Maybe it was his infection, maybe it was the fact that every single nerve ending that he still possessed was absolutely and painfully raw, maybe he was just more open to all the weird shit that could happen because of a long afterlife trapped with all the things that went bump in the night or maybe he was just weirdly attuned to the vibe of Willow's magic, but he'd felt it happen. Whatever the cause, it was definitely had been enough to have him kick away the sheets around him (which took a few tries to be done properly) and to get him the fuck out of his damn bed.
Not that that was the smartest thing to do, which he figured out the instant he stood on both of his legs. His head swam and his legs threatened to buckle out from under him, until he finally found support against a wall. From then on, it was just a matter of sheer willpower, until he managed to take tentative steps down the hall which eventually led him to the elevator, which up up and up until he almost there.
And when the chilly night air, Spike drew in a deep breath and braced himself against the door. "Red," he started, knowing that it wasn't loud enough. "Willow," he tried again, hoping that this time, she would have heard him.