Title: Abandoned, chapter 3
Author: Jennifer Campbell
Fandom: Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
Spoilers: Through "Tabula Rasa"
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R -- for language and nongraphic sex
Disclaimers: Not mine. Belong to Joss.
Author's notes: Again, thank you for the feedback. After watching last week's episode ("Smashed"), I got inspired to bring back a touch of the Big Bad: Spike before he fell head over heels for Buffy. Please let me know if you think it works.

#

I hate goodbyes. It's better this way. Be strong, Buffy, and live.
-- Yours forever, Spike

She read the words over and over, crumpled the paper and threw it as far as her Slayer strength allowed. Then, dressed in her favorite comfy pajamas, Buffy curled up on the living room couch and rested her cheek against her knees. Her thoughts were far away, with the vampire who had reawakened her emotions and had left, all in one day. She had tried to resurrect her walls, impenetrable to hurt, but it seemed rebuilding would take time. Yet rebuild she would. Better to feel nothing, she reasoned, than the emptiness of his departure.

At least her friends had determined that Spike hadn't committed suicide. Xander had had the presence of mind to check for Spike's car, which had also vanished. That indicated he had simply hit the road, that he hadn't gone for a sunlit stroll. The knowledge gave Buffy some consolation because it meant next time she saw him, she would have her chance to stake him, the bastard. Never trust a vampire, she thought in mantra. Never trust a man to stay.

So where had he gone? Was he still in state, or even in the country? After regaining her composure, Buffy had returned to the crypt, hoping to find Whistler and beat the crap out of him until he spilled on Spike's location. That plan had fallen through, though, when she had found the crypt deserted. With no other leads, she had gone home to mope.

She really didn't understand why she cared anyway. She had been trying to get rid of Spike for months and had finally succeeded. Victory at last secured when most unwanted.

The front door opened with a whoosh of cold November air, and Willow walked in, two plastic bags hanging off her wrist. She shed her coat, plopped onto the couch beside Buffy and started pulling out the bags' contents.

"We have chocolate, and a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and ... two sappy romantic comedies about people who are more pathetic than us. The perfect ingredients for a bonding night between two girls who are down on their luck."

Buffy tried to show interest, to humor her friend. "What movies?"

"'Sleepless in Seattle' and 'Bridget Jones's Diary.' Seen them?"

"Nah. Well, I think I might have seen that first one once. Was that the one where Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan fell in love over e-mail?"

"That was 'You've Got Mail.' This is the other Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan movie, and the better one, to my way of thinking." Willow set their loot on the coffee table and bounced a little on the cushions. "So, ready for some ice cream and cheesy hollywood romance?"

"I don't know," Buffy said, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. "I guess so."

"Not the enthusiastic response I was looking for."

"I'm sorry, Wil. I'm just ..."

Willow cocked her head. "Just what? Do -- do you maybe want to talk instead? We can do the movie thing some other time, if you want to talk."

"No," Buffy said, hurriedly. At her friend's hurt expression, she added, "I can't -- I'm just not ready to talk yet. I need awhile to process the overload of information."

Willow looked disappointed. "All right. I for one want to know what was going on between you and Spike that has you so upset. I guess it can wait. You'd think after all the crying and moping that you'd been sleeping with him, but I know you would never be stupid enough to do that."

Buffy sighed. "That would be a very stupid thing for me to do."

"So, um, what do you feel like doing, then?"

Feel. An alien word. Buffy had to admit she didn't feel much of anything beyond a soul-numbing depression, except maybe ...

"I feel like killing something," she said frankly.

"Oh," Willow said, taken back by the answer. "Oh, well, I don't think I can help you with that."

"Maybe I should go out on patrol, see if I can scare up any nasties. The wicked never sleep in Sunnydale." Buffy uncurled from the couch and went to the closet for her coat. "Sorry to ruin girls' night. Maybe Dawn would like to eat ice cream and watch movies. After she's done with her homework, of course."

"Sure, but, Buffy ..."

"Yeah?"

"Don't you think maybe you should change first? Unless you think bunny slippers will strike fear into the hearts of vampires."

She looked down at her pajamas and blushed. "Um, right. I'll just go upstairs and slip into something a little more Slayer-y. Be right back."

As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, shuffling her bunny slippers on every step, her thoughts drifted again, from visions of dusty vampires to Spike's cocky smile. The quintessential characteristics of a bad boy. He always had a glint in his eyes that suggested some evil plot lurking behind those baby blues. God, she missed that. I wonder, she thought, what he's doing tonight.

#

Spike rubbed a finger and thumb over the bridge of his nose, trying to calm the noise in his brain. Then he downed another shot. It didn't help. Vampires didn't feel guilt -- a convenient side effect of having no soul -- and yet he did; he felt guilty for abandoning Buffy, even if it was to save her life. Then again, maybe this emptiness inside was caused only by the neglect of his true, selfish nature. He wanted Buffy, wanted to own her, love her and hurt her. Now he could do none of those things.

The clatter of the tavern also did little soothe his nerves. He had driven north from Sunnydale at sunset and had stopped, about a hundred miles out, at this place, a demon bar in the middle of nowhere. Tonight, it was hopping. Every imaginable monster crowded inside, drinking, relaxing and having a fine time. Occasional fights had broken out, and a couple of female vamps had approached Spike's lonely booth to suggest they go out back for some fun -- he turned them both down with images of Buffy's accusing stare echoing in his mind -- but other than that, it had proved a normal night for drinking.

He poured another shot of whiskey from his half-empty bottle and focused completely on the task of getting raving drunk. So far, all he had managed was a light buzz.

A small demon stopped beside his table as Spike forced more alcohol down his throat. The whiskey tasted better the more he drank, or maybe he just cared less. He looked up at his visitor and groaned.

"What do you want now?"

Whistler slid into the seat across from him. "When I told you to come here, I didn't mean for you to drown in a bottle of Jack Daniels."

"Hello. In case you hadn't noticed, this is a bar. What else is it good for except for drinking?"

"How about eavesdropping?"

"Huh?"

Whistler gestured to the crowd. "This is the place demons come to meet and make their let's-destroy-the-world plans. It's close to the hellmouth, but not close enough to get the Slayer's attention. Perfect place for you to do some spying."

"I already told you I'm not James bloody Bond." He poured another shot and downed it, while Whistler watched in disapproving silence. "I left Sunnydale because of you and that's enough. I'm not going to do your dirty work, too, so sod off."

"Whoa, that's some bad attitude."

Spike leaned across the table, fixing Whistler with a dark glare. "Are you hard of hearing? Leave. Me. Alone."

"Fine," Whistler said, easing out of the booth and straightening his coat and hat. "But you might want to take a listen to the conversation in the booth behind you. I think you'd find it very interesting."

Spike watched him disappear into the mass of demons. "Bloody wanker. Thinks I'm gonna do what the Powers want after that stunt they pulled with me and Buffy. Stupid poof."

Still, Whistler had sounded confident that whatever was going on in the next booth over might be important, and the guy should know, thanks to his connection to the Powers. With a groan -- why did he always fall into these messes? -- Spike strained to hear the conversation.

"... in the planning for years, but it's gonna go down soon," said a deep voice. "So be ready."

"How soon?"

"Can't say. The Big Man would stake us both for sure if I spilled."

OK, Spike thought. We're dealing with a couple of vamps, maybe more but only two voices so far. And the Big Man. Wonder who that is.

"But these things take planning," said the second vampire. "I need to have a time table. It's not like we can saunter into Sunnydale on a moment's notice. The Slayer --"

"The Slayer won't be a problem."

Spike's fists clenched. He kept listening.

"But --"

"Come on, man, show some backbone. The Slayer might be able to take out a dozen of us, at best, but what good will she do against a hundred? Or two hundred? She'll be dead within seconds." A pause, and then, "So can you be ready at the signal?"

"Yeah," the second vamp said, hesitant. "Yeah, I'll be ready."

"Good. That's what the Big Man likes to hear."

Spike's hand tightened so hard around his shot glass that it cracked, but he barely noticed. These idiots were plotting against the Slayer, his Slayer. He needed more information than a couple of vague references. He slid from his booth and strutted the few steps to the vampires' table. There were only two -- one rather chubby and wearing a football-team sweatshirt, and the other skinny and more pale than a vampire had a right to be. He smiled down at them in false cheer.

The chubby one looked up. "What do you want? Get out of here."

From his deep voice, Spike recognized him as the one with most of the information.

"I couldn't help but overhear that you're planning a go at Sunnydale," he said. "Sounds like fun."

"Yeah, so?"

"I'd like to offer my services to the cause."

The skinny vamp snorted. "And what makes you think that we need you?"

"You'll be needing to get the Slayer out of your way, right? Meet one of the few vampires who has faced her and lived. I know her speed, her strengths, her weaknesses. I can help you take her out in short order. But if you're not interested, I can just go ..."

"No, wait." Chubby looked interested. "Tell me more."

Spike grinned and slid into the seat beside Skinny, who looked at him strangely. Spike quickly sorted a convincing story to feed them. "I'll make you a deal. A swap. I'll give you the goods, in exchange for details on what you're planning."

"Hey, wait just a minute," Skinny said, and he reached out to pinch Spike's duster.

Spike pulled away. "Watch it will you? You'll bruise the leather."

Skinny snorted. "I thought so. I know you, and we're not telling you shit."

"Trust me, mate, you don't know me," Spike said, trying his best to sound calm despite the alarms going off in his head. He unobtrusively reached under his jacket for a stake. "I think I would remember an idiot like you."

"I know of you, then. The stories have reached across the globe about the master vampire who turned against his own kind and fights beside the Slayer. His name's Spike. Word is he's an English bottle-blond who has a thing for black leather. I've got your number, mate."

"And I've got yours," Spike growled.

Without a second thought, Spike's hand closed around his stake, and he plunged it into Skinny's chest. The vamp went to dust, and Spike shrugged at Chubby, who stared in open-mouthed amazement. "He had to do it the hard way, huh?"

"What are you, man?" Chubby asked, "Some kind of spy?"

"Geez, not too bright, are you?" Spike grabbed the vampire's sweatshirt and yanked, pulling him halfway across the table. "Now, listen carefully. You could end up like your friend over here. Or you can give me the information I'm looking for and walk away. What do you say?"

For his answer, Chubby swung a powerful fist at Spike and knocked him back into his seat. Spike rolled his jaw, where the punch had connected, and grinned. An overwhelming lust for violence swept through him. The vamp had some power, and Spike hadn't had a good fight in ages.

Chubby said, "Let's take this outside."

Spike gestured to the door. "After you, mate."

#

Dawn curled up on the couch and leaned her cheek against Willow's shoulder, and Willow smoothed her hair. They were watching some movie that starred a bunch of British people and Renee Zellweger, who was pretending to be British. It had been interesting for a while, but since Hugh Grant wasn't on screen anymore, it had lost Dawn's interest. Still, it was better than math homework.

"So, um, did Buffy say when she was gonna be back?" Dawn asked, lifting her head to look at Willow.

"Nope. She looked all business, so I'd guess it won't be for a while. After we go to bed probably."

"Did she say what was up? I mean, with Spike leaving and all."

"I have theories, but Buffy's not talking." Willow sighed. "I just wish I hadn't sworn off magic. I mean, I could do a spell to help her. Make her feel better or something."

Dawn tried to ignore the wistful tone of Willow's voice. Last time the redhead had done a spell, they had ended up helpless in the sewers with a vampire on their trail. Hoping to steer the conversation to a safer subject, she asked, "Do your theories involve Buffy and Spike and kissing?"

Willow gave her a lopsided smile. "You're thinking that, too, huh? But I seriously doubt Buffy would go that far. She's smarter than that."

"I don't know. I mean, look at Bridget Jones," Dawn said, waving toward the TV screen. "She's all mooning over bad boy Hugh Grant when really the man of her dreams is the sensible one who's right in front of her nose. I think it's something about bad boys. They tend to cloud judgment."

"Yeah, maybe."

They watched the movie for a few minutes. It was Bridget's birthday, and a pathetic-looking Hugh Grant crashed the party. The scene reminded Dawn of Buffy's last birthday, when she had snuck out and run into Spike, lurking outside the house with a crushed box of chocolates. He had helped her break into the magic shop. That night, she had learned the terrible truth about herself, which had started a chain of events leading to the Scoobies' flight from Sunnydale and the kidnapping and Buffy's death ...

"I'm not sure I like this movie," Dawn said, frowning.

"We can watch the other one."

"No, it's OK. Um, Willow, can I ask you something? About magic."

Willow sat up straighter, with a wary look, and said, "What is it?"

"Is there a spell that could locate someone who is missing? Like maybe a certain vampire."

"No. I mean, yes, there is a spell. But we're not doing it."

"But --"

"No."

"Why not?"

Willow shifted, uncomfortable with the subject. "I think maybe it's a good thing that Spike left. As much of a help as he's been, especially this past summer when we didn't have Buffy around, he's still an evil, soulless vampire. He's all about the gratuitous violence and killing. Too much potential for bad endings."

"Well, I think he's changed, and Buffy's not the only one who misses him," Dawn said, but she didn't press the subject. Again she rested her head on Willow's shoulder. "So do you think Buffy might get back soon?"

#

Spike and Chubby went out back to an empty area of the parking lot. With no street lights and a new moon, the night was darker than Spike was accustomed to, but his eyes adjusted quickly enough. Chubby had stripped off his sweatshirt; Spike laid his duster on the asphalt and put up his fists.

"All right, then," he said, grinning. "Let's get on with the fight, shall we?"

"You're dead, turncoat."

Chubby charged him like a linebacker, but he wasn't quick. Spike easily stepped aside and, when Chubby's momentum carried him past, kicked him in the back. The vampire stumbled, caught himself and spun around to growl at Spike in his game face.

"Ooo, scary," Spike taunted. "You think that's gonna improve your chances?"

Again, Chubby charged, and Spike slid to the side. He said, "Can you try something else now because I'm getting bored."

"This maybe?" Chubby swung around with a right hook.

Spike staggered back. He felt blood trickle down his chin, and he laughed. Now that was more like it! Fresh night air, and a good old fashioned fight to get the adrenaline pumping. The perfect cure for brooding.

"That's the spirit," Spike said as he punched back, clobbering Chubby in the left eye.

"Stop talking and fight," the vampire spat.

"Oh, but the whole purpose of this is to get you to talk. I want to know where to find the Big Man."

Chubby's eyes widened. "I can't say that. They'd kill me!"

"I'll kill you if you don't."

"Not a chance."

Spike shrugged. "Have it your way, then."

He launched a kick with both feet at the vampire's chest, landed on all fours and, as Chubby advanced, kicked back like a mule. His opponent crashed to the asphalt, and Spike rolled over to straddle him with a stake at his chest.

"Tell me."

"You'll have to kill me first."

Spike's eyes narrowed, and he felt blood singing in his veins. "Oh, you're going to wish I had killed you. You're gonna be begging for it." He punched the stake into the vampire's chest, just left of the heart, and Chubby screamed. "Talk, or it's about to get a lot worse."

Blood trickled from the vamp's mouth. "I can't do that."

Spike stabbed him again, this time in the stomach. Gods, this felt good. The blood, the torture, the screaming. Oh, how he had missed it these past few months, since he'd gone all soft over Buffy. Buffy. She would disapprove of the methods, but this lard of a vampire had information that he needed. Information on a plot that apparently involved an army of vampires and Buffy's death. Not if I can help it, Spike thought savagely. No one hurts my Slayer but me.

"I could keep this up all night," Spike said, deadly soft. "Just keep plunging in the stake. There are a lot of body parts to puncture. Or you could tell me what I want to know. Where can I find the Big Man?"

Chubby groaned, then said in a strained voice. "I don't know."

"Then who does?"

He hesitated, until Spike poised the bloody stake for another blow.

"My -- my contact would know. Vamp called Carlos. Lives in London."

Spike blinked. "London? As in England?"

"That's right. Now let me go."

"Fine," Spike said, standing up. He really wanted to dust the wanker, but he always honored his deals. "I find out you're lying, I'm going to track you down and we'll continue this conversation. We understand each other?"

Chubby nodded, which was enough. Spike retrieved his duster, threw the vampire's sweatshirt at him and sauntered around the building to his car. He felt better now than he had all day. The fight had rejuvenated him, and he even smiled when he saw Whistler leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette.

"I see you've had your fun," Whistler said, his eyes raking Spike's blood-soaked clothing. "Did you learn anything useful?"

"Yeah. Say, can I have one of those cigs?"

Whistler tossed him the pack, and Spike lit up.

"How did you know?" Spike asked. "About those two vamps?"

"I didn't exactly. I was told that the big vampire, the one you pulverized back there, was meetin' up here with a bunch of other vampires and demons. I got the feeling he's a recruiter for something. Anyway, it looked like he was up to no good, so the Powers thought it was a good idea to put you on the case."

"Great," Spike muttered. "First I was James Bond, and now I'm Columbo."

"So, what did he tell you?" Whistler asked.

Spike grinned. "That it's time for me to pay a visit home."

#

TBC ...