Fire in the Air
by Sileya

The infinite seconds of weightlessness were enough to totally unnerve him,
enough to dispel the building adrenaline that had pumped through him as he
tore through the burning warehouse, enough to make him want to curl into a
ball and whimper. He hated that feeling. He used to wake up at night, wake
up out of a dead sleep, jerking up out of that falling sensation. He hated
that. 

He was falling now, plunging toward the viscous black water some five
stories down from where he jumped, hoping he didn't land on a piece of
floating, burning debris, the wind and ash whipping around him in some
obscene dance mimicking a swift death. Like seeing the light of a projected
movie dance over the empty theater seats, dust flickering, flashing,
waltzing. As the wind swirled, time slowed down, and he saw the seconds pass
in slow motion like the shutter clicks of a time-stopped camera. 

Then fear seized him, finally, and time sped up - much too quickly. His
heart leapt, he choked on a breath and his perception skewed, he lost track
of the water in the few whistling seconds as he fell until he hit, hit hard
on his back, and disappeared. 

Silence. 

Engulfing silence. 

The water was warm, warmed by the southern California sun that had sunk in
the sky less than an hour before, warmed by the burning kerosene and debris
that littered it as the warehouse fell apart, engulfed by the voracious
flame. 

His momentum carried him further, his arms splayed out as he plunged numb
into the depths, and he squeezed open his eyes against the burning salt
sting to see ... nothing. 

Nothing but blackness, and above him, the orange and yellow plumes of
burning oil spreading on the surface above him. 

Burning. He was burning. Burning inside, as his lungs protested the lack of
oxygen, burning that crawled up his throat, urging him to open his mouth and
gulp in air. Air that wasn't there. 

But for a moment he ignored it, reveling in the feeling of being completely
surrounded as his descent slowed and he bobbed, suspended, the thick, wet
silence filling his ears with blessed relief after the deafening roar of the
animated fire. 

The fire. It coursed through him, claiming him even though he had thought he
escaped. He felt the fire eat his blood, eat his oxygen, until he was one
with the fire, fire his air far beneath the surface of the water. 

And he felt panic. 

Without warning he jerked upward, and surprised, some of his precious oxygen
bubbled out of his mouth. He clamped his lips together and began pushing
upward, helping the force trying to remove him from the water's encompassing
embrace. 

The bright colors stretched across his dark, watery sky came closer, and he
burned hotter inside, the fire eating through his chest, threatening to
consume him, and he wondered at the colors streaking before him even with
his eyes closed tightly against the salt. 

Abruptly the silence ended as he surfaced, the crackling splash of water
surrounding him as he gulped frantically for air, his arms stretching out to
hold on to ... Spike. 

Spike wrapped his arm around Xander's chest and began swimming away from the
burning hulk that was raining debris on them, swimming for the boat ramp,
dragging the gasping and coughing Xander with him, a grim look of
determination etched on his features. 

Xander spluttered and tried to help, only succeeding in splashing
kerosene-contaminated water in his face, and so he stopped helping, letting
Spike pull him steadily away from the conflagration. 

Xander's legs dragged against concrete and he made an attempt to stand, to
slog out of the bay, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. Spike held him
tightly, and Xander threw an arm over his shoulder as the stumbled up the
ramp and fell to their knees at the water's edge, Xander gasping for breath,
Spike scanning the air for burning debris. 

Tiny explosions continued inside the frame of the gutted warehouse, and a
horrible tearing sound ripped the air as the structure itself lost integrity
and collapsed, sending plumes of fiery wind in all directions, like a bird
shedding feathers when it takes flight. 

Xander and Spike ducked, Xander trying to cover Spike's head to shield him
from the raining debris, and after a minute they just sat there, sat on the
ramp with the water lapping at their knees, the ash swirling around them. 

Spike grasped Xander's shoulder, calling his attention, and Xander turned to
look at him. Spike's face was solemn, dead white reflecting the colors of
the fire, another fire burning in his ice blue eyes. The vampire reached up
to brush burnt feathers and ash from Xander's hair, dragging his fingers
through the soaked wet locks that clung to Xander's cheek. 

Xander peered at Spike, a half-smile settling on his face as the realization
that they actually survived set in. Xander began to chuckle. 

Spike frowned and pulled his hand away, only to be surprised when Xander
took his hand and kissed his palm before holding it to his own cheek, all
the while still laughing quietly. Spike just stared at him, at a loss. 

Xander shook his head and stood, not letting go of Spike's hand. The vampire
struggled to his feet and they managed to stay upright by leaning on one
another as they trudged up the boat ramp and into the night.