When Spike would later look back at it all, he would draw some satisfaction in the fact that Rarity had such a delayed reaction. Though, he couldn’t take all the credit. The emerald fire that had burst forth to strike her had been a surprise to him as well.
To both of them, honestly. They both just sat there when it happened, staring, mesmerized, into the flames on Rarity’s stomach like the crackling sounds were the strings of some great symphony. Spike even pondered the thought to lift a claw and check if the flames were, in fact, the hot kind, but Rarity’s screams soon answered the voiceless question.
His first instinct was to scream for Twilight. She would always rush in, both a hydromogrification spell and the latest lecture of minding his responsibilities at the ready, but he remembered far too late that she would be nowhere to be found in Rarity’s inspiration room. The call went out all the same.
Rarity went silent at the sound of his cry for help, and Spike would never forget the look on her face, nothing but disbelief and incredulousness. And panic. He couldn’t forget the panic with the roaring fire going on in the background. And then the screaming started again.
No Twilight. No easy water. Water!
Spike hurriedly waved to the bathroom, but she failed to notice him with her panicked gallop around the room, skipping and bucking about like a drunken prancer. He bolted for the door himself. He’d have to fill the tub anyway. Get it running now, and then he could grab her and throw her in later.
Rarity screamed his name the moment he set foot in the halls. She stood tall on her hind legs and kicked and waved with her forehooves.
No, no, no, no! He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t forgive himself if he abandoned her when she was begging for help like this. But no water.
Only one option.
He charged.
Rarity froze at his sudden change in direction, and she nearly lost her balance from the awkward posture without her limbs thrashing about. She definitely lost her balance when Spike dove into the flames, slamming into her barrel and knocking her back into a stack of spindled fabric.
Spike snatched a roll of golden silk in the colorful rain, and he raised it high overhead. Rarity’s cries took on a different, shriller tone, but Spike paid them no mind.
WHACK!
He didn’t have time to worry or think anymore. Every second he wasted was another second for the flames to eat away at her flesh.
WHACK!
There was only the fire. Only the fire, and his responsibility to save her from it.
WHACK!
He only paused long enough to confirm the fire was still alive. And he raised the silk again.
WHACK!
Now ablaze with the same green flame he was extinguishing, Spike figured the silk couldn’t do much more harm. He brought it down once more, but this time, only his claws dropped in front of his face.
Screaming in rage, Rarity’s horn flashed, and the silk roll began to beat him over the head.
In spite of everything, he had to admire her artistic eye. Golden silk, green flame, the royal blue glow of her magic, it all made for a striking dance of colors. At least what he saw of it before covering up from her assault. He tried to shout he was only trying to help, but she chose to take that opportunity to thrust the burning brand into his mouth.
Oh.
Spike sat back. The smoke billowed down his gullet, but it affected him not at all. Nor did the flames licking the roof of his mouth.
That was right.
Rarity cast the silk into a metal waste bin, and waited. Spike had never seen a pony wait frantically before, but something in her eyes told him that was exactly what she was doing.
He slapped at the fire with his bare hands, trying to keep his claws up and away from the tender belly beneath. Bit by bit, blow by blow, he managed to beat the flames back. And back. And back, until he was finally able to smother them with both hands, snuffing them out once and for all.
Spike pulled his hands away.
Rarity drew in a sharp breath and looked down at her body.
A blackened field sat where her pristine snow-white coat belonged. A thousand apologies bubbled up in Spike’s throat as she lifted a hoof to the area. Nothing seemed liked enough. His stomach lurched at the thought of what lay under the charred surface, and he made to scoop her up and dash for the hospital.
She stayed him, and her hoof brushed away the black ashes that remained. Bare, pink, healthy skin waited underneath. Spike could hardly believe his eyes, but her horn lit once more, and a bottle floated into his claws from her desk. Fleur de Lis’ patented coat care gel. A guarantee for twenty-four hour protection against the harshest conditions slapped right on the front.
She beamed at him.
Spike snorted.
Both of them let out a great sigh, which soon turned to panting as they catched their breath from the ordeal. Which in turn became Rarity’s giggling, and the pair of them shared a good, long laugh together.
He shook his head and made his way to the bathroom to wash his hands. She followed him in after a moment, dowsing the burning silk in the toilet and dropping the pile of ashes after it. More apologies tried to come, but Spike couldn’t settle on one. It was pure luck the fire hadn’t done more damage, gel or not.
Rarity stopped as she passed him on her way out the door. She put a hoof on his shoulder, kissed his cheek, and rested her head on top of his. “Thank you for pulling out.”
