A/N: Sorry about both the super long wait and the super short story, but between writer's block, schoolwork, and marching band, I've barely had time to breathe. Please review telling me what you think of this chapter, and I'll try to get the next one up as soon as humanly possible.

Chapter 6

I slowly drifted into consciousness. When I was able to open my eyes all the way, I saw the Buffy's lifeless body slumped on the floor a few meters away.

I stayed absolutely still. The last thing I remembered was a strong arm constricting me, that horrible feeling of suffocation, and then…nothing. Angelus must've come around here. He tried to kill me. I slowly realized, He might've killed Buffy. He could still be here.

My eyes scanned the floor until I caught sight of the cross bow I had dropped, lying just a few feet away. My muscles bunched, and I sprang into action. I rolled across the ground, scooped up the crossbow, and was kneeling next to Buffy a second later, my back to her. My crossbow was at the ready, and I was scanning the room for any signs of movement. Everything seemed still, but I wasn't about to make that mistake again.

Without turning my head, I leaned over and said urgently, "Buffy?" There was no reply. "Goddamn it, B, don't do this to me." Still, only silence. For a moment, I debated if it was worth the risk of attack to turn my attention to her. "Screw it," I finally muttered, and I whirled around so that I was facing Buffy. I rolled her onto her back. Her eyes were closed. Blood had collected and dried beneath her nostrils and around her split lip. Several purple, swollen spots dotted her face. "Buffy? Come on, wake up, B," I said. I turned my eyes her neck, taking notice of the long, thin slice right below her jugular. I stuck my index and middle finger beneath her chin and felt the strong, steady pulse of her heartbeat. I sighed in relief. Thank God.

Suddenly, she stirred. Her eyes drifted open and looked around in confusion. "What happened?" She asked weakly.

"Don't ask me, B. I only just woke up," I replied.

Slowly, she sat up, and I backed away. "Angelus…he must've knocked me out and ran…" She sounded unsure of herself.

"Why didn't the bastard just kill us?" I wondered aloud.

To this, she shrugged. "He was bleeding pretty badly when I saw him. He probably wasn't thinking too clearly," she said.

"What did he say?" I asked.

She hesitated before answering, "Nothing. He just took you out and then…" She brought a finger up under her nose and pulled it back, observing the blood that now coated the tip. "He didn't say anything," she repeated.

For whatever reason, I doubted that.

Caborca, Mexico

I was slumped over the bar counter, clutching my 5th beer bottle of the day. I'd always been told off by Angelus or Darla whenever I got this drunk in the past. They said it dulled my senses or something like that. But both were gone now, and there was no one to stop me from getting wasted.

Behind me, I could hear Dru talking with some Mexican pretty-boy. She had a steady purr in her voice, a flirtatious tone that she usually reserved for me. Nowadays, she didn't even want to look at me. I didn't even know she could speak Spanish. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing her trace a finger down Pretty-boy's arm. I snorted. Apparently, there was a lot I didn't know about Dru.

I downed the last drop of my beer, and dropped the bottle onto the floor, watching in mild interest as it shattered onto the scratched wooden floor.

"Hey, idiota! Usted sabe que va a limpiar eso?" shouted the squat, ugly man behind the counter of the bar. I rolled my head around and stared at him with glazed eyes. Even if I wasn't drunk off my arse, I understood little Spanish. The fact that it was coming from a smelly human made me even less interested.

"Piss off, Leatherface," I slurred. "I'm not interested."

The Mexican man wouldn't let up. He waddled up to me and stuck out his pug-face, trying and failing to look threatening. "¿No me oyes, gringo? Estoy hablando con usted!"

The string of foreign words sounded too jumbled. I rolled my eyes and looked drunkenly around before catching sight of another Mexican sipping a beer two seats down from me. I struggled off my chair and plodded up to him, shoved him out of the seat, and quickly drank up what was left in his bottle.

"Eso es suficiente. Tienes que salir de aquí." The bartender scuffled around the counter and tried to push me out of the way, but as soon as he touched my arm, I turned towards him, gripped his wrist, and twisted sharply. There was a snap, and the next moment, the bartender was howling, clutching his hand to his chest.

"Next time you touch me, I take it off," I snapped. I prepared to grab another beer from over the counter, when I felt someone crack a bottle over my head. I flinched and whirled around a moment later, to see a burly man looming over me, another beer bottle raised threateningly above his head.

"Creo que deberías dejar," he growled at me, lightly tapping his beer bottle against his palm.

I gingerly touched the back of my head and felt ragged flesh with thick, wet, blood. I winced and eyed the burly Mexican coldly. "That hurt," I said before punching him in the face with enough force to crumble his skull. He stumbled backwards and landed hard on the floor. I thought he was dead until he coughed out a stream of blood from what was left of his mouth.

I chuckled, grabbed another beer bottle, and snapped off the top. Preparing to take a swig, I chuckled quietly, "That's what you get for trying to mess with William the Bloo–"

I was cut off suddenly when half a dozen drunken humans simultaneously tackled me.

The fight was short, but sweet. By the time it was over, the floor was littered with corpses and bone fragments. I staggered to my feet and licked some of the blood off my fingers. "Beer and blood," I chuckled. "No better way to spend the weekend, eh, Dru?"

When there was no response, I turned to face her direction. "Dru –" I stopped dead. Drusilla was crouched over the limp form of the guy she was flirting with earlier. He was barely breathing, gurgling out oxygen from his ragged throat. When she realized I was staring at her, she turned her head up and looked at me with doe eyes.

"Look at him, Spike," she cooed, "all bloody and suffering." She looked at the broken mess in adoration. "Can I keep him, Spike? I can play with him forever."

She might as well have held a cross to my throat; it would have hurt just as much. "No, you can't keep him, Dru," I growled through clenched teeth.

"But Spike…"

I strode over, grasped the man's head between my hands, and squeezed until he stopped squirming. "You can't keep him, Dru," I repeated. She didn't reply, but just gave me a sad, pouty look, like a toddler whose favorite toy was just taken away. "Now come on, Dru," I said. "Unless you don't want the Slayer's friend to resurrect Darla after all."