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Author's Chapter Notes:
Finally, finally, finally, a new chapter! The angst has been too much for me lately, but I'm finally feeling my way back. I've been inspired by some other authors who have recently shown up to continue stories I'd about given up on, so thanks to all of them (you know who you are!) for inspiring me again! The end is in sight for this story, and I actually have a new one started that ought to be a bit less angsty. Please leave a review to help keep me going!

Thanks to smlcspike who suggested they not actually head home right away! You're absolutely right and that got me started on a little tangent that'll show up in the next chapter! Hope you like it!
He rested his forehead against hers for another moment before swinging her into his arms, not willing to relinquish the feel of her skin against his for a single second. "C'mon, luv. Let's go home."

Where was home, really? Spike pondered as he gently tucked Buffy into the backseat of the cab, still softly murmuring endearments in an attempt to soothe her and himself. He knew without a doubt that for the rest of his life, wherever she was would be home. But what about her, his girl who had been through so much in the past few days? Where would she feel safe? Back in New York, at his house, or maybe Willow's? Not her own, that was for damned sure. Even if she wanted to, he was finally going to put his foot down and just refuse to take her there.

"So where to?" the cab driver asked patiently, waiting as Spike deliberated. "Back to the bus station?"

"No..." Spike said decisively. He certainly wasn't going to let her repeat that journey, but it was after midnight and there wouldn't be any more planes leaving LAX tonight, even if the cabbie would drive them there. Even if he thought that was the best thing to do, which now he really didn't.

"Buffy?" Her eyes were closed as she leaned back, resting her head against the seats, but at his voice, they slowly opened. A streak of pain flashed through Spike's heart to see the sadness and confusion that still lingered in the green depths. His voice became even gentler as he softly brushed a strand of hair off her cheek.

"I'm not sure we really can get home tonight. There won't be any more flights leaving until tomorrow....Of course, though, sweetheart, if it really means that much to you, I'll find a way. Could probably charter something..." Silently, he willed her to say no. He wanted her to have whatever would help her through this, didn't care about the expense, but honestly believed they could use a little time, even if it were just one night, before they jumped back into the mess left in New York.

She smiled at his willingness to give her what she wanted, no matter the cost. It was ironic, really. "It's fine, Spike. Maybe a hotel? I'm tired..." she yawned, trying not to let him see just what an understatement that was. She really had been running on autopilot, brain determinedly shut off, until reaching the graveyard when all those sharp emotions had come roaring back all at once. The cold realization that her mother's comfort was truly unreachable, the torrent of tears shed in Spike's arms, the quick surge to ectasty and then the fall back to earth had left her head leaden and her mind clouded. Her eyelids were so heavy....Unintentionally, they fell closed again and while she wasn't really asleep, she wasn't quite awake either.

"Sure, pet," he replied softly, stroking her cheek again just for the pleasure of feeling her skin under his fingers before turning to the driver. "Is there a decent hotel in town?"

"There's a couple," the older man considered. "I'll take you to the one that's less likely to be full. A little off the beaten path, but still very nice."

"Okay," replied Spike. "Thanks, and..." he stopped short, not sure how to express his gratitude toward the man who had been kind to his girl. "Thanks," he finished lamely.

"No problem," the cabbie smiled. "I'm just happy it all worked out."

As they threaded through the dark streets, a new tension surfaced in the backseat of the car. So much between them, neither seemed able to get past the heavy flood of reckoning to make light conversation. As usual, communication was easier between hands and skin than with words. Careful not to move suddenly, still feeling like he needed to go slowly, not spook her, Spike gently slid an arm around Buffy's shoulders, softly stroking her arm. Slowly, minutely, she slid sideways until she was leaning on him, her head resting on his chest. For a few moments her breathing was ragged as she fought sleep, feeling the weight of uncertainty that curtained them, but her exhaustion was too great and soon the tempo of her breaths evened out and Spike knew she had fallen asleep. He was just beginning to contemplate the next step when his phone buzzed in his pocket, causing him to jump slightly. Buffy mumbled incoherently, but did not wake, and carefully Spike pulled his cell out, frowning at the caller id before flipping it open to speak.

"Hey, Anya..."

"Spike!" His manager's usually even, practical voice was agitated, sparking a flame of concern in Spike's imagination. What now?

"What is it, Ahn?"

"Spike!" she repeated, sounding exasperated now. "Buffy! Did you find her? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," he answered curiously. He knew everyone was concerned about her, but Anya's franticness seemed a bit out of place, especially since she herself had located the missing girl. "She's right here with me."

"Oh, thank god," she breathed. "She's fine. Spike has her," she told someone on her end of the line. For a moment, Spike listened to the jumble of conversation on the other side of the phone, but finally tried to call Anya's attention back.

"Anya?" he asked firmly, careful not to raise his voice enough to rouse Buffy. "What is going on?"

"Willow got a call from Buffy's boss. Drucinda or Druella, or..."

"Drusilla." Spike supplied.

"Yes. Anyway, she was hysterical. Something about Buffy missing, which we already knew, but then there was this thing about a graveyard, someone watching her, and danger... and well, it all seems a little fantastical now," Anya admitted. "But she was so sure. So I called. But you have Buffy and everything is fine," Slowly her voice climbed back to it's normal self-assured pitch. "So I'll let you go now. Bye."

Spike hung up the phone, a sinister chill creeping up his spine. Funny how he hadn't even thought to call Drusilla. She probably could have saved him a bit of time. But what was all that about someone watching Buffy? And danger? Could it be something metaphorical, or had Dru really seen something threatening her? Wrapping his love tighter in his arms, Spike decided that he didn't really want to know. Whatever could have happened, didn't happen. Buffy was safe and by god she was going to stay that way if he had to glue himself to her side.

Less than fifteen minutes later, after giving a fond goodbye and an extremely generous tip to the cabbie, they were checked into the hotel and walking down a hallway toward a suite with two beds. Spike had breezed through check in, being clear about what he wanted in a manner that implied he was used to getting exactly that, and without giving Buffy an opportunity to argue. Even though he knew logically it probably would have been a good idea to give her some space, he hadn't been able to talk himself into seperate rooms. He had come too close to losing her too recently to be willing to let her out of his sight. If he had his way, he would hold onto her while she slept, so there would be no way for her to disappear again, but that really was up to Buffy, and hence the two beds.

They reached the room and Spike used one hand to jam in the key card to unlock the door while keeping the other firmly around her waist. She had been silent through check-in, content to remain pliant in his arms, but the click of the door unlocking seemed to jolt her, adding sudden tension to her spine and she straightend and moved away slightly, not out of the circle of his arm, just so that she was standing a little more upright. Spike immediately felt the loss of her warmth and hoped to god that she would let him sleep beside her. Nothing else. No matter how much he was tempted, there would be no more runaway caveman impulses tonight.

"This is us, luv," he said as he swung open the door and clicked on the light. He suddenly felt awkward, almost like a schoolboy on prom night bringing his date to a hotel room, not knowing if she would approve or run screaming back to the party.

Buffy finally moved completely away from him and wandered into the room. Turning away for a moment to lock and bolt the door, Spike looked back to find her standing in front of the mirror but not looking into it. Her hands were resting on the low dresser in front of it, supporting her weight there, fists flexing slightly, while she stared down at her hands as if she didn't recognize the skin as her own. The curve of her cheek, the slope of her shoulder were impossibly eloquent and Spike felt himself turning inside out once again for this beautiful girl and the impossibility of ending up here with her.

"Buffy," he breathed, but he honestly didn't know what to say next and the moment was frozen as she continued to stare at her hands, the sweep of her eyelashes betraying the thousand thoughts running through her mind. Finally she stepped back and looked up, meeting his eyes through the mirror, and smiled a little.

"You sure went through a lot to get me into a hotel room." The tone tried to be teasing, but her attempt fell flat, and her eyes creased in concern as tension raced across his face. "I'm sorry," she followed up hurriedly, as awkward silence fell. "That was a bad joke. I'm just," she stopped to scrub a hand across her face before finishing. "Really tired."

"Of course, luv." Their emotions were all over the place, and Spike knew that while they had large, difficult things to discuss, no good could possibly come of going over any of it tonight. Heaving a sigh, he conceded that maybe they needed physical distance as well. "You stay here," he indicated the bed behind them. "There's another bedroom through there, I'll take that one." He couldn't resist taking one more kiss from her sweet lips, but pulled away before it overheated and became more. "Good night, sweetheart."

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

It could have been minutes or hours later, as Spike lay awake staring at the ceiling, when he heard the soft shush of the door sweeping over the carpet. Hesitantly, her shadowy form crept into the room, almost as if she was afraid of being discovered. Without a word, he raised the covers in invitation and she stole silently underneath. Her face was wet with tears, but her body was warm, and wrapped closely together, finally they slept.





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