Author's Note: (I promise this won't take long). Wow. I have neglected this fic for… hmm, going on five months now. Well, I'd say that 'been lacking in inspiration for' rather than 'neglecting' is a better use of words, but hey, either way, it's been five long months. So, that said, I would LOVE any feedback you can give (and to be honest, the effort itself can take up as little as two, maybe three minutes of your time). Whether it's good, bad, critical, etc… it all makes a difference for an author. You are the ones reading this fiction, and you are the ones who can spot my mistakes and what not (believe it or not, but it is sometimes extremely difficult for a writer to spot errors… I do it all the time, even after reading something over five times). Basically, I'm always interested to know your opinions. Is my writing ability slipping? Did this chapter just mess up my story? … You get the hint.  So, that said, I hope you people enjoy the next chapter to 'Dawnie'!

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"Every single night, the same arrangement… I go out and fight… the fight" the lyrics sighed past Buffy's lips without enthusiasm, her mind simply conjuring the words out of boredom. Midnight had come and gone, and still her net quantity of vampires staked was relaxed at zero. Well, Buffy prompted internally. At least it's not the Doublemeat Palace… even minor thoughts of the grease-stained atmosphere sent chills down the Slayer's spine.

Stopping in her tracks, heeled shoes planting themselves in the supple earth, Buffy gave a last desperate surveillance of the cemetery, wooden stake twirled idly between her fingers. "And behold the heroic Slayer. If I'm not slinging hamburger meat at a restaurant where you can gain weight just by breathing the air, I'm missing out on hours of sleep just so I can hang out with tombstones… I bet this wasn't in 'The Slayer Handbook'" she scoffed, wondering if her life's situation was another reason why Slayers didn't tend to live into their twenties.

Face pouting slightly, Buffy was about to venture in some random direction when a spontaneous force suggested she do otherwise. Feathers scurried along the base of her spine, and despite her jacket the Slayer shivered, such a sensation fully grounding her. This… That…  It… Was familiar. Colourful aromas and intoxicating sounds drifted through her memory and senses, each sight, sound, smell, and touch helping to conjure the image of a single, unmistakeable being.

Spike…

… was back?

But it couldn't be him… she was nowhere near his crypt. Virtually on the other side of town. And that is a shock to you how? Her subconscious self snickered. Remember, we are talking about Spike… Practically the poster boy for 'go where I want, when I want'. Oh yeah. Eyes rolling at her initial state of surprise, the Slayer began to take a step forward, the automatic footfall retracted by the pride that constantly simmered within her, erupting only when needed.

Where are you going? It demanded, completely appalled by the fact that she had allowed even a tiny movement. For Buffy, the answer was simple; it may as well have been staring her in the face. She was going to see Spike. He had returned to Sunnydale, and she was going to see him.

She. Was going. To see Spike. The sentence rumbled about in Buffy's brain for a moment, attempting to solidify in the many corners of her consciousness.

Of course, tossed back at her was every word that could ever be associated with the act of rape. Disgusting terms, suggestive synonyms; they all took a crack at rupturing the Slayer's resolve. But none if it mattered… not really. Despite his attempt on her, Buffy just couldn't bring herself to hate the bleached monster, couldn't bring herself to not be concerned for him. Spike had done too much for her in the past; he'd saved and cared for Dawn, been a shoulder for Buffy to cry on that night on her back porch when her mother left for the hospital. Even their months of violent sex somehow qualified as a good deed… bruising his body and her own had somehow given Buffy something to live for, something to feel besides empty.

No. She couldn't hate him. Perhaps dislike with incredible magnitude, but not hate. And that simple revelation, one that had actually been drilling holes in her mind for months, is what set the Slayer on her search again, guided only by the dancing sensation creeping along her vertebrae.

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After what seemed an eternity to her usually razor-sharp instincts, Buffy's slightly heightened sense of sight pinpointed her bleached-blonde target. Spike was situated so that his back was to her, shoulder blades resting against the stump of a tree. Knees drawn up around his chest, the vampire appeared to be deep in thought, perhaps not even aware of her presence.

For a moment, Buffy found herself studying the night-crawling creature, emerald orbs tracing many of his contours. It was almost strange to see him positioned so peacefully. Spike was usually up and about causing some form of chaos, or at least tensed and ready for his next opportunity to inflict such. Furthermore, and quite strangely, the Slayer was caught admiring how every ounce off moonlight seemed to perfectly compliment the vampire, washing over his features in an almost heavenly fashion as he gazed up at it.

A second, perhaps two were dedicated to Buffy's short-lived cause before it was shaken away, almost quivering muscles moving once again. You can do this… the portion of her mind able to tolerate Spike was endlessly chanting the quartet, giving her strength where she was otherwise crippled. A deep breath whispered past her lips as a final octet of steps was taken, bringing her within a seven-foot proximity of… him.

"So, you're back" she said quietly, tenderly, for some reason not desiring any use of harsh tones.

Head turning slowly in Buffy's direction, Spike's radiant eyes were hardly so lethargic when they recognized her petite form. Fear flashed momentarily in his azure orbs before utter disbelief took over, the vampire's mouth hanging open slightly to complete the twisted, awestruck pose of his face. "Buffy" he said, voice reflecting the waves of surprise crashing through his mind.

Incredibly lean limbs, and lengthy ones at that should have made the action of standing up a rather messy ordeal. Somehow though, Spike was able to pull himself into a standing position with the fluent grace of a feline, black-clad legs and silver-jewelled arms in perfect sync with each other. "What are you…" he breathed, warped brain unable to conjure anything of use. Eyes flickered at the command of his instincts, briefly grazing over Buffy's handheld stake, such a sight causing a new form of fear to solidify within his veins.

Heart instantly aware of the emotion that had suddenly embedded itself in the vampire's eyes, Buffy felt her own voice jump into action. "I'm not here to…" fumbling with her miniature spear, the Slayer decided that its best habitat was currently in the embrace of her coat pocket. "I just… I was patrolling and…" she looked away with an awkward smile and a slight tip of her shoulder, hands now free of any excess weight.

"Oh…" Spike responded with near-silence, azure orbs void of his usually confident mischief. "Right, well… I'll just…" once again, the vampire was lost for words, and he played the same game of averting his eyes, chin falling though instead of swivelling. Glancing quickly behind his shoulder, it was only a second before Spike's mass began to follow, hoping to make a silent escape.

"How long have you been back?" Buffy's voice snared both blondes' attention, neither having expected her to delay his leaving. Part of the Slayer was repulsed by such an action, wanting nothing but space between her and the night crawler. But compassionate Buffy, the fraction of her consciousness that didn't object to Dawn's wishes to stay with Spike during the impending apocalypse, endorsed her choice to speak.

From Spike's point of view, the echo was not a symbol of conflicting emotions or sour decisions; it was the single slice of salvation he'd craved since being infected with a soul. Buffy's concern, no matter how insignificant or generic, was existent nonetheless. And it proved one simple yet incredibly precious thing; she didn't hate him. "Um…" the vampire began sifting through his known timeline, the sound muttered as he turned to face the creature he loved so dearly. "Few days now I suppose… Three, maybe four" his voice remained timid, not-so-superior grammar still existent.

"Oh…" Buffy's voice rang, emerald optics staring into space as various thoughts jogged through her mind. Something about the vampire seemed… off. Spike just wasn't himself; his mouth wasn't working overtime to somehow instigate even a verbal confrontation. The peroxide addict before her was calm yet uncomfortable, acting like a kindergarten student who had been reprimanded.

"Why did you…" her voice pierced a looming cloud of silence, resonations instantly catching the vampire's attention. Buffy cut the sentence short though, eyes drooping with discomfort. No. She couldn't ask that question. And she really didn't want to know the answer; at least, she didn't want to hear it spoken aloud. Instead, the Slayer's hazel-tinted jewels lifted in synchronization with a more confident yet still softly delivered question. "Where did you go?"

Spike had practised his answer to that question for hours on end, assuming he would someday have a civilized conversation with the Slayer. But who knew the opportunity would come so soon? Who knew Buffy would actually let him live long enough to ask the question in the first place? More importantly though, what exactly was the answer he'd practised so arduously? Internally grumbling at his failed memory, the vampire attempted to construct a new yet still explanatory response. "Nowhere in particular" he almost whispered. "Just had to get away… Give myself time to think… about things" eyes flickering downward, Spike refused to further approach the subject hanging precariously over the two supernatural beings.

"Well, you missed a lot" the Slayer responded robotically, her more valuable thoughts put toward analysing Spike's words. They were simple enough to comprehend, but her moments of contemplation were contributed to reading between the lines. And with Spike, that was quite often a very worthwhile and important act.

Spike simply chuckled, the roughly thrown breath used more as a way in which to relieve some of the tension currently building within his chest. "Somehow that doesn't come as much of a surprise… Sunnydale folk have a way of keeping things interesting," he smiled slightly, words constructed as if he and the blonde girl were long lost friends as opposed to… well… whatever they were.

"No kidding" Buffy said with an equally soft grin and a roll of her eyes.

After those three syllables, however, their conversation was instantly dampened; the threatening cloud of silence finally decided to descend. Neither vampire nor Slayer knew where to take the dialogue exchange after that point. Buffy wanted to indulge Spike on some of the events he had missed; maybe confide in someone about how she really felt toward some of the season-old chaos. And despite his cloak of silence, Spike was caught every now and then with the urge to immediately spit out his new secret; after all, he'd gotten it for her… But it was still too soon; her judgement on him was still unclear.

Chest heaving with a sigh, Buffy glanced around, estimating by the moon's position that it was roughly 1:00 a.m., give or take an hour. "Well, I should probably get home… it's getting late, or, early…"

"I know" Spike said, having been victimized before by the same excuse for weeks on end. He already knew how her sentence was going to end; might as well save her the effort.

"Oh… Well then I… Guess I'll see you around," the Slayer formed her statement into a partial question, voice rising just enough so that it became apparent.

Simply nodding in response, Spike was already taking petite paces in the opposite direction. "Maybe… Dunno if your little crew would exactly love that idea… But, if you need me, you know where I'll be," confidence and honesty were laced into his uncharacteristically piano voice, personality apparently not lost with volume. Following what would be the next logical step in concluding their meeting, Spike turned on his heel, the manoeuvre completed in an echo of his usually rebellious spirit.

Buffy's heart began to twist in confusion as the bleached creature dissolved from view. It didn't know what to feel, how to react… Simmer before internally exploding with acute disappointment at the fact that Spike had returned after all? Or should the Slayer take a moment to peacefully rejoice? The man… vampire… who'd helped her through nearly a year of self-torture, no matter how violent his methods, had returned. A confidante, a mild companion, and a trustworthy partner in battle was finally within Sunnydale's warm embrace.

Attempted rape had a way of blurring the lines between shoulds and should-nots when it came to what emotions were appropriate in these impossible-to-decipher situations. Buffy didn't put a lot of effort into tormenting herself over such two-sidedness though. With Spike, things were never simple, and very rarely were they purely pleasant. At one o'clock in the morning, it didn't take long before the Slayer had decided that for once, things could be left for another time.

After all, it would at least give her something to think about during her next, and no doubt endless shift at the Enslaved-meat Palace.