Title: The Spike Experience
Author: Blue Zen
Email: i.love.spike@bloodyhell.co.uk
Distribution: Any archives that want it, take it! I’d love an e-mail with your site address though…
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Willow casts a spell, Spike has to suffer
Notes: Thanks to everyone who’s responded to this fic. Like every fanfic writer, I live off feedback so drop me a line.

Seven:


Buffy was in the cafeteria when she heard the rumours.

It had felt like a normal, Sunnydale afternoon, where the demons took a backseat to Psychology lectures and all was right for the moment, but then someone had sat at the table opposite, opened their mouths and suddenly, the nice normal afternoon fell to pieces, shattering her good mood.

Of course, she had been worried about Willow but it had seemed like a little thing that she could handle on her own. What was it Giles had said? Wait for a balance to be reached then try to cancel the spell. It sounded simple enough - all Willow had to do was stay home and wait patiently until… until what? Buffy had looked out the window at that point, watching as clouds floated lazily through a pale blue sky.

The conversations around her had stopped suddenly when she stood up, knocking her plastic chair to the floor but she didn’t bother to look back at the gaping faces as she ran through the door.

Her bag slammed against her side and blonde hair floated wildly around her face as she sprinted down the corridor, sliding around a corner then pushed past a group of students standing at the entrance. As Buffy’s eyes became accustomed to the bright sunshine, she caught her bearings then started running again.

There was a crowd in front of her building. A whispering mass which was silenced now and again by a woman screaming.

As Buffy came closer she recognised Willow’s voice, twisted by pain and fear.

“It burns,” she screamed, struggling against the impenetrable wall of people. “I’m burning.” Her screams were followed by the same words, sobbed over and over.

Buffy elbowed her way through the mass of onlookers, sliding her jacket from her shoulders. When she reached Willow, she carefully dropped her bag and brought the jacket over her friends head. The sobbing slowly stopped.

She turned to the crowd, “Wow, that was great performance art, wasn’t it?”

The students as a whole looked unconvinced but still, they began to wonder off in various directions.

Buffy looked into Willow’s red, swollen eyes, raising an eyebrow, “I think we should go see Spike.”

Her friend nodded silently then allowed herself to be steered towards the cemetery, her pale hands clutching the jacket over her head and shoulders.

The early afternoon sunshine was making Willow nervous. She could feel the heat of the sun pounding down on her legs and the pain was becoming unbearable.

Buffy caught her when she stumbled, grasping her arm and pulling her back onto her feet. “Willow, you’re not going to burn in the sunlight, believe me.”

The redhead shook her head, her eyes glazed with effort, “Its going to kill me, I can feel it burning.”

Her friend closed her eyes. Please let Giles undo this soon, she chanted inwardly, I don’t want to see her go through bloodlust.

They wandered on, Willow becoming increasingly groggy until Buffy, seeing the cemetery in the distance, lifted her up and carried her the last hundred yards.

The crypt door was slightly ajar when they arrived and the slayer called out to Spike before pushing it open. She strode over to the neatly made bed and set Willow on it.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” Spike’s voice came from further inside the edifice.

Buffy peered into the gloom, “Can you help her?”

Spike moved into the half-light. “Help her? I can’t even help my bloody self.”

She held her breath as he staggered forward, clutching the wall for support. The skin of his hands and feet were blistered and the top of his forehead was black with soot. He felt his way along the wall until he came to a chair, onto which he painfully collapsed.

Willow opened her eyes, wincing as the pain in her legs increased. A strange sensation overcame her - as she looked at Spike and he returned her gaze, she saw both him and herself. They both stared intently at one another until a cough from the doorway interrupted their thoughts.

“I should really get over to Giles - see what he makes of this whole situation,” Buffy stated. “Willow, don’t go out again. Not in daylight and you,” she fixed her gaze on Spike, “If you try anything… well, I’m sure you won’t.”

She slipped out of the crypt, carefully closing the door behind her.

Willow listened to her friend’s retreating footsteps. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-” she started but Spike raised his hand to silence her.

“I know, I’ve had the pleasure of your guilt for the last twelve bloody hours and I have one thing to say.” He reached into his shirt pocket, biting his lip as the material came in contact with a patch of burned skin, and drew out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “Lighten up.”

“Lighten up?” she raised her eyebrows an octave. “Is that it? Wisdom from a hundred year old vampire condensed into two words?”

He fumbled with the lighter and it slipped from his hands. Spike looked at it forlornly - the floor, in his present condition, looked a long way away.

Willow followed his gaze then stood up shakily and moved over to the lighter. She picked it up, flicked it open and watched as Spike lit his cigarette then took a drag. She moved to replace it in his pocket but he stopped her, remembering the pain. Their hands brushed each other gently.

She fell backwards, almost hitting a bed post. He simply stared at his left hand.

“Did you feel that?” she asked, incredulously.

Spike nodded, mutely.




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