,* that same worried voice insisted. *And he can't hurt anyone...and he's been helping Buffy...*

"Yeah," he muttered, shaking his head, his eyes flashing golden, though he was not aware of it, "because he wants to get into her pants! Little pervert! It'd serve him right if someone finally dusts him this time! Get him away from Buffy, and out of my hair for good! He's not my problem!"

*Yes. He is.*

The simple thought stopped Angel in his tracks, and he lowered his head with a deep breath of defeat. He shook his head, resistant to the idea of going to Spike's aid, but aware that he was likely not going to get any rest, any semblance of peace, until he did something about this feeling, this torturous *awareness* that constantly filled him, that his childe was in danger.

"I'll call Buffy," he decided aloud, raising his head and squaring his shoulders, feeling better already with the decision. "First thing in the morning -- I'll call her and find out what's going on in Sunnydale. If something's going on with Spike, she'll know about..."

His voice trailed off suddenly, his eyes widening with shock, as a powerful realization struck him, and he turned instinctively toward the office door, his game face coming forward automatically in the beginnings of a natural challenge that was centuries old at this point.

After the sensation hit him, he heard the front doors to the hotel creaking slowly open -- but he already knew who was entering the hotel.

He would not have to go to his childe, after all -- because his childe had come to him.