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If You Like Piña Coladas
By itmustbetuesday

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Spike tapped his heel impatiently as the girl behind the counter stood on her tiptoes and stretched her arm to retrieve his preferred brand of cigarettes. What the hell did they start stacking them on the top shelf for, anyway? Did they know that they were going to hire a vertically challenged clerk who wouldn’t have the good sense to get a footstool or a ladder or a pair of sodding stilts to help her reach them? Was this some sort of conspiracy to keep the Big Bad nicotine-deprived without the option of human violence to soothe him?

If he wasn’t so frustrated he wouldn’t need them. But he was frustrated because he had to wait for them. Did that make them good or bad?

Hell, they’d be good if he had ‘em. But no.

Wait he must, with no cigarette to calm his nerves and remind him that he can’t rip the stupid bint’s head off for taking ten minutes to reach for a bloody pack of cigarettes.

“I think I almost got ‘em,” the clerk announced perkily, though her hopping up and down on both feet contradicted her.

Spike winced. The girl must’ve known Harmony in a past life. Or this one. Harmony was Buffy’s age, after all.

A loud clap of thunder was the only warning to the raging downpour that soon followed.

“What the hell?” Spike muttered, leaning to the side so he could see through the glass doors.

The clerk, whose firm ass was the only redeeming quality she possessed, stopped in her attempt to reach the cigarettes and followed his gaze.

“Oh my God, is it raining?”

Spike rolled his eyes. Brilliant. Not only does the chit not have a clue, but it seems she’ll never get the bloody fags. And top it off—

“Yeah, it’s raining,” he answered as civilly as he could.

“Oh. Well, I can’t reach your cigarettes, so… would you like to try a different brand or something?”

Yeah, right. The only thing she could reach would be the chick cigarettes or the chewing tobacco. “Here’s a novel idea. Why don’t I just reach up and grab ‘em?”

The clerk giggled flirtatiously in response.

Oh, hell.

 

Spike scoffed at the sissies running out of the supermarket toward their cars, their coats pulled high over their heads in an effort to ward off the falling rain.

“You live on the Hellmouth and you’re afraid that the rain’ll hurt you?”

He continued towards his crypt, itching to pull out a cigarette. He’d wait until he was inside where it was warm and dry before having one, though. Well, the crypt was more of the dark and damp, but anything was better than lighting up amidst this downpour. It was bearing down almost painfully once he reached the cemetery.

“Isn’t this a desert climate we live in?” he grumbled at the skies.

Oblivious to the world around him, Spike tripped over something on the ground. He managed to regain his footing before falling on his face.

“Bloody hell!”

“Spike?”

He looked at his feet, surprised to see Buffy lying on her stomach, her fingers clawing at the muddy grass.

“Slayer?

“Something’s wrong…” she grumbled, trying with difficulty to push off the wet ground.

Spike’s eyes narrowed as he looked her over. She was moving funny, like she was half asleep or drugged. Without thinking further, Spike bent over and scooped her into his arms, carrying her towards the safety of his crypt.

“Bloody hell, luv,” he muttered once they were inside. “You’re colder than I am.”

“S-Since when… d-d-does it rain in… the m-middle of O-October?” she managed to ask through chattering teeth.

Spike gently lowered her shivering body onto one of the sarcophagi, pulling strands of wet hair from her face.

“What happened?” he asked, removing his soaked jacket and tossing it on the armchair before returning to her side.

Buffy continued to shake, and for a while Spike thought she wasn’t going to answer.

“There was a d-d-demon. Damn thing st-stole my broadsword. Cut my arm.” She slowly lifted her right arm and indicated her left shoulder, and through the tear in the jacket Spike could see a small gash. “I’ve been w-w-weak ever since. It ran off w-w-when it st-started to rain. I crawled over, h-h-hoping you c-c-could do something.”

Spike lifted her so that she was sitting up and pulled off her jacket so he could get a closer look at the gash. Sure enough, there was something purple tinting her blood.

“Damn it.”

“What?” Buffy asked in alarm, her head lolling on his arm.

Spike sighed. “I don’t know what the buggers are called, but they’ve got this purple venom in their claws that weakens their opponent. It’s not something that’s easily reversed.”

“What?” she squeaked.

“I don’t mean it’s permanent. It just takes awhile to get out of your system. A couple of days—”

“Wha—D-Days?”

“Sorry, luv. You’re lucky it started raining when it did, though. Blighter might’ve gotten you for good.”

“What do you mean? D-Do they not like rain?”

“Hate it, actually. Burns their flesh worse than holy water. Saw one get shoved of a ship and it dissolved like a bloody Alka-Seltzer.”

Buffy nodded in understanding and continued to shiver. “Days?” she repeated, her voice small like a child’s

Spike smiled and touched her face. “You’ll be alright. Christ, you’re so cold.”

Buffy leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. “Never thought… I’d get that from a v-vampire.”

“Here,” he said, pulling her up again. “You need to get out of these wet clothes.”

Her eyes snapped open. “What? No!”

“You’re soaked, love, and I’m not gonna let you die of bloody pneumonia.”

Buffy protested weakly as he removed her jacket and started lifting her shirt. “Spike…”

He looked her in the eye. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Buffy.”

“Right,” she grumbled. Off his hurt look she apologized. “Sorry. It’s just, well… don’t look.”

Spike smirked. “Oh, I’m gonna look, Slayer.”

“Spike!”

He chuckled as she attempted to push him off her, but she was weaker than a day old kitten. She whimpered as he pulled off her pants, leaving her only in her wet underwear.

“C’mon, let’s get you downstairs,” he said, lifting her off of the sarcophagus and carrying her towards the ladder.

Buffy clutched onto him with as much strength as she could muster. “Don’t drop me.”

Spike’s jaw clenched and he held her firmly against him. “I won’t let you fall, love.”

“Be careful!” she squealed as one of his wet boots slid on a step.

“Right,” he muttered in embarrassment as he regained his balance. Buffy was breathing heavily against his neck. “Don’t worry,” he said calmingly as he continued down the ladder. “Gonna get you warmed up, and then we’ll take you home when the rain stops.”

“W-What if it doesn’t stop ‘til morning?”

“Uh…”

He hadn’t thought of that.

“Well, I suppose I could take you through the sewers.”

“Um, ew.”

“Or I could go by myself and get one of your friends to come by.”

“That could work,” she assented as he lowered her onto the bed.

He must’ve been staring, because when he noticed Buffy’s face he saw that her eyes were lowered and her cheeks were pink. Spike coughed and focused on wrapping the sheets around her.

“I feel like a burrito,” Buffy grumbled as he tucked the fabrics tightly beneath her. Spike couldn’t suppress the resulting leer.

“A Buffy burrito, eh? Sounds tasty.”

“Spike!”

“C’mon, Slayer,” he chuckled. “Can’t bounce one joke off you tonight, can I?”

“It’s not as tolerable when I can’t smack you for it.”

“I’ll admit, that does take some of the fun out of it.”

He stood back once he got her settled, noticing that she really did look a Buffy burrito. At least she’d get warm. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A little.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where’re you going?” she asked, panic widening her eyes.

“To change. Don’t worry, nothin’s gonna get you while I’m gone.”

Buffy scoffed. “Like I need you to protect me.”

Spike might’ve been hurt by her statement if she’d sounded the least bit confident about her words. Besides, he knew she needed him. If he had a soul he might’ve hated himself for loving this situation. Wet, naked Buffy all curled up in his bed, totally defenseless. Yet even soulless vampires can manage to be gentlemen.

But only if they try really, really hard.

 

Buffy watched Spike climb the ladder. She couldn’t remember being this cold. How long had she been crawling in the rain? It seemed like hours, but it couldn’t have been that long. Or maybe the venom Spike had mentioned distorted a person’s perception of time, and she’d been crawling for days. Considering how cold she was, it seemed a possibility.

Buffy could feel the water from her hair and her underwear soaking into the sheets beneath her. She really should’ve taken her underwear off, but being wet, naked, and totally defenseless in front of Spike? Not something she was gunning for. Unless he was wet and naked too, which he probably was right now if he were changing…

Bad, bad Buffy!

She hid her blushing cheeks beneath the sheets even though he wasn’t there to notice. Recently she’d been having lusty thoughts about Spike. Well, that wasn’t entirely new. But it hadn’t been a daily occurrence before, either.

Although she was tightly wrapped, Buffy managed to roll onto her side and curl into a fetal position, which made her feel slightly warmer. She closed her eyes when she felt tears forming, trying hard not to think or she would discover why she wanted to cry.

Buffy didn’t want to cry. Buffy didn’t want to be cold, or wet, or be embarrassed because Spike saw her mismatched underwear. Part of her just wanted to close her eyes and be what she had been before.

But a larger part of her wanted to be where she was after.

“Buffy?”

His soft voice prompted her to open her eyes. Her vision was blurred by tears, but she could see the curious concern on his face as he sat on the bed beside her.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, tentatively caressing her cheek.

“Everything’s normal one minute,” she began, not daring to look at him. “And the next… I feel like I can’t take it. Things that never bothered me make me want to kill myself, and...”

She was pulled into a sitting position before she finished speaking, Spike’s hands gripping her shoulders as he looked her fiercely in the eye.

“Don't. Don’t even think things like that.”

“Spike, you don’t understand,” she argued, fat tears rolling off her chin. “It’s not just that there isn’t money or that I have to be the Slayer again. It’s everything. Having to breathe, having to eat, having to walk around and pretend like everything’s back to normal. It hurts.”

He sighed. “You don’t have to pretend like everything’s normal.”

“Yes, I do.”

“What,” he scoffed, “for them? Buffy, they did this to you. Why act like what they did was a blessing when it’s hurting you?”

“Because if they know then nothing will ever be normal again. And… I need it, Spike. I need something normal. Everything’s so different.”

Spike regarded her lovingly as he brushed away her tears. Buffy’s eyes lowered, watching his fingers move gently against her skin. Her voice was small when she spoke.

“Everything... except for you.”

Spike pulled his hand away and narrowed his eyes, as if he were trying to see through to her brain.

“Why am I the only one who knows?” he asked after a lengthy silence.

Buffy wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“I mean, how do you know I won’t go and blab the truth to those people you call friends?”

“Because you won’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I trust you.”

Spike chuckled softly, his chin falling to his chest as he tried to hide his amusement from her.

“Spike,” she whispered.

He lifted his head.

“What am I going to do?”

He smiled, and in that moment Buffy really wished she could move so that she could kiss him.

“You’ll do what you need to, love. That’s what you’ve always done.”

Closing her eyes, Buffy leaned forward until she was against his chest. Spike hesitated before wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his lips moving against her wet hair, “I’m glad you’re here. I wish you were happier, but any of you is better than nothing at all.”

Buffy pulled her arms free of the sheets and wrapped them around his neck. She wished that she could give him something—anything—for being there for her. But Buffy knew that what he wanted was her, and she couldn’t give herself to him.

Then again, maybe she could.

“Um… would it be okay if I stayed here?”

He lowered his eyes to the top of her head. “What?”

Buffy met his eyes. “Until tomorrow. Could I just stay here?”

Spike looked stunned, but after a moment he nodded, a smile appearing briefly on his face. “Yeah.”

He was about to pull away so that she could lie back down when she leaned against him again, closing her eyes and expelling a long breath. Spike kept one arm around her, being so daring as to place his hand on her hip. He had to be gentle with this girl, especially now.

“Stupid rain,” she muttered.

Spike smiled. “I dunno, pet. It’s not so bad.”
 

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