The Long And Winding Road

By ezagaaikwe

Pairing: Spike/Tara

Rating: up to NC-17.

Warning: character death

Spoilers: Something Blue, Seeing Red, Villains, Two To Go, Grave and well, all BtVS season 7 (although AU by then) and AtS season 5.

Author Notes: Post BtVS and AtS.  This fic's not big with the 'splainy about how Spike got out of the pickle he and Angel's gang were in at the AtS series finale.  You just know it was damn heroic, though.  Big thanks to my betas Calove, Lillianmorgan, Married_n_mich, and especially to MyFeetShowIt for help brainstorming ideas.

Grateful acknowledgement to Appomattoxco for her presidential slur, to Calove and Julia_here for help with horsemanship terms, to Curiouswombat for Victorian attitudes toward capital punishment, to Jeff the Wacky Wiccan, to Kazzy_Cee for her glorious fanart, to Mr Google for help with pagan and Wiccan sources, to M0resoul for help with Chinese, to Speakr2customrs for his "button" idea, to the betas who pinch-hit for me, especially Claudia_yvr, and most especially, to my lovely readers. Blessings on you all!

Tara awoke in a cocoon of warmth. It was still dark. The fire had nearly burned out, but Spike had piled extra quilts on her in the night, and now lay asleep next to her in their nest. He was curled toward her, one hand heavy on her hip. In the faint light from the coals, she studied him as he slept. His face looked innocent, the lashes shadowing his pale cheeks. His lower lip was full and his mouth slightly open. She found his stillness was a little unnerving. Without thinking, she leaned forward and brushed a feather-light kiss on his mouth. His lips were as soft as a woman's. Since she didn't want to wake him, she pulled back.

In his sleep, Spike's hand tightened on her hip, and he grasped the nightdress as though to pull her toward him. The skirt rucked up. He was still asleep, but starting to mutter in his sleep. Tara could make out her name and the odd phrase: "want you so much... don't want to hurt you... at least let me taste you." Tara was too fastidious to stay, eavesdropping, while he talked in his sleep. Besides, hearing him dream about her was affecting her in ways that, if she stayed, were going to get embarrassing. She disentangled her nightdress from his hand, slipped out of their makeshift bed on the floor, and hurried to the bathroom.

Shivering, Tara stripped and washed, a little too vigorously. She wasn't sure if what they said about vampire senses were true, but if one kiss could make her this-- Stop it! You're a lesbian, remember? She paused and took a steadying breath. But the way she was feeling--was it really so wrong? She looked at her reflection in the mirror. You like him, he likes you, you're both a long way from home, so if you take comfort in each other, who's it hurting?

Willow? Willow was gone. Willow could not be further away, and even if she wasn't... Tara knew that she could not have stayed with Willow and her capricious tinkering with Tara's life. It hurt to admit it, but since learning what she had about Willow's undoing the past, their relationship would have been as good as over. She would grieve later for what might have been. But in the meantime, all that was thousands of miles and over a century away, and Spike... Spike was here and now. There was no disloyalty in wanting him, was there?

The gay thing? Lesbian, right? Well, not entirely, as it turned out. She thought about her first boyfriend, Billy, and her father's ugly suppression of their relationship. Girlfriends were acceptable. Safe. Adolescent experimentation in secret had given way to her few grown-up gay love affairs. Women were great--beautiful and sensuous. What was not to like? Tara thought about Spike's features, his body, the intense way he looked at her, and his protecting her that first night here, even from herself. He was vastly different than her usual choice and he wasn't safe, but he was no less attractive. It was obvious that he cared deeply about her. Her feelings were confused but undeniable. She wanted him, too. She put the flannel nightdress back on and hurried back to the bedroom.

~~~

Spike was awake, looking suspiciously at her. He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. Oops, Tara thought. Vampire senses.

Too brightly, she said, "It's starting to get light. Do we dare add coal to the fire? Or should I just come back to bed and snuggle? It's still too early to get up."

He gave her a dark look. "I vote for snuggling."

Shyly, she came back to bed, and he held the covers open for her so she could crawl in. It was still warm from her body. Spike settled the covers over her and tucked them in around her. "You smell different," he observed. "Don't smell Willow on you any more."

"I took a sponge bath," she admitted. "I wish we could fire up the boiler and have real baths. I suppose it's too near dawn to risk another big fire."

"You smell fine to me." He looked at her narrowly. "But is it my imagination or did you kiss--"

"I did. I'm sorry," she said, not very contritely. "Acting on impulse, I guess. It was nice," she admitted.

She looked up at him shyly and Spike watched, the glow of the fading embers on cheeks blushing red. God, she was beautiful. The desperation of the first night had gone--what had that all been about? Must get to the bottom of that some time. Her smile was gentle, inviting, and only a little apprehensive. Enough talking. He brushed his lips softly over hers, just like in his dream. She sighed, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss slightly. Kissing her was an experience that needed to be enjoyed in its own right, without rushing it along. Each kiss was a question: Do you like this? Can I do this? Do you want me, too? And her response was yes, yes, yes.

He dropped Tara a wink before leaping after the driver, then stuffing him in the storeroom with Fordyce and Jarvis. He piled heavy boxes in front of the door, and satisfied it'd keep them contained, at least long enough, went back upstairs.

"I saw you flirting with him, you minx! You're good at this." He pulled her into his arms.

"Spike, let's go. I'm scared. They're starting to make noise down there." Her brow was creased with worry, but she put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him softly. "I don't mean to put you off, but let's get somewhere safe first."

"That's my sensible wife." He smiled ruefully. "I promise you we'll finish what we started when we can give it our full attention." He shook head as though to clear it. "Right. The real question is, do we steal the carriage and get to Paddington quickly, and have them know we took a train, or walk to Paddington and take forever to get there?"

"Why not take the carriage and get out near Paddington?"

"Same difference, but I suppose it avoids the, 'You can't stop here' and 'Where's your driver?' They'll know eventually that we're traveling by rail. That glamour business--is there any way to disguise us?"

Tara shook her head. "I'm not that good. Willow, on the other hand..." She was surprised to find it hurt less to think of Willow. Perhaps time travel had a softening effect on the emotion of grief--an accelerated "time heals all wounds."

"Think positive," he urged. "You made my hair brown. Can you do something like that for you? Not that I want anything to change about you, but want you to be safe."

"Spike. Wait." She shut her eyes briefly, as though steeling herself to say something difficult. "Before we go, do you need to take care of...eating? I mean, downstairs? You wouldn't have to kill them."

His mouth quirked. "It's nice of you to offer them to me, pet, but I'm good for a while."

She blew out a breath, looking deeply relieved. "Then we'd better take the horses. Skip the train, drive west into the country, and you can...eat one of them tonight?"

Spike smiled gently. "You're a good girl, Tara, but I'm not hungry enough to eat a horse. Yet. You let me worry about me. Maybe I'll find a nice fat puppy tonight."

"No!" Her voice took on a "don't hurt the puppy" tone.

He smirked, wanting to tease her. "'Oh, Big Bad, don't eat the puppy! Have Holmes & Watson instead. Or Barkis! Or how about a nice tasty horse?'" He stroked a stray wisp of hair off her forehead, trying to coax a smile from her.

"How about a nice tasty girl?" she said seriously.

He sobered instantly. "I don't want to talk about this right now. Now let's go."

She nodded, dropping the subject. The men in the cellar might break free at any moment, and she wanted to protect them, but get away from them too. Time enough to take care of Spike later.

Spike patted Tara's skirt. "Got the money?"

"Of course; can't you hear it jingle? What's this I hear about vampire senses?" She tried for a light tone, but she was too preoccupied to banter.

"Just wanted to pet you." He put his arms around her. "We're going to be all right. You'll be all right. You handled them magnificently. Wasn't sure of you at first, but you were great."

"I don't know about that. Shall we go? If the sun comes out, I'll have to drive and I don't know how to."

"Too right." He nodded to the pile by the door. "Bags (I packed the map and your witchy stuff), the picnic basket, umbrellas, oh, and a pistol that belonged to my father. If you have to drive, I want you to have it. No telling who you'll run into. I may not be able to protect you."

"It's too late to travel at night, I guess." Tara was not at all sure she wanted a gun, but it wasn't an issue yet. She felt a brief sense of the unreality of it all, and then shook it off. As Spike said, it is as it is.

Spike said, "No, we should go now. Take the small stuff--I need to pick up some things from the mews." He opened an umbrella and headed toward the kitchen door.

Tara picked up the two small satchels and the picnic basket and carried them out to the carriage. From a neighboring house, curious eyes watched her, and from several houses across the street, curtains parted. Debating whether or keep up the bluff or keep a low profile, she decided that a low profile was not possible at this point, so she waved and smiled shyly.

Spike came down the walk leading from the stable, carrying two saddles and an armful of tack. "You have no idea how bad the roads are. We may break down, and I want to be able to ride if that happens. Do you know how?"

"I love to, although I can't ride sidesaddle." She nodded toward the aforementioned sidesaddle in his arms. "What happened to your horse and carriage?"

"Dru and I stole 'em making our getaway. Regular desperados, we were. Did you carry all that? Is that all you're bringing? You're going to freeze--let me fetch my mother's furs and pay our guests one last visit. See how they're making out."

Tara spent the next ten minutes worrying that neighbors might be encouraged by her wave and come out to ask awkward questions, that the weather would clear and Spike would be caught out in the sun, and whether or not their "guests" had already broken out of the storeroom. Despite what Spike said, she really wasn't cut out to be a moll. With a deep sigh, she totted up their crimes: lying to the police, assault, imprisonment, horse theft. Attempted fornication--was that a crime here? She shivered. All she wanted was to get home, but sharing a soft bed with Spike someplace safe ran a close second. Was it only an hour ago that they were curling up, kissing? Thinking about kissing him took her mind off her worries for a few minutes.

Spike returned, carrying the evening cloaks from their first night there, a soft dark armful of furs, and the other umbrella. He chuckled. "That'll hold them for a while. I nailed them in."

Tara gave him a reproachful look.

"What?" he said innocently. "They're locked in with the hock. They'll be fine. They're English." He tossed her the wraps. "Bundle up and get in. I'll drive."

Spike helped her into the carriage, and then with a tip of his hat to the gawping neighbor woman, he climbed up to the driver's seat and freed the brake. He made a clucking noise to the horses, snapped the reins, and they were off.

In spite of his warning about the road conditions, Tara could not believe how slow their progress was on the congested streets. There were few traffic signals, and the only rule of the road seemed to be "catch as catch can." The carriages of the well-to-do appeared to have the right-of-way, but huge freight drays barreled down the center of the road, and one gave way to them or risked a smashup. During one long wait for a traffic jam to clear, she exited the carriage and climbed up to join Spike. She opened the larger umbrella and held it over both of them. The rain had subsided to a few fitful sprinkles, but she wanted to protect him from the sun should it break through the clouds.

"So that's the last of the old place," he said with a final backward look at his boyhood home. "'When I became a man, I put away childish things.'"

"Corinthians," Tara said automatically. "Sorry. Whatever became of it? Did you ever go back?"

"Think Sting lives there now. Or Jude Law. I don't have that entrée anymore."

"Entrée to what?"

"Fame 'n' fortune. Don't travel in those circles anymore. Dru 'n' Darla liked to. Even before Dru cuckolded me, the bloody--" He was silent a moment, then burst out, "Well, she wanted to turn Sid Vicious, if you please! I liked him the way he was, poor sod. 'Sides, he only had eyes for Nancy."

"That whooshing sound you hear is what you said going right over my head."

"Sid 'n' Nancy?" he prodded.

Tara looked blank.

"You are a young thing, aren't you?" He smiled fondly at her. "You've got an old soul, though."

She gave him a half-smile.

~~~

The smell was revolting. Everywhere, horses shat freely, and the odor made Tara's eyes water. Spike gave her a sympathetic look. "Just be glad it's damp out. You wouldn't believe the dust when it's dry. 'Course, it's worse for the horses. Treacherous footing." In the traffic ahead, another horse fell to its knees in the slippery muck. Spike sighed and resigned himself to another long wait.

Through her glove, Tara said, "Where are we?"

"Leaving Hampstead on our way to the West End. Have to get south of the river still. The bridge I was going to cross hasn't been built yet. Then west out of Greater London. Well, it's not called that yet. Still country there. And no A303 built yet, worse luck. Hang onto me. Don't want you jouncing off," he said as they started up once more. Tara grabbed his arm and slid closer. "At this rate, it'll take a month to get there."

"Where are we going to spend the night?" she asked.

"Someplace with a bed." He gave her a sidelong look. "Know a little inn we can stay--knew--out at Kingston on Thames tonight."

Tara looked away. Kissing Spike had been a revelation. Tara would never have believed it would be possible to feel attraction to anyone under these circumstances--on the run, as far away as it was possible to be from the familiar things of home. By nature, she was as conservative as a cat, and felt exposed and jumpy here. She thought longingly of her bedroom at home, and the familiar everyday evil of Sunnydale. She risked a sideways glance at Spike, and felt that low tingle again. This was so not her. She sighed.

"Trouble, sweetheart?" Spike seemed to sense her confusion and disorientation. "It's a lot to take in, I know. The smell is enough to fell an elephant."

"Spike, the coachman seemed surprised that I'm American. I'm going to let you do the talking if we're stopped. What do you think?"

"I thought you were great back there. Very believable. Why shouldn't I have a beautiful American wife?" He winked at her.

So not her.

~~~

They crossed the river, Tara holding her nose. It smelled like one great open sewer. "Bit grim, isn't it? Hard to believe they manage to clean it up in a hundred years or so," Spike comforted her. "Even got salmon back, if you can believe it. Right now, though, makes me glad I don't have to breathe." The air improved the farther they got from central London, public buildings and factories giving way to parkland and suburban villas.

~~~

Tara should have relished the weird experience--time travel! Spike kept up a running commentary, pointing out landmarks to her, but Tara kept thinking about Willow, her magickal disruption of space and time, how she and Spike were going to fix it, and how they were here, together, and what exactly did that mean? If Spike were right and she had a job to do back in her own time, then she was going to have to find strength she did not currently possess. In the meantime, Spike was not exactly chopped liver in the protector department. She felt an atavistic thrill at the thought that he was hers. This was immediately followed by a feminist scoffing at the mere idea! She shook her head.

"You're awfully quiet," he observed.

"Sorry. Trying to solve matters of space and time and getting no-place fast," she said, deciding on a partial truth.

"I do the same thing. Think what happened, how to fix it? Kind of fruitless. We'll do what we've been doing."

"What's that?"

"Doing what's right. Doing what's expedient, sorry to say. Helping each other. You're my main concern."

"Speaking of which, when are you going to eat? You shut me up earlier, and now I want to talk about it. What about you? You're my concern," she said in a firm voice.

"Ooh, I love it when you go all, 'you must take care of yourself, my William.'"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled.

"Look, I wasn't going to mention this, but I did eat. I said 'what's expedient'... Didn't want to bring this up, but we had a visitor our first night. Burglar. I took about a pint. Sorry. I didn't know what else to do with him. Put the fear of God into him. Probably never burgle again. So I'm good for a while." He looked at her sideways. "Like me any less than you did?"

She was unfazed by his admission. "Are you just saying that to put me off?"

"S'truth! Look, I'm bein' honest here."

"How often do you need to eat?"

"Honestly? I like to feed every day, but I do fine every couple of days. So don't worry. Trust me, okay?"

"I do trust you. I just don't want you sacrificing yourself. I'm a volunteer, here. It gets too bad, think of me."

"I do think of you. Constantly. I don't want to do that to you."

"Why not?"

"There's a lot more to it than just eating. It's...intimate. And dangerous. Some vamps have had relationships with humans, with the sharing of blood, and some humans..." He shook his head. "Never works out for the human."

Tara said hesitantly, "Did you ever...with Buffy?"

"Not bloody likely! She could barely stand me in her bed, let alone share that with me. Didn't really want to, anyway. Great shining Slayer. Didn't want to sully her."

"Willow told me--she shouldn't have, it was spoken in confidence, but she told me before I could stop her--that Buffy said...when Angel bit her, she--" Tara blushed furiously, unable to finish the sentence.

He said flatly, "Yeah, well, there is that. Said, it's like sex. Usually winds up with the human dead." He stared at her. "You shouldn't be asking me about this. Should revolt you."

Her eyes were truthful and tender. "How can it? It's you."

He gaped at her. "It's kinky!" he sputtered. "I don't have anything against kink, but that's not me and it's not going to be you, either! I want you--not saying I don't. I dream about you. I want you in all ways. Except that! Now can we stop talking about this?"

~~~

The sunset turned the sky the color of blood. After many hours on the road, marked by mud and minor mishaps, they finally approached the outskirts of Kingston. They pulled off the road, and in the privacy of the carriage, Tara withdrew some money from the cache under her skirts. Spike pinned up her hair as promised and resisted kissing her neck as he did so. He wasn't sure he could stop, and wanted to give her his complete attention when they got to their room for the night.

"'Red sky at night, sailor's delight.' Gonna be clear tomorrow. I like your idea of traveling at night. We'd better spend tomorrow indoors and set off tomorrow evening. Sound good?" He gave her a smoldering look.

Tara ducked her head and nodded, thinking about how they might occupy themselves all day. She shivered with anticipation.

Spike pulled up to the inn, climbed down, and helped Tara down. He handed their meager luggage to the porter and turned the horses and carriage over to the stableman. They went into the inn only to learn that it was full. The innkeeper's wife took pity on them and whispered to her husband, "Now, George, we have to find them something. Can't you see they're newlyweds?"

George harrumphed, and she cut in, in a motherly tone, "There's room over the stable. We use it for overflow accommodation in the summer when we're busier. Not so luxurious as you might be used to, but it's clean and comfortable. And nice an' quiet, so you can have a bit of privacy." She smiled meaningfully.

Tara turned even redder but the landlady only said conspiratorially, "You're not the first young couple on their way to Scotland."

She said to Spike, "Your missus looks a bit peaky. You do, too, if I may be so bold. Why don't you step next door to the chop house, have a bite, and meanwhile I'll send up my girl to dust and make up the bed?"

Spike smiled back, thanked her and said that would do very nicely indeed. He paid her for two days, since they would need to stay undercover the next day. Tonight they would eat, rest up, and finish what they started this morning. Both he and Tara were thinking about bedtime. He collected the key and they walked next door. She hadn't eaten a proper meal since yesterday, only stale bread and cheese eaten during the long ride.

Baffled, Tara whispered, "Scotland? I thought we were going west."

"Gretna Green. She thinks we're eloping."

"Oh. Like when Lydia ran away with Mr. Wickham."

"Right."

Tara felt excited and apprehensive. At dinner, every time she looked at Spike, his eyes were on hers, alight. She wanted to talk about their relationship, define it, because she knew that they were rushing headlong to a place from which there was no return. Was it just physical attraction or something more? The innkeeper's wife had taken them for a couple. Tara knew didn't want to be separated from Spike for an instant. Her stomach was jumpy from excitement, and she could barely touch the hot food set in front of her.

They finished their meal, paid up, and Spike offered her his arm. "Mrs. Southwood?" Tara took it and blushed. She couldn't look at him and couldn't not look at him. She was so full of anticipation that she did not notice the couple sitting in the rear of the restaurant, eyes fixed upon them.

~~~

The couple in the restaurant did not eat. They had wine set in front on them, but did not drink. The man, a large, hulking fellow with bad hair, glowered darkly at Spike. He had the look of someone being kept from his rightful property. His blonde companion, dainty as a porcelain shepherdess, twirled her wineglass and said with a quietly mocking air, "Careless of Drusilla to let him get away. Shouldn't he be kept on a leash at this stage of the game?"

"Whelp's got plenty to answer for, no lie there. I like the lady friend, but he's got some explaining to do. Leave that. Let's go."

She set down the wine she was pretending to drink, and they followed Spike and Tara. The man took her elbow. "Slow now. Give them a few moments to get her blood up."

~~~

They walked slowly across the yard, Tara clinging to Spike's arm and leaning on him. Her heart was hammering in her breast so loudly he could hear it, and her fragrance made his head swim.

The wrought-iron stairs leading up to the quarters over the stable were narrow, so Tara ascended ahead of him. Spike watched her bottom swaying in the blue velvet and restrained himself from grabbing her on the stairs. This was going to be perfect. They'd had a good meal, he'd build her a fire and allow her to wash, but not too much. That fragrance! He hurried to catch up with her. The outer door was open, and Tara led the way in.

He reached her and pulled one hairpin out of her chignon. She laughed softly and fumbled with the key in the door to their room. He pulled another pin free.

He had snatched a third one, laughing too, and just as he was closing the outer door, he felt a sinister presence.

~~~

~~~

Tara tried to unbutton her torn blouse, but her burned right hand was having none of it. Spike took over.

"Let me do up those buttons. Never would 'a' thought that mystical fire would burn you. Although I'm glad for our sakes you could drive 'em out with it. For now. Don't think we have a lot of time. Angelus 'n' Darla'll feed, have a bit of sport, then he'll get to feeling mean. Come looking for us."

Spike kept up a chatter, while buttoning the back of her blouse, picking up jewelry from the floor and stuffing it into its pouch, and worrying about how pale and unfocussed Tara looked. He twisted the bent link in the cross's chain back into shape. "I want you to wear this." He laughed dryly. "Felt like a religious experience there, pet. Like the archangel guarding the Garden of Eden you looked. All fierce and protective." She wasn't listening. "Glinda, are you going to be able to travel? 'Cause you look like you're about to fall over."

Tara finished dressing and tried to speak reassuringly. "I'm okay. That spell kind of...took it out of me. But I'm all right. My hand's better. Thanks." Her words were disjointed and her pallor belied her words.

"We'll take the carriage. You can't ride, let alone ride sidesaddle, and I may need to get undercover tomorrow, if it's fair. Don't want to tell the ostler to harness the horses. Don't want to leave you, I mean. I'm not leaving your side until we're well shut o' that pair. Don't want to leave you even then." He realized he was chattering and she was not paying attention.

He helped her to her feet and held her for a long moment. "I'm a brute, but I wanted to make love to you. Getting damn sick of this coitus interruptus."

Tara pressed her face to his neck and murmured, "Oh, me too!"

Spike squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Now I just want to get you safe, get us back home, take proper care of you. We've got to go."

He looped a belt through the handles of all their baggage, and slung the lot over his right shoulder, while putting his left arm around Tara's waist and half-carrying her down the stairs. He found the stableman sitting on a bale of hay, smoking, and told him to harness the team.

Tara protested that she was all right, but her voice had almost no volume. Spike threw the bags in the carriage and said, "I hate like hell to put you in here, but I don't think you should climb. What if Darla 'n' Angelus snatch you while I'm atop? They're fast and tricky. Could happen."

"I can climb," she said, starting to climb, but slid backward.

He caught her and said, "Put your arms around my neck," and climbed one-armed, holding her, and gently placed her in the driver's seat. He tipped the stableman for making a fast job of it, and snapped the reins. They pulled out.

The night air was cold and penetrating. Spike pulled her close and held on tight, driving one-handed and inwardly cursing his lack of body warmth.

"How long does this last?" he asked.

"How long does what last?" She sounded foggy.

"This after-effect of the spell."

"Willow...used to get headaches and nosebleeds. I never did this one before. I was afraid to. Not sure how long... I need to rest," she whispered, and fell forward at the waist. He clasped her across the torso and pulled her onto his lap, holding her as the carriage swayed along the rutted road.

Spike let her rest as he drove. He wasn't sure where they were, but wanted to head west and put miles between themselves and the inn. He cursed himself for every kind of idiot for not taking better care. All googly-eyed over the girl, and not noticing the Scourge of Europe and his equally dangerous mistress in the same room as them. Some protector!

So much couldn't be helped. When it was light, he could consult a map. He had almost never driven himself. Robert had almost always done so, and whenever William or his mother traveled any real distance, Robert had simply driven them to the train station. When it was light out...! They'd need to get undercover before morning. How far could they get from Angelus before it got light? They needed a place to stay. Too bad about the inn back there. He mentally promised Tara a luxurious stay somewhere romantic, complete with champagne, a proper bathroom, and a big bed. He allowed himself to wander into a brief fantasy of them in that big bed, and then sternly reminded himself that woolgathering was what had gotten him into this. Well, perhaps not. What could he have done differently--confronted Angelus in the chophouse? Asked politely for one night's amnesty so he and she could make love? Perhaps Tara could have asked prettily for a head start. It is as it is, he reminded himself.

He stopped flogging himself and worried about Tara. She was sprawled across his lap, long limbs flung out like a discarded doll, deeply asleep or unconscious. What if she should die! He held her closer, and briefly thought of slow ways to punish Angelus. That wouldn't do, either. Whatever his feelings about Angelus, he (or rather, Angel) had a big part to play in the coming years, and Spike was beginning to feel that the fabric of time would be disrupted enough without removing a key player on the side of good. So killing him was out.

He drove all night. The moon moved across the sky and dawn approached. Spike estimated that at about six or seven miles an hour, they'd come about fifty miles. Not far enough to rest easily, but enough to draw a deep breath. Time to hole up. It was farm country and life was beginning to stir. The sky was lightening in the east, though full daylight was still about half an hour away. If Spike couldn't persuade a farm family to put them up, his only choice was to drive like hell into the countryside and hide from the sun inside the carriage until sunset.

This time of year, though the harvest had passed, farmers still had chores and animals still needed to be fed. Spike pulled into the yard of the nearest farmhouse and waited for the farmer to emerge. He could see the farmer's wife at the kitchen window. He made sure Tara was supported and wouldn't fall, then alit and approached the back door.

Spike knocked and waited. The woman of the house opened the door. "Yes?"

"Good morning, madam. Pardon me, but my wife is unwell. Do you know of lodgings hereabouts?"

"There's nowt but the inn back at Kingston, about fifty miles that way." She jerked her chin in the direction that they had come from.

The sun was just breaking over the horizon, though filtered by morning haze. Spike said in desperation, "If you have a room to let, I'll pay you double what you would normally ask if I may bring her in. She's not well."

The woman looked doubtful. "What ails her?"

"Nothing contagious, I assure you. She had a bad burn, and the...doctor gave her something to help her sleep. She's quite drowsy and I didn't want her in the carriage when she might fall. I was holding her up, but if you have somewhere I can lay her down, I'd be very grateful and pay you handsomely."

"Very well. Bring her down."

"Much obliged. Much obliged."

Spike drew the hood of the cloak up, as the sun's rays were licking out like hungry tongues. He climbed up to the driver's seat, and roused Tara enough to get her to hold onto him, and he lifted her and carried her down.

"Bring her in," said the woman. "Hello, dearie. You look a bit done in." She held the door for the sleepwalking Tara. Spike held her up by her elbows. The woman led them through the kitchen into a back hall. She gestured to an open door. "My Mattie's just got married, so I have the room free. I'm Mrs. Cobb. Get your missus comfortable and then come out for a bite and a cuppa."

~~~

Spike sat Tara gently on the bed, and helped remove her damp clothing. She was groggy but anxious to reassure him. "I'm fine. I'm just so tired," was all she could say. He put her in the flannel nightdress and tucked her in warmly. Before dipping into slumber, he thought he heard her sigh, "I'm sorry," but he couldn't be sure. His mind was racing. Perhaps he should take her to a doctor? He pictured it: "Ah, yes, mystical burns and the enervating after-effects of unaccustomed spell-casting. I prescribe vampire saliva and bed rest." Christ!

As promised, Spike paid Mrs. Cobb double the agreed-upon price and paid up-front. Mrs. Cobb cooked him porridge and served hot tea. He learned that she was a widow who's nearby sons worked her land, and that she only kept a kitchen garden and chickens. She assumed he was a useless aristocrat, and consequently unable to unharness his own horses, so she said she'd attend to the team shortly, thus sparing Spike a visit to the sunny yard.

Spike was grateful for her assumption and lack of curiosity. So many awkward questions could be asked--about Tara's condition, their lack of luggage, their missing driver, and the fact that he'd driven all night long. One might think that they were in trouble, or on the run! He decided to tell her Dartmoor rather than Westbury, should she ask where they were going, and be questioned about it later. He felt that he and Tara were probably beyond the reach of Scotland Yard, but he couldn't be sure.

After breakfast, he pleaded fatigue, and Mrs. Cobb urged him to "have a bit of a lie-down." In their room, Tara was deeply asleep on the small bed. Her lips had lost the bluish chilled look they'd had, and her skin felt warm. When was the last time she'd eaten? She only picked at her dinner the night before, so excited was she at the prospect of finally-- He debated whether or not to wake her and feed her or to let her sleep. Sleep won out, and he decided to join her. He removed his shoes, spooned up to her back, and held her close.