Loud rock music shook the house, a few books and bits and bobs that had formerly been on the edges of shelves were now piled on the floor. The only sound that pervaded the screaming guitar and lead vocalist were the sounds of moans and pleasurable cries. The room was dark, and barely anything was visible or clear in the heady, hazy aura Ripper found himself lost in. The drugs he'd taken himself, along with the trip he was experiencing from Thomas was potent and . . . exhilarating. They'd been at this for a week or so now. Ethan had been the first to sleep and be possessed by Eyghon. It had become an often and addicted practice since then. This was the third night in a week of a Summoning.

Through their tattoo, they shared a psychic link with Thomas. Eyghon lived through him, permeating his essence with lust and pleasure and a trip so mind-blowing, Ripper wondered why they ever left. Their first Summoning had just been themselves. The experience had been enough that they found pleasure merely experiencing it through Ethan. The second time, however, Ethan had the fantastic idea of inviting some birds over to share the experience with. It was a bit more difficult to make the experience wide enough for those without the Mark to feel it, but they had found a way by adding a psyche spell onto whoever was asleep. Like a bubble, it was filled with whatever the anchor's psyche was experiencing.

And so . . . orgies. Ripper's home had become a place known for sordid, intense parties. And that's what it had turned into. Ripper no longer looked Buffy up save for when she called upon him to help her out with a patrol now and then. Otherwise, he was here, losing himself in drugs and sex, or working on his newly formed band, Wretched. They'd been playing a few gigs at The Bronze, and the population there had warmed to them. It seemed a great deal of them were tired of the wrist-slitting music or existentialist shite and wanted some good hard rock back. His band provided that. And it was a good time.

Now though. Now was the best time. Ripper finished inside of his date after he felt her quake and heard her cry against his neck. Groaning, he pulled away and laid on the floor. The others were still going at it, though in the haze, he could barely make out individual limbs let alone bodies. Removing his condom, he tossed it into the bin and pulled his jeans back up. Handing his partner a cigarette, he lit it for her, then smirked at her and smoked. "Well. I suppose that must be one reason they call you Ripper," she teased, rolling onto her stomach and looking up at him through hooded eyes. Her eyes were as dilated as his from the drugs. He could barely even feel the floor underneath him. Even no longer in the sexual act, he could feel the euphoria of orgasm and blissful climb from those around him.

He moaned and rested his head back on the floor, smoking slowly, listening to the music. "That's what they say," he replied with a touch of indifference. The bird was fine and all, but he wasn't looking for a conversation. She must have gotten the hint, because he felt her leave and crawl towards someone else. Ripper was unable to move, anyway. He was soaring high above them all . . . or felt like it, at least. The music . . . the river of pleasure and highs of pure joy . . .

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was being slapped on the cheeks. "Bugger off," he grunted, waving his hand at the person.

"Wake up, Ripper. Party's over. Help me get poor Thomas into bed. He did well tonight." Ethan. Ugh.

Ripper groaned and opened his eyes. The house was trashed. Beer bottles, discarded condoms, chip bags and old pizza boxes were strewn everywhere. There were a few bras and panties lost amid the chaos as well. Thomas still sat inside of the Summoning Circle, though he was awake. "Hullo, Rip," Thomas smiled. "Good for you?"

"Best yet," Ripper assured him. "You did good, mate. Now it's time for you to rest and regain your strength." He picked Thomas up under his arm, Ethan taking the other arm, and they carried him back to his room in the back. Deirdre was already asleep with Philip. Setting Thomas on his bed, they got him a glass of water and some food as well. "Night, Thom," Ripper said, running his hand through his hair. "Call if you need anything."

He left with Ethan out of the room and back into the war zone. Randall was already starting to clean it up. "I feel terrible," Randall said, frowning. "Coming-Down is the hardest part." His eyes lit up then, and he looked at them. "When can we do it again?"

Ethan chuckled and patted his head. "Eager to go again? Slow down stallion. Even shining examples of your masculinity must take a break."

Ripper grunted as he stooped to pick up some trash and tossed it into the bag Randall was holding. "There has to be a low, R," Ripper said, wrinkling his nose when he picked up a used condom and threw it away. "Otherwise, we'd take the highs for granted. It'd all . . . just be the same. No change. And without change . . . there isn't any life."

"That's way too deep for me at this hour. Go hit the showers. Don't you have a gig later?" Ethan asked.

"Mhm. Bronze. I think we might actually get paid this time," Ripper smirked and scooped up a bit more trash before leaving it to them and hitting the shower. It was time to get Rock n' Roll certified.

'You're not ready

For the love insiiiiide!

You keep pretending,

But you just can't hiiiiide!

I know I said that I'd

Be standing by your side

But IIIIIII-'

Ripper paused in the song, tearing out a quick, fast-paced guitar lick before singing loudly once more.

'Your path's unbeaten

And it's all uphill

And you can meet it,

But you never wiiiiill

And I'm the reason that you're standing stilllll

But IIIII-'

The drums sped up as they entered the chorus. Ripper had wrote the rock ballad recently. It was rather clear who his muse was. It was just a good thing that Buffy and her friends went to different bars these days. The whole point of starting up this band and seeing Buffy less frequently was so he could find an outlet for his . . . confused . . . feelings. And, of course, to get over those confused feelings as quickly as possible.

'I wish I could say

The right words

To lead you through this laaaand

Wish I could play the lover

And take you by the haaand

Wish I could make you see

But now I understaaaand

I'm just waiting for the day!'

'My cries around you,

You don't hear at alllll

'Cause you know I'll be there

No matter the falllll.

So you just lie there

When we should be standing talllll

But IIII-!

Ohhh, IIII!-'

A guitar solo came, loud and screeching. The crowd roared in delight, jumping around the stage in a small mosh pit. The Bronze wasn't that big, after all. Ripper shredded the solo, winking at a few girls in the audience who were blowing him kisses. Once the solo was over, he returned to the mic and finished the song.

'I wish I could

Lay your arms down

And let you rest at last

Wish I could

Slay your demons

But that's not the role I'm cast

Yet I remain heeeere

Your stalwart, standing fast

But I'm waiting, day-by-day

I'm just waiting

For the day!'

There was a bass and guitar riff, and then the song ended. The lights went out dramatically, and the band bowed. Ripper took backseat for the next song, The Yanks are Okay, just playing the guitar as the other singer led them into another rock anthem. He was moving his fingers quickly up and down the strings when he caught sight of . . . No, she couldn't be here. The spotlight swiveled over the crowd . . . and sure enough . . . there she was. Buffy. They locked eyes, and though Ripper expected her to look away quickly as she normally did . . . she held his gaze this time. It was then that he noticed that she appeared . . . rather flushed. But that could be for any reason, so he quickly moved on from it . . . and was the first to break eye contact this time.

Another set was played through, and they finished once the owner of The Bronze waved at them. It was closing time. With a final bow, Ripper and his band moved off stage and into the back. "Did you see them?" Jason, the other singer and bass player, asked. "They were drooling! They love us. We could be so big!"

Ripper smirked. What a naïve notion. He didn't really know the kid. None of them, actually. He'd met up with them here at the bar once. They found they had shared an interest in singing and had pulled together their talents to form Wretched. That being said, he still wasn't exactly mates with them. He couldn't tell Jason the same things he could talk about with Ethan. These yanks were innocent. They didn't know what went bump in the night. A part of that appealed to him. He could pretend a little while with them. For a little while . . . he could be naïve, too.

"There you are," he heard behind him as he put his guitar in its case. Turning, he saw Buffy leaning against the wall. "I didn't know you could sing. Or play the guitar. Do you dance, too?"

Ripper smiled lightly, closing his guitar case and shouldering it. "Used to. Not much to dance about these days." He ran a hand through his messy hair and looked her over. "Where's your lad?" he asked her, lifting an eyebrow. "Pretty lady like yourself out here alone? I'd be worried, if I didn't know you could handle yourself."

Buffy's smile faded slightly at the mention of Riley. "He's got some . . . Initiative stuff. I'm here with Willow and Xander. Didn't know I'd be getting a surprise performance from Rupert Giles, himself."

"Hm. Did I stop singing, too?" he asked curiously, tilting his head. "Still had my guitar," he nodded to the case on his back. "I have one just like it back in my room in London. Nicer, of course."

"If he did," Buffy shrugged, "he never told me." She paused, then inched closer to him. "It's . . . nice. Knowing something new. It helps." She seemed to study him for a moment, and Ripper felt annoyed. What was she up to? He was avoiding her for a reason.

"Look, Buffy. Not that I don't appreciate the compliments, but I'm sort of attempting to be a good boy here and make a clean break of you," Ripper said. "It's worked out . . . so far." Save for the constant emptiness that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. That was pretty new.

"I know," Buffy nodded, looking down. "I just wanted to ask . . . That song . . . That was sort of directed towards me, wasn't it?"

Ripper frowned, his jaw tightening. He didn't want to open up. The song was outlet enough. "Did the word 'demon' give it away?" he said finally, shifting his weight between his feet.

Buffy smiled, and he saw . . . he saw something he didn't want to get his hopes up for. "A bit, yeah," she nodded. "I just wanted to say . . . I liked it. And I like hearing you sing. And if it's okay . . . I'll come by more? I swear I'll buy some merchandise or something," she added with a solemn look.

Shrugging his shoulder, Ripper began to lead the way from backstage and out into the main bar, which had emptied quickly after the owner had called for last drinks. "Come if you like. I don't mind." A part of him did though. This was supposed to be his thing away from her. True, she was basically his muse at this point, but it was a bit embarrassing baring one's heart out in front of her. To strangers, it was nothing. But to her? She knew exactly who and what he was singing about. "Just, if you don't mind, keep it quiet to the others? About the song? Rock ballad or not, I can't look soft." And he wasn't entirely sure he could take the pitying looks from Xander and Willow without feeling like a pathetic fool.

"You got'cha," Buffy said quickly. "They won't even have a clue." She nudged him. "Our little secret—Ripper's soft belly." She poked him in the tummy, and he gaped at her.

"Oi. You have to buy me dinner before you touch my tummy, luv," he told her, waving her hand off of him. "It's a privilege."

"That right?" Buffy laughed. "Alright, Buddha. I'll see you tomorrow for patrol." She left the club and joined her friends waiting outside. Ripper tried to control the look of yearning he sent after her . . . and decided that he had never made such a look to begin with and left shortly after, headed home.

A rough shaking roused him from his deep sleep. Ripper jolted awake, thinking he was under attack. Bolting up, he clenched his hand into a fist and was about to send it into Ethan's face, when he realized who it was. Ethan's mouth was moving, but Ripper couldn't hear him. 'What are you on about?' Ripper asked . . . and then froze when he didn't hear his voice either. What the hell!? 'Hello?" he tried again, but nothing. He couldn't even rasp.

Ethan gave him a pointed look and gestured for him to follow him. Ripper dragged himself out of bed, clad in his undershirt and boxers, and followed him downstairs. The others were gathered in the sitting room, pale and worried. Dierdre was pacing. When she saw Ripper, she came to him. Ripper could see the anxiety in her eyes . . . all of them. It was so . . . quiet. There wasn't a complete absence of sound either. He could hear water dripping from the faucet and cars outside . . . but not even a whisper from anyone in the room.

Ripper squeezed Dierdre's shoulder comfortingly, then gestured to the clock. 'When?' he mouthed. They all just stared at him. Sighing, he scratched through his head and walked over to the desk, pulling out some paper and pen. On it, he wrote, 'When did this start? Anyone notice?' Presenting it to them, they read it and shook their heads. Well, he hadn't gotten home until the early morning hours, and he had his voice then. It was . . . what? . . . he looked at the clock, near noon . . . so, nearly twelve hours. Something had happened during that time . . . and it could be any one thing.

Knowing that Buffy and the others would likely be on their way at some point, Ripper gestured for everyone to start reading. It was research time. He didn't like this. Whatever had happened, he wanted it gone. He hated not being able to hear himself. Ripper scanned the volumes in the bookshelf. Good lord, when had he bought all these books? His album collection was impressive—he was pleased to see—but it wasn't nearly as large as it could have been. Obviously, his older self had traded in albums for books. Normally, he'd pity that man . . . but today, he was glad for it.

The problem was, he didn't even know where to begin. Was this a demon? A spell? Sighing, he rolled a cigarette behind his ear and ran is fingertips over a few of them. Absence of voice. He couldn't imagine why someone would cast such a spell . . . so he decided to focus on demons. Grabbing a heavy book, he pulled it out and sat at the desk. The next set of hours was spent turning page after page, reading through the demons listed. God, there were so many. A few he recognized from his previous studies, but he didn't recall ever learning about a demon who stole voices.

The room was eerie. It was far too quiet. Someone put the news on for some background noise, and it helped the tension a bit. As Ripper expected, Buffy and the others showed up in the early evening. He rose when they entered. Buffy and Willow were wearing small erase boards around their necks. Ripper waved, looking over at them. Buffy wrote on board, and then showed him, 'anything?' Ripper shook his head and gestured to the room, where everyone had their heads buried in books. Buffy bit her lip, then wrote on her board again. 'I had a dream last night. A little girl said some weird poem.' Ripper gave her a questioning look. Buffy wrote again, taking a bit of time. Ripper looked her over, then grew bored and impatient and borrowed Willow's dry erase marker and wrote on the other half of Buffy's board.

Once she was finished, they turned the board around, so they could read each other's messages. Buffy read, 'you look lovely today.' She rolled her eyes, but Ripper caught her hiding a smile.

Ripper read, "'Can't even shout. Can't even cry. The Gentlemen are coming by. Looking in windows,
knocking on doors...They need to take seven and they might take yours...Can't call to mom. Can't say a word. You're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard.'" Well, that was disconcerting . . . and entirely appropriate for what was currently happening. He wasn't entirely sure what or who The Gentleman were, but the non-shouting was certainly accurate. He took the board and showed it to the others, pointing at The Gentleman as something for them to focus on. The name wasn't exactly familiar to him, but the poem . . . the poem lingered in his mind like an old song that he once knew the words to, but hadn't heard it in years and years, and so now he only recalled the melody.

Another phrase of the poem held his interest as well. They needed to take seven. Seven what? Just as he was about to settle back in at his desk, Xander clapped his hands together to get their attention and pointed at the screen. A news report was on. The anchor—not inside Sunnydale—was saying that the entire town of Sunnydale was suffering from some sort of laryngitis. Ripper scoffed. That's what they were calling it? At least now they knew it only effected Sunnydale. Big surprise there though. Hellmouth and all. As night drew upon them, they weren't any closer to discovering what was going on.

'Ripper and I will patrol tonight. You guys keep researching,' Buffy wrote, showing them all. There were nods, and Ripper grabbed his leather jacket, putting it on and following Buffy out the door. It was depressingly quiet outside. They walked down main street in town and watched as people scuffled their feet down the sidewalk. Everyone looked rather miserable and lost. Ripper walked beside Buffy, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. Glancing over at her, he watched her eyes darting everywhere, wary, as if she expected trouble to jump out at any second. He felt an overwhelming need to mess with her. She was far too serious.

Reaching over, he tapped her on the opposite shoulder, then quickly returned to walking normally, ignoring her when she looked to see who had tapped her. She turned to him, and he gave her an innocent questioning look. Buffy shook her head, and they continued walking once more. Ripper waited . . . and then tapped her shoulder again. Once more, she looked around, and he was nonchalant. Ripper waited until they had reached the end of the street before he did it again. His fingers hovered over her shoulder, but she was ready for him. Buffy grabbed his fingers and twisted his arm behind him. Gasping in pain, he was pushed away. Turning around, he grinned at her annoyed expression. She pushed him gently. Ripper laughed, falling into step beside her once more.

It was odd. They couldn't speak. Couldn't communicate. But he felt more connected to her than ever. He felt like they were in sync. As if they were finally flowing down the same river instead of fighting against the current. They paused at the end of the street, and Buffy glanced down to a neighborhood. She looked at him, and he nodded. Together, they walked into the neighborhood, the streetlights turning off inexplicably.

A sudden chill in the air made them pause. It wasn't really in the air so much as they felt it in themselves. There were figures on the opposite side of the street, coming towards them. They were tall and thin . . . the pair they saw. Buffy and Ripper stopped, their bodies tensing as the figures came closer. Ripper realized they weren't walking . . . they were hovering. Around the two, there were oddly-shaped creatures flailing about them on the ground. Once they were in sight, Ripper could see that they were suit-clad and bald. Though the street was dark, the moonlight allowed them enough illumination to see . . . glittering teeth. Metallic teeth. The creatures around them were wearing straightjackets and appeared deformed. Ripper didn't like them. They touched some deeper, inner child fear. The kind of nightmare that you woke from and felt paralyzed in bed, as if the monster in your dreams had followed you into your bedroom, and you didn't dare move, lest they harm you.

That is what Ripper felt when he gazed upon the pair of—what he could only call demons—and their minions. The fear was followed by annoyance. He was Ripper. Nothing scared him. He drew from his energy and created a fireball in his hand, throwing it at them, it merely bounced off of the suits and onto one of the straightjacket minions, who started to silently shriek and flail harder as it caught fire. Buffy prepared herself for a fight beside him, and he started working on another fireball.

The Gentlemen, for that was only who these demons could be, were just a few meters from them. The remaining minion came rushing towards them. Buffy intercepted him and kicked him in the chest. The minion stumbled back, but he was quick on his feet and crawled on hands and feet back to her, doing some sort of cartwheel and getting back into the fight. They went at it, trading blows. Ripper let Buffy handle him and tossed his new fireball at the Gentlemen once more. Again, it simply bounced off, as if a physical barrier protected them. 'Fuck,' he mouthed.

Buffy had snapped the minion's neck at this point and rushed forward to take on the Gentlemen. Ripper hurried after her. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he couldn't let her fight them on her own. Buffy had a stake in hand. Would it work? She slammed it into one of the demon's chest . . . but it only smiled at her, tilting its head to the side. God, that thing was creepy. So, stakes were out. Buffy stepped back and whacked the demon upside the head with her foot. Nothing. No damage. Barely even any reaction at all. Ripper was starting to feel extremely uncomfortable. Was there any way to kill these things?

He saw the other demon take out a scalpel, the sharp blade glittering in the moonlight. Ripper hurried forward and grabbed Buffy's arm, pulling her back. This wasn't going them any good. She gave him an annoyed look, obviously wanting to keep fighting. He shook his head at her, and she tensed under his hand . . . but then relaxed and nodded. The Gentlemen were grinning at them, floating closer, both of them wielding scalpels now. Ripper held Buffy to him and reached deep into his energy. Beside them, a car started to shake. Ripper's eyes closed, his hands shaking as he tapped into the earth's magnetic fields and influenced them with his energy, making the car lift up from the ground . . . and toss itself at the Gentlemen. They were hit, and Ripper collapsed against Buffy with a heavy sigh and inaudible groan, exhausted. As the Gentlemen tried to free themselves under the car, Buffy supported Ripper, and they hurried away.

Returning to Ripper's home, they found the lights out. Everyone had turned in for bed. Ripper was exhausted and trembling from the amount of energy and strength he'd needed to use to fuel the spell. Buffy was kind enough to help him up to his bed, which he collapsed on gratefully. Removing his jacket, he dropped it beside him, then just laid on his back. They were in trouble. These Gentlemen couldn't be stopped. Not by typical means, anyway. Looking up and over at Buffy, who was lingering at the doorway, he saw that she looked shaken as well. Pushing himself up slowly, wincing as he did so, he caught her gaze.

Buffy sighed and shook her head. Her message was clear. What were they supposed to do? Ripper shrugged his shoulder, then nodded downstairs. Continue what they were doing. Keep looking for an answer. Buffy didn't like that, if her nose-wrinkling was anything to go by. Ripper smiled. She was like him—she preferred action. She pushed herself off of the doorframe and started to head downstairs. Ripper tapped his foot, making her look back at him. He gestured down, to where the others slept. Xander and Willow were asleep on the sofas. It was better if she stayed. They might not know how to kill the Gentlemen, but he knew everyone else in the house would feel safer with the Slayer with them. She nodded, accepting the invitation to stay, and continued downstairs. Ripper turned out his light, changing out of his shirt and jeans. He heard the armchair groan downstairs and knew Buffy had settled in to sleep as well. It took but a few minutes to pull him into sleep.

She lay before him, her eyes wide and mouth opened in a silent scream. Her pajama shirt had been cut through . . . and her chest opened. Ripper stared, not believing what he was seeing. Deirdre was dead, her heart missing from her chest. Philip was sobbing in the corner, holding himself. Randall sat with him, comforting him. Thomas had went with Ethan to get the police. Ripper stood . . . staring . . . shocked, stupefied . . . and insulted. Though the chest was open, it was clear that it had been sliced precisely . . . with a scalpel. The Gentlemen had been here. In his own house. Right under his nose. And they had killed one of his friends.

He was shaking as fury started to take hold. Deirdre had been counting on him. True, they had more or less stopped looking for a way back to the seventies, but they had remained a unit. Deirdre had even helped with some of the healing spells after some tough fights he'd had alongside Buffy. She was gentle. Just interested in having a good time. Why had they chosen her? Philip was taking it extremely hard, as he had been right beside her during the entire thing. He hadn't even heard her . . . felt her . . . just woken to find her like that.

Ripper turned away from the body. There was nothing more he could do here. He needed to find out how to kill these bastards. Buffy was standing in the hall with Ethan. She gave him a worried look, even being so bold as to touch his arm in question. Ripper looked down at her, his expression sad . . . but determined. She nodded, and he returned the nod. Leading the way back into the sitting room, he paced, thinking. The Gentlemen . . . missing hearts . . . the poem . . . It was all so familiar . . . Then it hit him. They were looking in the wrong place.

Rushing to the bookcase, he pulled out books left and right, letting them drop onto the floor until he found the one he was looking for. Fairytales. Flipping through the pages, he found the sketch he was looking for and stomped his foot, trying to get everyone's attention. They trickled in, and he pointed at the page excitedly. He held up five fingers to ask for five minutes, then carried the book to his desk and started to draw. Once he was finished, he made sure everyone was gathered in the sitting room and presented his findings via drawings.

The first page consisted of his own drawing of stick figured versions of The Gentlemen. Underneath, he wrote, 'the Gentlemen are demons that are considered to be fairytales. Obviously, they're real.' He switched to the next page, which contained a bunch of drawn hearts. The main one in the middle had a 'B and R' written in it. He winked at Buffy, who scoffed. 'They have to collect seven hearts in order to continue to live.' Then he switched to the next picture, which was of—presumably—Buffy with a bunch of exclamation points coming from her face towards the Gentlemen. 'Only the sound of a human scream can kill them, which is why they steal all of voices when they come to town.' The last page consisted of Buffy standing heroically on a pile of dead Gentlemen bodies, the sun rising behind her and little hearts drawn all around her. 'We need to find where they keep the voices, get them back, and then Buffy can scream and end The Gentlemen once and for all.'

Ripper felt quite proud of himself. He'd found this out. He'd solved it. It felt . . . good. Buffy was writing something. When she finished, she held up her board. 'How do we find them?'

Willow raised her hand, quickly writing on her board. 'We could use a trace spell on Deirdre's blood. It should lead us right to them if performed correctly.' Ripper snapped his fingers and pointed at her. Perfect. Willow beamed. Philip shook his head vehemently. Ripper turned to him. It was obvious he didn't want his girlfriend's body to be tampered with any further, but they needed to do this. Or else other people would be killed. Ripper wasn't sure how many hearts had already been collected. Philip sighed and slowly nodded.

Willow and himself collected some blood from the body, and they locked themselves in the bathroom whilst the police arrived to take care of the body and ask questions. Willow placed the necessary ingredients into the cauldron, and then nodded to Ripper, who added the blood. Grasping her hand, they chanted—silently—until the cauldron started smoking. The smoke moved upwards and formed a tiny ball. It started to leave the bathroom, and Ripper followed it. Snapping his fingers for Buffy, he gestured for her to follow him. The hunt was on.

The little ball of smoke led them into town . . . and then to a clock tower. Whilst Buffy played the part of the lookout, Ripper picked the locked to the tower, and they snuck in. Despite it being light outside, it was dark within the tower, obviously abandoned save for when it needed maintenance. The two crept quietly through the tower, braced for any form of movement. The hall led to stairs, and they went step by step . . . hearing shifting from up above. Ripper's body was tensed up, prepared to jump and attack at the first sign of danger. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he thought it might be heard over the near-deafening silence.

After what felt like forever, they entered the top of the tower where the machinery for the clock rested. At first, they didn't see anyone . . . and then the minions, or footmen as the story told, attacked. They swarmed. Buffy fought them off easily. Ripper got a few good punches in, knocking a footman out cold. Another one jumped on his back, and Ripper grit his teeth in a growl, trying to buck him off. He slammed back against a wall, the footman grunting and loosening his grip. Ripper grabbed the footman's arm and rolled him off of his back and onto the floor. Straddling him, Ripper shoved his fist into the footman's face over and over, until he felt bones break and the footman shudder. Counting him out of the fight, Ripper panted and rolled off of him. Wiping his forehead, he looked over to see how Buffy was doing. She had five footman around her on the floor. Ripper scoffed and shook his head.

But then things became serious. The Gentlemen showed up, all smiles and hovering above the floor. Ripper backed off, wary . . . but then he spotted an odd-looking box on a table. Buffy noticed it, too. She mouthed for him to get it. Ripper mouthed something back, something that made her stare at him in confusion. He smiled, winked, then dove for the box, slamming it onto the floor and crushing it with his shoe. His throat tickled, and he coughed. There was a pause . . . and then Buffy screamed. The Gentlemen and remaining footmen strained and flailed . . . and then their heads exploded.

Ripper cleared his throat. "Oh, thank god. I missed my voice," he grinned. "Excellent screaming there, luv. You really showed them."

Buffy snorted. "I think I liked you better mute." Ripper chuckled, and he took the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. "I'm sorry about Dierdre," Buffy said quietly.

"Yeah," Ripper frowned, putting the cigarette in his mouth and looking down. "She was a good girl, D." Sighing, he settled against the wall and looked moodily down at the floor. "She'd have been safe . . . if she hadn't been brought here with me." Dierdre wasn't even supposed to be here. And she had been killed. That was on him. "And it was right under my nose. Came right into my home and killed her."

Buffy approached him slowly. "Our nose. I was there, too. Don't take it too hard, Ripper. There was nothing we could have done, anyway." She took the cigarette from his lips and dropped it onto the floor, stepping on it. "You shouldn't smoke," she said. "Makes people less inclined to be near your mouth." Ripper lifted an eyebrow at that, incredibly interested. "What did you say? Before? You mouthed something."

Ripper smirked. "For me to know, and for you to find out, luv." She huffed. "Come on. Let's get out of here." Together, they left the tower, their arms brushing. "So, I hope my head doesn't pop off when you scream for me," Ripper gave her a wicked look.

"Ugh!" Buffy shoved him away. "You're so gross! Seriously. I liked you better mute."

Ripper laughed, feeling warm despite the loss he'd just had. "That's just because you haven't heard what I can whisper in your ear."