Willow had slept for barely two hours when the ruckus from Buffy's room woke her up. She sat up and listened for more noises. When she heard nothing but the chirping of crickets, she lay back down and tried to go back to sleep.

After ten minutes of counting sheep and specks on the ceiling, she still lay awake in her bed. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well do something productive, like research about the demon they'd dealt with. With a huff, she pulled the covers back and climbed out of bed. She slipped on her slippers and headed downstairs.

She'd placed some of their books about demons in the living room. “Spike?” she called out as she stepped into the room. She saw he wasn't there, thought for a moment about where he could be, but she didn't dwell on it long. He probably went up to Buffy's room when he heard the noise.

She turned to the disarrayed bookshelf and, squatting in front of it, searched for the books she needed. Coming across one, she pulled it out and set it on the floor beside her. She fingered through the books again and pulled out three more.

Carrying the thick books, she moved into the dining area. She placed the texts on the table and pulled up a seat. She sat down, took one of the books from the stack and began flipping through it.

An hour and a half of skimming through dusty texts later, just as she heard footsteps on the stairs, Willow found an entry about the demon they'd seen.

Xander had woken up and was now standing by the dining room's entryway. He looked up at the clock as he yawned and stretched. It was just barely five o'clock. “Good morning,” he said to Willow.

“Morning,” Willow answered, not glancing up from the page of the book she was reading.

Xander saw the books splayed out on the table and asked, “How long have you been up?”

“A while,” she answered, finally looking up from the book. “I heard voices. Woke me up. But I found what demon fake Buffy was.”

Xander pulled up a seat next to Willow who moved the book to his view. “What was it?”

“It was a shape-shifter. One of various kinds. This one,” she pointed at the illustration of the maroon demon, “is called a Rakshasa. Those long fingernails are venomous and can kill instantly. Of course, that is when they are in their demon form. They're supposed to be immortal beings too, but when they assume a mortal's body, they can be killed.”

Xander nodded. “What I don't get is why Spike didn't know it wasn't her. I mean, don't vampires have this scent thing?”

“That's because with the blood they drink or the flesh they eat from their victim, and very powerful dark magic, they create an elaborate illusion. They can fool anyone, even empaths.”

“Oh,” was all Xander had to say. “Then what about the woman Spike said he saw?”

Willow rolled her eyes to the ceiling, seemingly thinking. And then she looked at Xander again. “Yeah, I have nothing.”

Xander shrugged. “It's not important. Buffy's safe now and hopefully will be back to her Buffy-shaped self soon enough.” He paused. “I was thinking we should go back to L.A.”

“Today? Xander, Buffy's still adjusting.”

“Well, she certainly won't adjust here. Not in a hell hole like this,” Xander argued, gesturing around the disheveled house.

“You're right.” Willow sighed. “How are we going to get there anyway?”

“Angel let me borrow his car. I told him I needed to pick up a few things here,” Xander replied.

“Does he know about Buffy?”

“Not yet,” Xander said as he stood up. “Good thing the guy's heart doesn't beat or we'd be surely giving him a heart attack when we arrive.”



Spike had stayed with Buffy the rest of the wee hours of the morning. He'd sat on the floor by the door, just watching her. She'd looked so weary and consternated that he just wanted to hold her in his arms and make her feel safe. But he settled for just watching her now.

Buffy had not slept a wink since her nightmare. She didn't dare close her eyes lest she drift off to sleep and dream about what had happened to her again. Her dream was so vivid that she had been able to feel the lack of air, the coffin's lining, the layers of fabric and wood scathing her knuckles and the slithery worms squirming and crawling over her as she drudged her way through the damp earth.

If she dreamed about what the woman did to her? What she and that thing did to her? She'd never be able to sleep again.

When morning came, faint light seeped through the thin curtains. Spike stood up and glanced at Buffy. She rolled to her side, turning her back to him. He sighed as he headed out of the room and downstairs, hoping she'd finally be able to get some sleep.

In the living room, Dawn, Willow and Xander were already awake, packing some of the weapons they usually used, old important texts and a few other personal effects they'd left the first time they headed for Los Angeles.

Spike scoffed as he approached them. It was just like them to decide what was best for Buffy without even asking her first. They'd all just assumed Buffy would traipse off to Los Angeles with them to her vampire with a soul honey. Granted, there was nothing here for them any more. But that wasn't the point.

When Spike entered the room, Dawn looked up from the box she was sealing with packing tape. “Hey, how's Buffy?” she asked, while Xander and Willow continued stuffing their belongings into boxes.

“Hasn't slept much. But she's resting,” he answered, looking around the almost cleaned out living room.

“None of us could really get much sleep either,” Dawn replied. She pushed the box beside two more sealed boxes and stood up.

“We need to get that fixed.” Buffy was now standing in the hallway, at the foot of the stairs, staring at what used to be the front door. She made her way into the living room and stopped beside Spike by the threshold when she noticed what they were doing.

Xander walked towards her, a hint of awe in his expression, and hugged her. “I can't believe you're really here.”

Buffy hugged back but was too distracted with the boxes piled up and she pulled away. “Did I miss something?”

“Well,” Willow hesitantly began, gauging Buffy's reaction. “We all decided that we should move to L.A.” She glanced at Xander. “With Angel. In the Hyperion.”

Buffy pursed her lips and cocked her head. “Why?”

Xander, noticing how uncomfortable Willow was, explained. “This place's dead, Buffy. There's no one here. There's nothing here. Only demons and a few other crazies who won't leave their houses.”

“But isn't it kind of my job to get rid of the demons? And saving people?” said Buffy.

Dawn shrank back when Buffy's gaze drifted to her direction. She decided to stay out of the discussion and remained silent when she saw how reluctant Buffy was.

“You shouldn't worry about that right now. You're still recovering from what happened,” Xander said calmly. “Besides, there's no one here to save,” he added, gesturing with his hands for emphasis.

Buffy opened her mouth, as if to speak, but she didn't know what to say. She fidgeted in her place, irritated beyond reason. She hadn't even gotten used to the idea of being resurrected and escaping torture and here they were, making her decisions for her. She needed closure, and she wouldn't have that if she ran as far away as possible from her problem. “But the house...” she said through gritted teeth, trying to sound as calm as possible.

Spike had to admit that the whelp's point was pretty convincing. If Buffy stayed here, where there was nothing but darkness, it would just eat at her and she'd never be able to move on. She needed to be around people. Alive people, not the undead.

But, by the look in her eyes, he knew she wanted to stay for different reasons, too. And if she couldn't stay, then he had to do it for her. “I'm staying here,” Spike blurted out.

Buffy frowned at Spike. He was the one person she knew would understand, would back her up, wouldn't make her choices for her.

“I can keep this house safe if you decide to come back,” he shrugged. “Besides, I don't think I could stand living with that pillock.”

Buffy shook her head. “Then I'm staying here with you.”

“What?” Xander and Willow simultaneously asked with twin expressions of shock.