Chapter 3

Spike climbed lazily onto her bed and knelt next to her with one finger pressed to his lips, which were curved into an impish smile. Not at all surprised by his presence in her dorm room, Buffy sat up to wrap her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a gentle kiss. She let her hands drift down his bare back, then up over his shoulders and down his arms, savoring the feel of his skin under her touch.

Part of her was aware that it was a dream, and part of her knew she should be horrified by the direction of her subconscious thoughts, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to wake up. Something inside her wanted this, wanted to be loved by him.

The kiss broke, and she murmured something, playfully tugging at the waistband of his jeans. He responded by slipping his fingers under the thin strap of her nightgown, and tilted his head to the side, his tongue slipping out between his teeth as he mouthed the words of his teasing reply.

In that out-of-body sense that came from knowing it was a dream, Buffy recognized that there was no sound. But it didn’t seem to matter; they laughed and flirted as though they heard each other’s words. The conversation felt trivial, frothy, familiar, like they did this every day, cuddled in bed, talking about everything and nothing.

After a moment, Spike grew serious, and as she watched him, he placed a small wooden box – the same one from her other dream – down on the night table by the bed. He was explaining something to her, with an expression that said it was important, but Buffy-who-knew-it-was-a-dream couldn’t understand him.

It was like they were in one of those silent black and white movies, or like someone had pressed the mute button on the television. The picture played on, but everything was silent.

Then, the alarm went off, and Buffy woke up… and she realized it was true.

*****

Buffy was a talker; she would freely admit that. Quipping and babbling were two of her favorite pastimes. But she hadn’t realized just how comforting talking was until she couldn’t do it anymore. Everything else seemed louder in the ensuing silence – the ringing telephone (which, she realized a second too late, was useless), the slamming of doors, car horns honking, dogs barking.

As she and Willow walked down the street toward Giles’ apartment, they took in the signs of the panic that had set in all over town. Schools and businesses were closed – except the liquor store, which seemed to be doing a brisk business – and people wandered the streets in despair, unable to retain any sense of normalcy without the ability to speak. It was unsettling how much they relied on speech for communication, starkly evident as people fumbled to express themselves through hand gestures, and entrepreneurs made a fortune selling dry-erase message boards at a ridiculous mark-up for those who wanted to rely on the written word.

The Scoobies felt an enormous sense of relief in gathering together, even though Giles couldn’t explain what was going on. Physicality suddenly took on much greater meaning, and they found themselves touching and hugging each other, as though in reassurance that the rest of them hadn’t disappeared along with their voices.

Unnoticed, Spike came up behind Buffy, putting his hand on her shoulder. She could tell it was him, and she whipped around angrily. His touch wasn’t comfort. She opened her mouth to cut him down with a caustic barb before remembering that she couldn’t. She was furious and frustrated with herself for welcoming him into her bed, even in a dream, and much of her irritation stemmed from her inability to shake off the longing the dream had evoked. Seeing Spike looking at her with way too much concern in his eyes only served as a reminder of her subconscious weakness, and Buffy shoved him away with a glare.

Catching Xander’s attention, she indicated Spike with a sideways glance and raised her eyebrows to question his presence at Giles’ apartment. Xander just shrugged. When she mouthed, What is he doing here? he motioned for Buffy’s message board and wrote, “Couldn’t leave him alone with my parents.” Buffy let out a reluctant sigh and rolled her eyes in Spike’s direction.

Despite the comfort of the group, Buffy was actually relieved to get out and patrol, if only to get away from Spike and his overly tender looks. She refused to entertain the idea that he’d kept some of his feelings for her from the spell. And she refused to acknowledge the thought that she was running away from him to avoid dealing with any of her own emotions.

Besides, she needed to be out patrolling, in case the grinning corpse demons from her dream made an appearance. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “Can’t even shout, can’t even cry” – it had to be the Gentlemen. But what did they want?

“They need to take seven, and they might take yours.” Seven of what? It couldn’t be good, whatever it was. “You’re gonna die screaming” was terrifying enough, even without the notion that no one would hear.

Buffy was startled to run into Riley breaking up a fight in the street. Catching sight of one of the combatants picking up a pipe to attack him, Buffy casually snapped the man’s wrist, and the cracking noise seemed to echo in the silence. Riley turned to see her approaching, and he started to lean in to hug her before he reconsidered and straightened up, giving her a pat on the shoulder instead.

You okay? he mouthed. She nodded, inquiring the same of him with her expression. She had to admit, the silent thing wasn’t all bad – at least now he couldn’t ask her any difficult, awkward questions about being engaged and/or crazy that might require her to lie.

What are you doing out here? Riley asked her silently, ruining her one silver lining in the situation. Buffy made a sheepish face, unable to come up with an explanation on the spot, and incapable of communicating it to him even if she could think of something.

Riley started to gesture with his arms, but Buffy just shook her head in confusion. She couldn’t interpret his movements, and he just seemed to get more frustrated when she didn’t understand. Suddenly, they both heard a loud crash, and Riley, almost with a sense of relief, gestured that he had to go. Buffy nodded and headed off in the opposite direction, puzzling over the encounter. She and Riley had been having trouble communicating the entire time they’d known each other, so she supposed it was reasonable that not being able to talk wouldn’t really improve the situation any. She wondered what he was doing out here, all things considered, but she couldn’t spend much time worrying about him when there were more important things to think about.

Like, for instance, the asylum escapee that was headed toward her, the untied arms of its straitjacket swinging at its sides.

*****

Spike paced around the basement, antsy and tired of being cooped up. He knew he could fight demons now; he should be out there helping Buffy. But Xander had made it abundantly clear through body language that Spike would not be leaving the house under any circumstances – and since Spike couldn’t actually fight the boy when he blocked the doorway, he had to resign himself to waiting.

Standing on tiptoe, he peered out the basement window, but all he could see was grass. Then, suddenly, he caught a glimpse of something – two somethings – going past with an uneven, loping stride.

Spike banged on the wall to get Xander’s attention, but the boy just gave him an annoyed stare before shaking his head and turning away again. Not to be ignored, Spike grabbed Xander and pulled him over to the window as roughly as the chip would allow, and gestured for Xander to look. He did, and his eyes widened when he saw two sets of feet hovering six inches off the ground as they floated past the window.

Spike and Xander exchanged a glance, and then simultaneously made a mad dash up the stairs to find a window with a better view. Xander, in the lead, rounded the corner into the living room, knocking over a lamp and nearly taking out the end table it was sitting on. Behind him, Spike managed a diving catch, juggling the lamp for a moment before getting a firm grasp on it.

Nice save, Xander mouthed, but the vampire wasn’t looking at him.

The lamp slipped out of Spike’s hands, shattering loudly on the floor as he stared wide-eyed at the big picture window in the living room. Xander spun around, and immediately jumped backward with a gasp at the face peering in at them. The monster gave them a hideous Cheshire grin and a little wave before he turned and glided away from the house.

Xander and Spike flew to the window, watching the mysterious figures cross Xander’s front lawn and head down the street. Spike recognized the taller, floating ones as the demon Buffy had described in her dream. They had to be the Gentlemen, and the hunched-over ones in the straitjackets seemed to be their lackeys.

He looked at Xander again, as the two of them came to the same realization. Buffy, Spike mouthed.

Xander replied, Anya! He pointed toward the door, his panic evident on his face. Go!

Spike nodded, and the two of them ran outside. Xander headed for his car, while Spike set off on foot after Buffy. With a squeal of tires, Xander peeled out of the driveway, driving at breakneck speed all the way to Anya’s apartment. He pounded steadily on the door, only pausing when it swung open and Anya appeared in the doorway, puzzled at the late-night visitor. Xander’s panicked expression melted into relief as he grabbed Anya in a crushing embrace.

After a moment, Anya pulled away, giving him a curious look as she let him into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Xander gestured wildly, screwing his face up into a maniacal grin in impersonation of the Gentlemen. When Anya didn’t seem to get it, he raised his arms over his head with his fingers shaped into claws, and made an “arrgh” face to indicate a demon.

Anya’s eyes lit up with understanding, and then she smiled as she realized that Xander had come rushing over to make sure she was all right. She “awwed” silently, before giving him an enthusiastic kiss. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, Xander’s fingers caressing her jaw, as they both realized how much Anya meant to him.

With a naughty smile, Anya made a circle with her thumb and index finger, inserting her other index finger into the hole, and the two of them scampered off to the bedroom.

*****

Buffy fought off the straitjacketed creature, cursing her decision not to bring weapons. Yeah, don’t want to be conspicuous, she thought, keeping up a running commentary in her head, since she couldn’t talk out loud. Don’t want to frighten the townies. Like this isn’t conspicuous!

She kicked the Gentlemen’s henchman to the ground, only to have a second one jump on her from behind. She jerked her shoulders, flinging it off her back so that it landed on the grass next to its buddy. Buffy turned to run, but she saw two Gentlemen gliding down the street toward her. Spinning back to the lackeys, she saw them get to their feet and charge at her again. She hit them before they could hit her, but their straitjackets seemed to absorb most of her blows. Their arms flung wildly, as though they had little control over their limbs, but when they connected with her head, there was enough power behind it to knock her backwards. Somehow, one of them managed to catch hold of her from behind, while the other attacked from the front.

Then, the one in front went flying, and Spike was standing before her. Buffy broke free from her restraints and spun into a kick, hitting her attacker in the chest. A second kick knocked it to the ground, and she pinned it with one knee on its back and snapped its neck.

Spike grappled with the second minion before managing to snap its neck as well, and then rushed over to Buffy. He grasped her by the shoulders and asked silently, Are you all right?

She nodded, glancing around to make sure that there were no other attackers nearby. When her gaze returned to Spike’s face, she was startled by the intensity of the emotion in his eyes. Before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her, full on, passionate, and with a desperation that betrayed how much he had feared for her safety.

It was wrong; he could count a million ways in which kissing the Slayer was absolutely the wrong thing to do, but at that moment, nothing else felt more right. The feelings hit him like a freight train, adrenaline pounding through his body, tearing down the walls, flooding him with everything he’d been holding back since the spell. His heart was exposed, as raw and vulnerable as it had ever been. He realized in one awful flash of comprehension that he was no less gripped with desire for her than he’d been during their false engagement. Love’s bitch had found himself a new mistress.

Overwhelmed, Buffy gave in at first, letting herself slip back into the fantasies she’d been trying so hard to suppress since the spell had broken. Her arms came around his neck, and she didn’t resist when he backed her up against a tree, pressing his lean body against hers. But when she broke away, gasping for breath, she had a horrified expression on her face, and she shoved him backwards. She stared at Spike for a moment, one hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

Spike’s lips parted, as though he wanted to explain himself, but of course he was unable to speak. It didn’t matter; his face told her everything she needed to know. His features, carved in moonlight, spoke volumes in the tension of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the crease of his brow. His eyes shone with the same affection he’d had when they were engaged, only deeper, more pure, and more frightening now, because this time it was real, and not the result of a spell. When she didn’t respond, his brow began to twitch into an uncertain furrow, his head tilted as though he could find what he was seeking if he just looked at her from the right angle. His eyes pleaded with her; he knew it was wrong, but he begged her to accept it anyway, to take the risk and acknowledge what he himself had just been forced to admit.

Abruptly, she turned and high-tailed it away from him at full slayer speed, so she wouldn’t have to see his perfect, porcelain face shatter in the wake of her rejection.