Title: Abandoned, chapter 5
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: Whew! These chapters keep getting longer and longer, and my fingers are tired from all the typing. But, I've always heard it said that the length of a story is determined by how long it takes to tell it. Maybe that's stupidly obvious, but it's something I keep repeating to myself. Mostly because this is becoming the longest story I have ever written, and I'm only halfway to the finish line.

Anyway, enough of my rambling. Time to get to the part you all actually want to read (at least, I hope that's the case, since you opened up this story in the first place).

Oh, one last thing. Please keep sending the feedback, be it praise or criticism. That's my desperate plea for the evening. I'm not used to putting so much effort into one story. The more feedback I get, the happier I'll be, which means I'll have more incentive to write quickly.

Ahem. And now, on with the show ...

#

Spike aimed for an unobtrusive entrance, as the demons of London were notorious for their suspicion of strangers, and rightly so. He should have known, though, that any unknown vampire sauntering into the pub would draw attention. All faces turned toward him as he walked through the door, and he promptly froze. Yellow eyes regarded him, belonging to vampires and other things, demons he had never seen in his 120-odd years. Conversations dwindled, then died, and over the silence he heard the commentary of a football game piping from a TV over the bar.

Come on, you ninny, he thought. Get a hold of yourself. They're your own kind. But were they really? A small voice questioned whether he belonged to this community of monsters and killers anymore, when he had come here to spy for their worst enemy. At least they wouldn't recognize him, despite the tales that had crossed the globe of the turncoat vampire. Before leaving New York, he had dyed his hair to dark brown, and this evening he had left his duster at the hotel room. The two trademarks of Spike, set aside. At least for now.

He smirked for his audience, then sauntered inside, up to the bar and the only empty stool. A few demons looked away, returned to their drinks and conversations. Spike took advantage of the respite to scan the room more closely. About half the patrons of the crowded room were vampires, so the famed Carlos could be any one of them, or none. This lead could prove as useless as every other one he had followed this week.

He nodded to the bartender, a stocky bloke with skin that molted from a healthy red to ghostly white, depending on his mood. Now the little demon shifted to a pale pink. The stranger in their midst had unsettled him somewhat.

"Welcome. We don't get many new faces in here," the barkeep said as he rubbed obsessively at the counter with a dirty rag. "We're all keeping a low profile. So you'll have to forgive the boys if they're a little nervous."

"No problem, mate," Spike said. "Understandable."

He could see, from the corner of his eye, the demons nearest to him visibly relax. He wondered why, then realized this was the first he had spoken since entering, revealing himself as an Englishman, one of them. Of course they would feel more certain of a fellow countryman than of a foreigner, because they all depended on each other here, to stay alive, to keep safe from the dreaded Council.

Until he had arrived here, Spike hadn't had a clue as to what the Watchers Council did nowadays, since one of the Slayers had brushed them off and the other sat in jail. Now they kept busy with purging Britain of the pestilence of demons, starting with its crown jewel of London. Spike had had a couple of close calls himself this week and had almost taken the next flight back to the States -- until he had remembered those vamps in California who had talked so casually about killing Buffy. As for this place, if the Council found out about it, they'd put it out of business before sunrise, probably with a few well-placed bombs. The Council liked bombs.

Upon hearing Spike's accent, the bartender also relaxed, and his skin returned to its normal fire-red hue. "What can I get for you, then? We had a good shipment of A-positive come in this morning. Nice and fresh."

"Actually," Spike said, "I'm looking for information."

Again, conversations hushed around them.

The bartender gulped. "You're in the wrong place, then. We just serve drinks here."

Spike had encountered this same fear at other places, and by now he had practice in how to handle it: Small, careful steps. He thickened his accent as he said, "Oh, I think I'm in exactly the right place. See, I'm looking for a bloke named Carlos, and word is that he comes here a lot. I don't mean him any harm. I just want to talk."

A three-eyed demon a couple seats down shook his finger at Spike. "We don't know any Carlos, and maybe it would be best for you to leave. We don't want trouble."

Murmurs of agreement rose from several patrons.

"That's right," said another. "We don't know who you're talking about."

"Yeah. Just leave!"

So much for civility. These guys were too paranoid to believe a stranger might have decent intentions. Time to try another approach. Spike slipped into game face as he casually reached across the counter, grabbed the bartender's shirt and yanked him closer. He growled, "You're going to tell me where he is."

The barkeep's skin molted white, and he trembled. "Or what? You gonna kill me? The boys here would rip you apart in a second if you tried."

"Then why do I smell fear?" Spike asked, deadly quiet.

Another vampire, clean-cut and nicely dressed, stood up in the corner, away from the bar and half-hidden in shadows. He held up his hand and said, "Enough. We don't want any trouble here. I am Carlos." He nodded as Spike looked his way. "That's right. You've found me. Now let him go."

Finally, some luck comes my way, Spike thought as he pushed the bartender back and made his way across the room, the crowd parting before him. Behind him, he could hear the barkeep muttering about short-tempered vampires.

Spike stopped directly in front of the man who called himself Carlos. He looked too neat, like an accountant or a librarian, certainly not anyone's connection to a demon Mafia. Yet his pale skin marked him as a vampire. Perhaps this pansy was the one Spike needed to talk to, after all.

After a few tense seconds, Spike extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm William."

Carlos cautiously shook his hand and gestured to the table. "Have a seat."

Tension eased throughout the pub, and Spike guessed at why: If Carlos thought well enough of the stranger to invite him to his table, then he must be all right. The demons turned away in earnest this time, going back to their drinks and gossip with nervous laughter, granting the two vampires some privacy.

"So," Carlos said as they sat down, "what can I do for you, William? It must be rather important, that you would risk such a confrontation to find me."

"I'm looking for the Big Man."

Carlos smiled, amused. "Straight to the point. I like that."

"I find that's the best way to gain trust," Spike said in all honesty. Creating trust early meant he could lie later and be believed. "The Big Man has something going down soon in America. At least, that's word on the street. I want in on the action."

"Why? What's the Big Man to you?"

This time, Spike gave him a half-truth. "He's a means to an end. I don't care much about whatever he has planned, only if it means I get a crack at the Slayer."

"Ah," Carlos said, smiling again. "Well, William, I will let you in on a secret. You're a little late. The Big Man has already left for California. In fact, he might be there already. But," he added, as Spike's face fell, "I've been directed to send new recruits to meet him in Sunnydale. The more vampires there, the more powerful the spell."

Spike leaned closer. "What spell?"

"To open the Hellmouth, of course."

"And the Slayer?"

"She'll show. You'll get your chance at her." Carlos took a sip of blood from his mug without spilling a drop on his well-tailored suit. "I like you, William. You remind me of my younger days, when I too had that passion for killing. So I'm going to do you a favor and, as you say, let you in on the action. You want to meet the Big Man? All you need is the password."

Ah, yes, the information he needed. "Tell me."

Carlos looked around them, making certain they had no eavesdroppers, then whispered, "du Lac."

Spike was taken back, as that name brought up memories of an earlier time, of curing Drusilla after they had first arrived in Sunnydale. It seemed lifetimes ago. "As in Josephus du Lac? Wasn't he into some powerful magics? Dark spells. Vampire restoration and such?"

"You know your history," Carlos said, nodding in respect. "But some of his spells are much more powerful, and dangerous, as you will soon learn." He rose from his seat and straightened his blazer. "Now, unless there's something else I can do for you ..."

Spike also stood. "No. Nothing else. You've been very helpful."

"My pleasure."

As Spike nodded in farewell and swept from the pub, all eyes once again on him, he strained to hold back a grin. Not only had the poof given him the key to infiltrating the Big Man's gang, but he also had granted Spike an excuse to return to Sunnydale. Maybe he would see Buffy and Dawn again ... just a glimpse of them, anyway. He suddenly felt in such a good mood that he sang old Ramones tunes all the way back to his hotel.

#

Spike wasn't the least bit surprised to find a guest waiting in his room. Whistler came and went indiscriminately, sometimes vanishing for days before making another appearance. Now he lounged on Spike's bed, munching on chips and watching TV. He licked the crumbs off his fingers and grinned as Spike entered.

"The hero returns," he said, no sarcasm in his voice.

"I'm no hero," Spike snorted, "and I don't want to be. That's the Slayer's gig, and she can keep it."

"Testy tonight, aren't we?"

"It's your bloody fault that I'm here in the first place," Spike muttered as he crashed on the bed beside Whistler. He pulled his cigarettes from his back pocket and lit one up. "I would've never left except for you showing up out of nowhere and turning my life on its head."

"News flash: You're dead, so it's kinda hard for you to have a life, per se. Besides, you're the one who chose to leave Sunnydale. All I did was supply you with information."

"Oh, yeah, there's a choice. Stay, and you're gonna get the woman you love killed." He took a soothing puff at his cig, and rolled over to regard the demon. "What are you doing here, anyway? You never come by just to chat."

"I'm here to warn you."

"Surprise, surprise."

Whistler sat up and pressed the remote button to turn off the TV. "I'm serious here. I know what you're thinkin', and you can't go back to Sunnydale. It will end badly. Remember all those dreams you've been having? The Powers are sendin' them to you for a reason."

"Hey," Spike said, startled. "How do you know about my dreams?"

"Hello. Connection to the Powers." He leaned forward intently. "Look, nothin' is written in the stars. There is no such thing as an unavoidable fate. But this one is as close as they come. I'm telling you, if you go back, either you or your Slayer is going to end up dead."

"If I don't go back, there are no maybes -- she will end up dead," Spike retorted. "I have information she needs about a plot that could kill her and her little sis. This is what you asked me to do, stop the bad guys before they can get to her. It just so happens that to do that, I have to go back to the source."

"I can't stop you --"

"No, you can't," Spike said curtly.

"But I strongly advise against it."

"I'm going. End of discussion."

"Fine," Whistler said as he slid off the bed and headed to the door. "But when you end up dead or cryin' over her grave, don't say I didn't warn ya."

Whistler left, and Spike laid out on the bed, thinking. His cigarette smoldered to ashes in his hand, without his notice. What if Whistler was right, and this could only end in death? Then he would just have to make sure that Buffy survived, no matter the consequences. At least he would see her one last time before he went. Bloody hell, I'm whipped for sure. Caring more for her life than my own.

He snuffed out the cigarette, rolled off the bed and started packing his few belongings into his duffel. The sun would rise soon, so he could do nothing else tonight, but he planned to be checked out at sunset and back in the States before another 24 hours had passed.

#

If Dawn could express her excitement without drawing unneeded attention, she would have. Climb to the roof of the Magic Box, jump up and down and yell out for everyone to hear: She had found the spell. That elusive locator spell really did exist, in the back of a thick book she had found stuffed behind jars of sage and chicken feet in the magic shop basement. She felt certain that Willow had personally hidden the book there, knowing Dawn wanted the spell and didn't like going into the spooky basement. She might never have stumbled onto it except that Anya had asked her to restock the salamander eyes.

Now, all she needed were supplies. She ran one fingertip down the short list: a map (she had a U.S. map at home and that should be plenty big enough), a few stinky chemicals she could snitch from stock in the basement, and a Charm of Atlas. She didn't have that one, but the book handily provided a color sketch in actual size. It looked like a necklace pendant, shaped like a sword with a small blue jewel in the hilt. Dawn was half-certain Willow had one, which would make sense as she had done the spell before.

The magic itself seemed simple enough -- certainly easier than her attempt to bring back her mother. She should be able to work it, assuming she could get her hands on Willow's charm and wheedle some time away from her over-attentive guardians. Shouldn't be too difficult, as she had been left with Anya every night for the past week while Buffy, Willow and Xander went out on group patrol. The three friends were so distracted by the influx of vampires coming into town that they hardly had time to notice little Dawny.

"Dawn!" Anya's voice drifted downstairs. "Have you found those eyes yet? There's a customer up here who would like them now."

Oops. In her excitement, she had forgotten her original reason for being down here. "Yeah, I've got 'em! I'm coming up."

With the ingredient list committed to memory, she slipped the book back behind the jars of chicken feet -- no sense in taking it until she had everything she needed -- grabbed the bottle of salamander eyes and raced upstairs.

#

Buffy knelt in the winter-browned grass, in front of an expectant Xander and Willow, who were blowing into their chapped hands. The crypt loomed behind them. Buffy whispered, "It's definitely another nest. There are maybe six or seven vamps inside, plus some guy chained to the wall."

"Human?" Willow asked.

"I think so," Buffy said, "but it was hard to get a good look."

"All right then," Xander said, all business, "what's the plan, Buff?"

Buffy sighed and looked over her shoulder at the crypt. She really really didn't want to do this, to clean out another nest. This would make the third one in as many nights. She hadn't seen so many vampires in Sunnydale in months; most had arrived in town recently, judging from the makeshift set-up of their hideouts, but for what, she couldn't guess. It probably was related to the blueprints, which meant it had something to do with the Hellmouth, which equaled bad in the worst sense of the word.

As she studied the crypt, one of the cemetery's larger ones and also the site of the previous night's staking fest, Buffy began to feel like she was stomping ants: Kill a few, knock over their hill, and suddenly you're bombarded by the little suckers. In the past week, it seemed for every vampire she dusted, five more took its place. She had to keep stomping, though, however futile her actions seemed.

"We'll do it pretty much like the past couple of nights," Buffy said. "I go in first and get their attention. You two follow, do just enough to push them off balance and get the human out."

"Gotcha," Xander said, then started ticking items off on his fingers. "Surprise vampires, free helpless human guy, run like hell. Sounds like a good plan."

"And be careful," Buffy emphasized. "Watch each other's backs. No heroics, OK?"

Willow snorted. "Trust me, I'm feeling very non-heroic this evening."

"Glad to hear it," Buffy said. She took a couple of deep breaths to gather her nerve. "Let's do it."

They slunk toward the crypt, Buffy in the lead. A glance back confirmed that Xander and Willow had their weapons in hand: crossbows, and holy water in tiny, fragile glass vials. Buffy carried only her stake. She cracked open the crypt door and peered inside. One vampire was feeding on the deathly pale human, whose wrists were chained above his head, and the other vamps had crowded in a circle nearby to pass around a bottle of alcohol. Drunk, Buffy thought with relief. That should make this a bit easier.

She nodded the go-ahead to her friends, then kicked open the door and marched inside. The stink of cigarette smoke and blood assailed her senses, and she coughed. Couldn't demons at least learn some basic sanitation? The vampires, all male, scrambled unsteadily to their feet as Buffy smirked down on them from the top of a short staircase. The feeding vampire wrenched away from his prey, blood trickling down his chin, and his victim groaned weakly. At least the guy was still alive.

"You're having a party, and you didn't invite me?" Buffy asked, pouting. "I'm hurt, really. I hope you don't mind that I'm crashing."

One of the vampires smashed the alcohol bottle against the wall, splintering glass everywhere and leaving a jagged weapon in his hand. "It's the Slayer," he growled. "Get her!"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Here we go again."

They vamped out and rushed at her. Buffy knew she couldn't take them all at once, so she focused on the one with the broken bottle, who appeared to be the leader. She dove off the staircase, right at him, and they crashed to the floor. The others closed around, then she heard the sound of breaking glass vials and the vampires started smoking and running. Willow and Xander had arrived with the holy water.

Meanwhile, the Buffy's opponent had rolled them over, with him on top and the broken bottle inches from her neck. She pushed him off, and they both jumped to their feet. She punched his face, then aimed a roundhouse kick for his weapon. The bottle went flying. Buffy kicked him again, and he stumbled back against the wall, where she staked him.

She turned and frantically looked for her friends, who had backed into the crypt's opposite corner. They seemed to be out of holy water and crossbow bolts, but they must have dusted a vamp or two because only four were left, all of whom were closing in around them. In the few precious seconds it would take Buffy to cross the crypt, Xander and Willow might already be dead.

"Hey! Over here!" Buffy yelled, but the vampires didn't take the bait, apparently choosing to focus on the easier targets. "I killed your leader you morons, so come and get me!"

Still, the vamps closed in on Xander and Willow, who huddled together. Buffy ran toward them. She had only made it halfway across the crypt when the biggest vampire grabbed Xander by the throat and lifted him. Xander's eyes widened in disbelief as his toes dangled inches off the ground, and he made strangling noises.

Buffy had made it three-quarters of the way there when Willow yelled in Latin, pushed out with her palm and all four vampires flew across the room. Buffy dove for the floor and felt cold air whoosh across her back a vamp sailed overhead, crashed against a wall and slid down, unconscious. A dense cloud of dust erupted from where Willow stood and pushed outward, making it difficult for Buffy to see anything, let alone fight.

Xander fell on the floor at Willow's feet, and he rubbed at his neck. Willow, blacked-out eyes drooping, slumped into the corner and slid downward. It didn't matter because three remaining vampires were fighting each other to get through the door. The unconscious one looked like he would be out for a while.

Buffy ran to her friends. "Oh my god, Xander! Willow! Are you guys OK? I mean, when I saw that vampire lift you off the ground I thought ... I mean ... oh my god."

Xander waved her off and rose to his feet under his own power. "It's all right. We're all right, Buffy. But if Willow hadn't done her magic thing there ... I don't know, but I think that vamp was about to rip my head off. Literally."

"Magic. Oh god." Buffy knelt by Willow and shook her shoulder. No reaction. She felt at Willow's neck for a pulse and relaxed a little as she found it, steady and strong. "She's just passed out."

"But why? I mean, Willow is, like, a witch extraordinaire. One spell shouldn't have affected her like that."

"I don't know." Buffy stood and pushed back a few strands of hair that escaped her ponytail. "Maybe it's because she hasn't done any magic at all for the past few weeks. Maybe it's like athletic training, that if you stop, you get out of shape and it's hard to get back into it right away."

"Maybe. Oh, look, her nose is bleeding." Xander pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and knelt down to wipe her face. At his touch, Willow stirred and moaned weakly. "Hey, I think she's coming around."

Willow opened her eyes, back at normal color, and said, "Did we win?"

"Yeah," Buffy said, soothingly. "Most of them got away, but we're all OK."

"And that guy who was chained up?"

Buffy's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, I forgot."

She hurried over to the man, who was passed out and slumping against his chains. Bite marks covered his neck and bare chest, and his wrists were raw and bloody from where he had pulled against the handcuffs. Buffy ran her fingertips lightly over him, assessing damage, then pressed her hand flat against his chest. She could hardly feel his heartbeat.

"He's alive, but only barely. We need to get him to a hospital." She yanked on the chains, which held secure to the wall. "Is there a, um, a key or something? A way to get these handcuffs off him?"

Xander pointed. "There's something shiny over there, on top of the sarcophagus. Yep," he said, holding it up. "It's a key."

He brought it over and unlocked the cuffs. Buffy caught the man as he fell forward, then eased him to the floor. Willow joined them, although it looked like her legs might give out at any moment.

"Willow, can you walk?" Buffy asked.

"Give me a few minutes to recover. I'll be OK."

She looked at them both. "All right, then. Take a couple more minutes, then get this guy out of here and to the nearest house. Call 9-1-1 or something. Just get him to a hospital."

"What about you, Buff?" Xander said. "We could use your help carrying him."

"You can handle it." Buffy looked at their other unconscious patient, the vampire crumpled against the wall. "I have something else I need to take care of."

#

After Xander and Willow had left, leaning on each other as much as carrying that man, Buffy chained the vampire to the wall and slapped him across the face until he revived. He looked dazed for a moment, then, catching on to his situation, growled and yanked at the chains. Buffy stood just out of reach, arms crossed and a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"Doesn't feel too good, does it?" she asked smugly. "Chained up. Helpless. Unable to run or fight. It's downright scary."

"Let me go!"

"Oh, I don't think so." She moved closer, trailed the key down the vampire's collarbone. "You see, you're the first vampire we've managed to capture recently. So before anything else happens, you're going to answer some questions for me."

The vampire spat.

"Now that wasn't very nice," Buffy said, wiping off her face. Then she punched him, and his head snapped back. "Who sent you here? Who do you work for?"

He snorted. "You actually think I'm going to tell you that?"

"A vampire with loyalty. Huh." She pulled a stake from her coat pocket and tossed it between her hands. "That's pretty surprising, since most vampires are more interested in saving their own skin than in protecting someone else's. It's part of the whole demon-soulless thing, I think."

"What are you talking about, Slayer?"

"I'm talking about killing you. As in, if you talk, you walk. If you don't talk ..." She rammed the stake into his shoulder, and the vampire whimpered. "Then, we're gonna be here for a while. Until I get tired of hurting you, and then I'm going to kill you."

The vampire slumped forward and shook his head. "I can't talk. I'm dead if I do."

Buffy yanked the stake out of his shoulder and pressed it over his heart. "You're dead if you don't. At least if you talk and I let you go, you have a running start on whoever might be after you."

"You don't understand," the vampire said, flinching away from the stake, then wincing as the movement aggravated the wound in his shoulder. "You don't know the Big Man. He'll find me. He has ways ..."

"The Big Man?" Buffy asked. "Who's that? Is that your boss?"

The vampire's eyes widened in horror, that he had revealed so much. He started trembling with a force to snap bones and, in a move that took Buffy by complete surprise, lurched forward onto the stake. It sunk into his heart, and Buffy found herself holding her weapon steady against a cloud of dust. The empty chains clattered against the wall. She stared at them in dumb amazement.

"He staked himself," she muttered to no one. "He would rather stake himself than face his boss. That's just ... weird."

She tucked away her stake, did one last scan of the crypt to make sure she hadn't missed any clues and, satisfied that nothing was there, went outside. After all the dust floating about the crypt, the cool winter air felt like balm for her lungs, and she breathed in and out a few times just to see the little clouds puffing from her mouth. Cold and crisp. A perfect winter night.

Yet something was missing from this scene. Oh, yes. Now would be about the time he would come strutting around, her neutered vampire in black leather. He always showed up at the most annoying times, catching her alone, after a fight, when her adrenaline was pumping and her skin felt searing hot. It was at those times she was most vulnerable to his sultry charisma, like she would melt if he touched her. If he kissed her...

No, no, no, she thought firmly. No kissing. No Spike. He left me, and he's not coming back. Just like Angel, and Riley, and Giles...

Buffy pushed those brooding thoughts aside as she tucked her hands in her pockets and hurried toward the magic shop. She would do fine on her own, without any man in her life, because men equaled trouble. Much more important to focus on other things, like taking Dawn home and assuring Anya that her husband-to-be had survived another night of patrol. Plus, she needed to call the hospital to make sure Xander and Willow had arrived without incident.

Most important of all, she had to find out what was going on with the undead convention. So as she walked, she replayed her conversation with the vampire. The Big Man. That's what the vamp had said. Sounded like the bad guy in some cheesy Mafia movie, the head honcho who petted a fluffy white cat and whose face you never saw. Or was that from James Bond films? Didn't matter. The important thing was that they now had a little more information. Buffy hoped it was the key to unlock this mystery, because she had a suspicion that time was running out.

#

TBC ...