Disclaimer: Joss owns them
Rating: PG 13
Author's Notes: This won't be a masterpiece (since it's around 2am, I'm sick with the flu and I'm psycho worried about a test I have tomorrow), but I needed to write a little fixer for the premiere (which although rocked so hard, was missing one little thing: B/A!!)
Summary: "Bargaining" in a different light
Dedication: to SMG for giving the performance of her life in the premiere, and for all the B/A shippers who are forced to listen to Marti talk about our "denial", when she's the idiot who wrote the hissy fit known as "Into the Woods". This is for you, my sweeties!

Is this Hell? – Buffy

I love you. Nothing can change that. Not even death" – Angel

Fire.

Orange, red, swirly yellow.

It crawls over glass and metal, making her nostrils flare and her eyes burn with tears. Something crunches beneath her feet. She looks down but everything is blurred. She doesn't know why.

Or maybe she does.

She thinks she might be damned.

Something roars, which she thinks might be a motorcycle. Dimly, she hears the sound of alarms blaring and of shrill screams that she doesn't know and that she doesn't think she can help. Or maybe she could, if her skin didn't ache so much. Her bones feel as if they have just been born. Weak and new and choked with the yolk of birth. Her teeth chatter and they suck in her lip and bite down so hard she tastes metal and rust.

Things come at her. Their flesh is wrinkled and pierced with shots of silver. She wants to duck, to run, ((fightanddie)) but she doesn't remember how. She can barely see. The edges of her eyes seem to be turning in on themselves and she thinks she might be going blind, which might be a blessing.

Little shreds of the coffin cover linger underneath her bloody nails, and she picks at them as she stumbles through the fire and smoke and the wreckage of the town she remembers she used to live in. But where is everyone? The faces that linger on the outsides of her brain pop into view. She doesn't know their names. Red hair like fire. Paler than milk. ((ihavetoiwillalwaysloveyou)) Shaky hands that touch her with gentleness. Senseless comments. The tang of a cheek against her mouth. Must die. Must die for her. For who? Her head throbs. White sky. Pain. Nothing. Peace.

Suddenly she sees herself. It's a mirror. A reflection. It shouts- "Buffy!" and she stares, not understanding. Is she seeing herself? Her life? Engines rev. Her feet move a little and she looks again, through the haze. Strands of hair brush her mouth. They taste like dirt, and she thinks she that might be all she is. Dirt in the ground. Soil. Bones. Nothing. No one. Not herself. But who is she?

She can't remember.

But she knows she's damned.

"NOOOOOOOO!" is that her? She screams, and her throat cracks. She feels the blood sliding down, through her teeth, over the arrow of her tongue, and clotting against the back of her mouth. Pieces of the mirror- of herself- fly in separate directions, and it makes a sick squashing sound. ((closeyoureyes)) Arms and legs and the torso with the hair and the lips and the wide, wide eyes stare up into the black sky and she screams again. They all look at her. Who are they? She doesn't know.

She can't remember.

She runs. Her legs bend and bow and she hears her breath, harsh and panting. She wants to fly. She wants to jump. ((liveforme)) She wants to hide. Smoke curls through her skin and it smells grey and like death and she chokes, wondering where she is going, when she doesn't even remember who she is. ((onegirlinalltheworld)) The air is thick. She can't see. She doesn't want to see.

There are people. They look at her as if they don't know who she is either. Flinching, she looks, and thinks she knows their names. If they'd only stop talking! She doesn't know what they're saying. ((lifetobewithyouidon't)) Their hands reach out. They look so big. She feels lost. She thinks she might throw up. Bile floods her mouth and she swallows, gulping back screams. Her elbow hurts where she scraped it against the brick while she ran. A man is talking to her. He wants her to do something. But what? She knows she knows him. But who is he? Who is she? What are their names? ((thatsaprettyname))

She runs. She hits. A brick wall. Her face knocks against it. It feels knotty. Cowering, she falls to the ground. It smells like rotting oranges, and soot. Her hands are slick with blood. She wrings them and doesn't look at the people who crowd around her, saying words she doesn't know and asking her over and over and over and over and she doesn't know and she doesn't want to know and she woke up underground in a tiny box and so much dirt got into her nose and her mouth and she can still taste it in her mouth and she doesn't know why she's here and she thinks this must be hell because there is so much fire and she can't see and her skin is burning and oh no- there are the people with skin that looks stretched that killed the mirror and they look so angry----

She stands. They are talking. She doesn't understand. ((fight)) ((aloneyouaredead))

Her lip splits. Blood seeps past her tongue and she feels it on her tastebuds. Coppery. Bitter. Her arms and legs move. She is doing something. She is fighting. Her moves are as fast as lightening and everything spins before her eyes. Who is she? God, she can't remember. She wants to, but she can't.

It is over. Bodies lie around her. They try and touch her and she feels the vomit rise in her throat. Running, she whirls through allies and sees the tower. It sways- metal and wind seem to coalesce before her eyes and she begins to walk toward it without thinking.

"Buffy?"

A voice. She knows it. She thinks she does. Someone with that voice. Turning from the tower with reluctance, she faces him. A man. His eyes are dark. He is staring at her as if she is a ghost. She wants to laugh. Maybe she is. After all, she knows this is Hell.

She is damned.

There is so much fire. So much smoke.

"Buffy?"

Again.

"Buffy… oh love…"

He comes toward her, and she doesn't move. Her hands tremble and she can feel herself jerking involuntarily from fear. Blood from her torn lip slips over her teeth and she licks it away. His hands don't touch her at once. His eyes look into hers and they are diamond bright. "Buffy?" he asks again, and she wonders- is that me? And then he touches her, ever so lightly.

"Is this Hell?"

Her voice wobbles. So do her knees.

"No," he responds, calmly, slowly- but she hears his voice shaking. "You're home. This is Sunnydale, Buffy. You're home and you're safe. You're safe. I love you and you're fine, you're alive. That's all that matters. You're home."

She doesn't say anything. He must be wrong. There is so much fire.

His fingers touch her face. She winces. His palm is cool against the heat of her cheek. "Buffy. You're home. This isn't Hell. I love you." She can hear his tears. "You left- but now you're back and that's… that's all that matters in this world."

Her head tilts and her eyes lock with his. She stares into them for a long time. He doesn't move, just keeps stroking her cheek and her hair- which is covered in dirt and blood and she's trying hard to think. She knows him.

Then she takes a step and she falls into his arms. They tighten around her and she knows- this is Angel. This is Angel and she is Buffy.

She remembers.

Closing her eyes, she inhales and smells sweet musky sweaters and warm leather and love and knows- she might have had to come through fire- but now, she is home.

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