Their hosts showed them to two modest but comfortable adjoining rooms, each with their own bathroom, Queen-sized bed, a small dresser and bedside table upon which rested identical beige lamps. Buffy was relieved to know that Spike was close in case the amulet activated again; at least she wouldn't have to go running around the hotel searching for him.

"Ah... if the amulet, you know, if we have to..." Her words were cut off by a huge yawn and after an apologetic shrug she tried again, "If we just kinda disappear..."

"We'll try not to take it personally," Wesley assured her.

The gleam in his eyes and Faith's snort of amusement were the only indication that the Watcher was anything other than as serious as he both sounded and appeared and Buffy opened her mouth to assure him that it would most definitely not be a reflection on their hospitality. Snapping her mouth shut when she realised that she was being teased, Buffy made a mental note to give this Wesley more credit than the one she had known in her own world.

"We'll be downstairs when you wake up," Faith told the weary pair. "I'll head down the butcher's and get some blood for Spike and Wes can start with the research thing, he loves that, you know. I swear if he had to choose between me and those musty old books..."

"Yes, well some of those musty old books are extraordinarily rare—priceless in fact..." Wesley began, his poker-face breaking into an amused smirk at the affronted look on his slayer's face. "But none of them are as priceless as you, my dear," he assured her, moving to take her in his arms and laughing as she batted ineffectually at his chest. "Come on," he said, dropping a quick kiss to the top of Faith's head, "we should let our guests get some sleep. If you need anything don't hesitate to ask," he told their interdimensional visitors, before slipping his arm around Faith's shoulders and heading back the way they had come.

A loud slap, Wesley's grunt of pain and Faith's rich laughter echoed back along the hall. Spike smiled in amusement and catching his slayer's eyes he mumbled, "Interesting couple."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Nothing like the Faith and Wesley I know, that's for sure," she observed.

*****

She'd said goodnight to Spike and closed the adjoining door before turning to look longingly at both the bed and the bathroom. Finally she had decided that a hot shower would not only make her feel considerably less grungy it would also help her sleep. Now, showered, changed into clean, comfortable clothes and relaxed—or as relaxed as she could be knowing that her sister was out there somewhere in the clutches of god only knew what kind of monster—she snuggled down into the bed, pulled the covers up so they were tucked warmly just beneath her chin and allowed the exhaustion she had been fighting for what seemed like days to claim her.

*****

Spike stared at the ceiling, the once-white paint was now yellowish with age, it was chipped and flaked in places and in others tiny cracks feathered their way across the surface.

He'd showered, paced around his room for a bit as he dried off, opening drawers and poking about at the meagre contents. He'd burnt his fingers on the complimentary bible stashed away beneath a pile of out of date fast food leaflets and had sworn furiously to himself and slammed the drawer closed before dropping his towel in a damp heap on the carpet near the bathroom door and dragging his jeans back on over almost dry legs and climbing onto the bed to sleep. Only sleep hadn't come. Now he was tired, hungry, bored out of his brain and severely pissed that no matter how much he might want to be asleep his brain just wouldn't shut down enough to allow him that luxury.

He was seriously contemplating giving up and going back downstairs to help the watcher with his research and see if the girl had returned with the promised blood when Buffy's cry had him leaping out of bed and through the door into her room. She was siting up in bed, her face as pale as a ghost's, her hands trembling and her heart pounding as she panted for breath. He scanned the room quickly looking for sign of invaders and finding nothing out of order he turned his attention back to the obviously distraught girl.

"Slayer?" He made his way cautiously towards the bed. "You 'right, love?"

"Spike, I... I'm sorry," she mumbled, sniffing slightly before lifting pain-filled eyes to meet his. "I didn't mean to wake you..."

"Didn't wake me, love." He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching over to brush the wild tangle of hair back from her face. "Nightmare?" he asked quietly. He knew she had them, had heard her tossing and turning up in her bed at night as he'd kept guard over the Summers household from the tree beneath her window.

She nodded, smiling weakly at him and leaning momentarily into the comfort of his caress. "I'm okay," she assured him quietly, before continuing on more strongly, "They're just dreams. Nothing more."

He watched her for a few moments, searching her face before nodding. "'kay, love. If you're alright I'll let you get back to sleep then."

As he made to get up Buffy's hand closed gently around his arm. "Would you... I mean it's a big bed... do you mind... staying?" she asked hesitantly. "You never know we might have to leave in a hurry and it would be easier if you were, you know... here," she finished meeting his eyes shyly.

"Yeah, does make a hell of a lot more sense'" he agreed. "Wouldn't want to waste time if the Bit moves on again. Every second counts, afterall." He climbed slowly into the bed and settled down near the edge, careful to give Buffy plenty of room and not encroach on her no matter how much he longed to gather her close to him.

Warm, gentle fingers traced across his chest.

"It's healing," she commented quietly.

"Yeah. Bit of kip and I'll be right as rain, love," he assured her as he settled back against the pillows. "Night, pet," he murmured as she settled down on the far side of the bed.

"Night, Spike," Buffy replied sleepily as she turned out the light. "Thank you."

"Shh. Go to sleep." Spike closed his eyes, breathing in the warm fragrance of his slayer and listening to her slow even breathing as she drifted once more to sleep. He was just drifting off himself when his eyes flew open; Buffy had rolled in her sleep, her head coming to rest on his chest, with her hand sandwiched between her cheek and his chest. Her sweatpant encased leg followed suit coming to rest on his as she snuggled into his side, mumbling incoherently before settling back into a deep, restful sleep.