-- The Cricket on the Hearth, A Fairytale of Home,
by Charles Dickens

Chirp the Second

Buffy sat on the edge of her bed looking at the steaming mug of tea and the little paper packet sitting on the nightstand next to it.

Where did she want to go? She sighed deeply. There was really only one thing she wanted to know -- Spike's location. But she understood why she couldn't act on that impulse. She'd seen what happened to Willow when the First got access to her through her locator spell. She couldn't risk that.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to stop thinking about the immediate crisis. What would be fun? What would be relaxing? Maybe she could be in the audience when Peggy Fleming won her gold medal. No, that just wouldn't do.

Then the idea came to her, and she smiled.



Someone was singing.

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.

Snow was falling in big, fluffy flakes drifting down from the dark sky, adding to the white drifts already on the ground. Carriage wheels and horses' hooves had cleared the street down to the wet cobblestones. Blue, flickering gas flames enclosed in glass atop cast iron poles lighted the scene. The cold air smelled of roasting fowl, cinnamon and a number of other things -- pleasant and not so. There were ropes of evergreen twined around the light poles and a wreath on each door on this shopping street.

The song was a Christmas carol, and it was coming toward her. Several young voices joined in.

The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas day in the morn.

Buffy turned around and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window of the bakery she was standing before. The first thing that caught her eye was the hat -- a red felt cap that came to a point at her forehead and held a white ostrich feather that curved back over her head. Her hair was pulled back and up, and when she reached up and touched, she could feel the ringlets cascading from her crown to the nape of her neck, held together in a loose bunch by a fine net.

The rest of the costume was just as amusing. She decided she liked the red wool, close-fitting jacket that drew in narrow at her waist then flared out in a peplum around her hips. The sleeves puffed out from dropped shoulder seams, and the cuffs were trimmed in white fur, as was the button placket down the front of the bodice and the collar. Each buttonhole was bound with leather, and the buttons themselves were intricately carved from ivory in the shape of roses. Her hands were enclosed in a matching fur muffle.

The red wool overskirt swept out from under the peplum and brushed the ground. As she looked down at the skirt, she caught sight of her profile in the window, and she was momentarily taken aback. There was a prominent bustle on the back of the skirt. A slight wiggle of her hips confirmed that there was a wire cage tied behind her shaping the hump. It also confirmed that she was wearing a fairly restrictive corset.

"I guess that answers the question, does this outfit make my ass look big?" she said to herself with a chuckle. The idea of wearing clothing that was so confining and emphasized the hips so prominently was amusing -- or it might have been so if a bone from the corset hadn't been poking her under the armpit. She shimmied a little to get the corset into a better position.

Buffy continued to examine her costume, fascinated by the complex ornamentation. There was embroidery on the skirt and rows of piping near the hem. She lifted the skirt slightly to see her shoes and also caught a glimpse of several layers of lace petticoat.

The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good.

The carolers had reached her, and she had to step back to give them space to pass by on the sidewalk. They were youngsters, ranging in age from about six to several young teenagers. Their cheeks were red from the cold, and as they sang, their breath condensed in puffs of white steam.

The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all.

"Merry Christmas," Buffy said with a smile, as the carolers paused in front of her.

The oldest of the group, a tall boy with a knitted scarf wrapped around his neck and unruly red hair bowed extravagantly.

"Thank you, madam," he said with courtly gravity.

A little girl wrapped so completely in her wool scarf that little more than her eyes showed held out a tin cup.

"For the poor," the boy said.

"Yes, of course..." Buffy said, briefly flustered because she wasn't sure she had any money. But even as she wondered, her fingers found the coin purse inside her muffle. She pulled it out and spilled a few coins into the palm of her lace glove. The money was wholly unfamiliar, and she wasn't sure what any of the different coins were worth, so she picked out a pretty gold one and dropped it into the cup.

The boy's eyes grew large.

"A sovereign! Thank you!" he said. "God bless you! Another song for our patroness!"

The children began to sing again.

Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about,
Deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night,
though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight,
Gathering winter fuel.

They finished singing and moved along again, thanking her again before they went. The littlest among them, the girl with the cup, turned back and rushed to Buffy, hugging her around the knees. Buffy laughed and crouched down to look the girl in the face.

"Merry Christmas, sweetie," she said.

"Are you an angel, Miss?" the little one asked, lisping through her scarf.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the redheaded boy said, returning to collect his charge. "Come along, Agnes. We mustn't bother the fine lady anymore."

The boy took the little girl by the hand and dragged her away.

Buffy stood again and smoothed her skirt. The outfit was fascinating, but it wasn't the best thing for moving around in, she decided. Good thing she wouldn't have to do any slaying here.

She turned and her heart all but stopped.

It wasn't exactly a surprise -- she fully expected to meet him sometime during the night. But she hadn't expected him be standing behind her, watching her with wide eyes.

It was Spike -- no, William. He was younger than the vampire she knew; his face still had the smoothness of youth barely into manhood. He was thinner than the Spike she knew -- odd to think he could be thinner without looking emaciated, but it wasn't so much that he had less weight on him, it was more a matter of not being filled out. He was gangly, like a teenager, but clearly out of his teen years. At the same time, there was a delicacy about him playing out in the sharp lines of his cheek bones and the clear blue of his eyes.

He was dressed in a dark frock coat, cut narrow around his slender frame, dark pinstriped trousers and a stovepipe hat. His clothing had the look of long wear and careful mending. The coat sleeves were shiny at the elbows, and the cuffs of his shirt, as they peeked out, were just a bit frayed. The snow continued to fall and dusted the shoulders of his coat and the top and brim of his hat. His hair was a light, honey brown, and it curled over the collar of his coat and around his ears.

Buffy stood staring at him for a moment, unable to think of anything to say.

"Forgive me," he stammered. "I'm being ever so rude."

"No," Buffy replied. "It's all right. I think I must have done something odd." If his appearance was different, his voice wasn't. It was the voice she knew so well. The accent was different -- he spoke more in the manner of her Watcher than the demon she knew so well, but it was still his voice. It surprised her that it sounded so familiar coming from this very different person.

A tiny smile played at the corner of William's mouth. "It was quite a generous gift. But that's good, " he added hastily. "And now abideth faith, hope and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. First Corinthians, 13:13."

"I didn't know how much to give."

"You're an American, aren't you?"

Buffy nodded. "How did you know?"

"Your accent. My father had a business associate who was from New York. Are you from New York?"

Buffy shook her head. "California."

William reacted with surprise. "Really? The West? Do you have wild Indians?"

Buffy nearly chuckled. Suddenly she was remembering a Thanksgiving dinner delayed by a battle against Chumash spirit warriors.

"We've seen some from time to time, but not so much any more," she replied.

"I'm sorry," William said, suddenly remembering himself. "I'm being awfully forward. I won't bother you anymore." He started to leave.

"No! Don't go. I'm all alone. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

William stopped. "Are you separated from your people?"

"Um... yeah. I got separated from my tour..."

"Where are they going? I could take you to find them again..."

"Um... I'm not really looking to hook up with them again, quite yet. I sort of wanted to look around a bit on my own."

"Oh... really, I don't think that's really a good idea, miss..."

"Could you show me around?"

William paused and bit his lip. He blushed a little bit. Buffy was charmed. Spike -- the young man Spike had been -- was shy with women. She could see him struggling with conflicting impulses to run away and to take her up on her offer.

"Were you on your way somewhere?"

"Well, I..."

"Am I messing up your plans?"

"No, really, no... I was supposed to go to a gathering -- just some of the faculty and a few students who couldn't go home for the holidays... but I had decided against it, and I was just going back to my rooms."

"Are you a student or faculty?"

William smiled, as if her question was disingenuous. "A student, of course. I'm sorry, allow me to introduce myself. William Smith, at your service."

"I'm ..." It occurred to her that her name would sound very strange in this time and place. She could probably pass it off as an American affectation, but something stopped her. "... Anne -- Anne Summers."

"Miss Summers, it would be my great pleasure to show you around Cambridge."

Buffy made a note of that. She'd expected to find herself in London. Spike was a Cambridge man -- she'd heard Giles ramble on enough to know that was significant.

"You couldn't go home for the holidays?"

William shrugged. "My mother and sister had an invitation to visit my uncle in Surrey. Unfortunately, my uncle isn't so fond of me. He always says I remind him too much of Father. My mother's family was never fond of Father. So rather than have Mother and Alice decline, I told them I had to stay at school."

"Oh... that's too bad. But why aren't you going to the party?"

"Party?"

"You said there was a gathering, but you decided against it?"

"Oh... that... I suppose I should have gone. But sometimes being with people -- the wrong people -- it just makes me feel lonely."

"Oh... but it's Christmas Eve..."

William smiled. "I could take you there. I'm sure that I couldn't possibly feel lonely with such a lovely lady on my arm, Miss Summers."

"I would be delighted ... Sp... I mean Mr. Smith."

He offered her his arm, and they set off. Buffy stepped on a piece of ice and stumbled almost immediately. William caught her quickly and firmly, steadying her with a hand around her waist until she regained her footing.

"Sorry, I'm not used to these shoes," Buffy said, blushing slightly. She was slightly flustered, not because of the ease with which he caught her, but because when his hand was tight on her waist she could feel the warmth of it through the layers of wool and cotton of her clothing. His hands were warm, she thought with mild shock. Of course they were... He was alive. Drusilla was five years in the future. She knew it was only natural, but it still startled her.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." William said, stammering again.

"No, don't be sorry. I'd be really annoyed if you'd let me fall on my ... bustle."



The party was in the common room of one of the houses of King's College. William regaled her with the history of the university as they walked through the courtyards and lanes. He seemed to forget his shyness when he had something to talk about. Buffy let the history lesson go in one ear and out the other. She wasn't really interested in Henry III and royal charters, but hearing it all in Spike's voice was strangely comforting.

When they arrived, William removed his tall hat and gave it to an old man stationed near the door.

"Thank you, Harcourt. Perhaps Miss Summers would like to leave her muffle with you?" he said as he brushed the snowflakes from his coat before they could melt. He unbuttoned his frock coat and handed it over, revealing the suit jacket and waistcoat underneath.

Buffy took the hint and handed her fur hand warmer to the butler.

The old man smiled and gave her a quick look up and down, then glanced at William. She couldn't be sure, but she had a feeling the servant's estimation of William had risen.

They moved out into the main room, which was decorated with garlands of holly and other evergreens. There was a long table at one end of the room that offered a punch bowl and trays of various foods from meat pies to small cakes. Buffy was dying to try a bit of everything, but doubted she could eat much with this corset squeezing her insides.

The other guests at the party were an oddly democratic mix of students, professors and servants. Most of the women were clearly housekeepers, maids and cooks. There were a few younger girls who might be daughters of faculty.

"May I get you a mulled cider?" William asked.

"Yes, thanks."

William headed for the refreshment table, leaving Buffy to her own devices for a moment. She wasn't alone for long. Several young men materialized at her side almost instantaneously. They were close to William's age and dressed with the same air of genteel poverty. But unlike William, there was a bit of brass about these boys. They competed for her attention, peppering her with questions about America and the West once they knew she was a foreigner.

"Did you take the Transcontinental Railroad, Miss Summers?" one boy asked. Buffy thought he was the one who introduced himself as Ian Ford, but she wasn't sure. The names were melting together.

"Um... I think so," Buffy said hesitantly, wishing she'd paid more attention in history class.

"How many days did it take?"

Buffy was stumped. She wracked her brain, but hadn't a clue to how to answer that.

"Come now, Ford. Give the lady some air!" said another of the boys. She could remember this one's name. He stood out in the crowd, a little better dressed and a little more self-assured than the others. It was Graeme Wynton-Phillips. "Next he'll be asking you about the ship you sailed over on. There's more to life than transportation, you silly fool."

Wynton-Phillips took Buffy gently by the elbow and maneuvered her out of the knot of students.

"There, isn't that better?" he asked solicitously. "They'll eat you alive if you let them -- the savages. Not a good manner to split between them."

"Except for you?" Buffy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"But of course, my dear Miss Summers. But tell me -- I'm all agog with curiosity -- how is it that a rare and refined flower such as yourself comes into our company on the arm of our rather common William Smith?"

"He's a friend," Buffy said with a little smile. She scanned the room quickly looking for her missing escort.

"Really? Difficult to picture how someone with your obvious breeding finds herself with ..."

Buffy didn't let him finish. A tiny crease of annoyance forming on her forehead, she raised a finger to his lips. She clamped down hard on her temper.

"Hush," she said, in lieu of suggesting something anatomically impossible.

"His family can barely afford to keep him in school," Wynton-Phillips continued oblivious to Buffy's growing irritation. "His father was a common merchant. Died in debt. He couldn't possibly offer..."

Buffy frowned.

"I'll tell you a little secret," she interrupted, forcing herself to smile sweetly.

"Yes? William has a hidden legacy? He's really the Duke de Bourbon?" Wynton-Phillips sneered.

"Let me whisper in your ear," Buffy said.

The young man bent down so she could reach.

"He's an absolute demon in bed -- he can go all night and then some," she whispered, then winked and backed away. The smug look on Wynton-Phillips' face melted into utter shock.

Buffy's backward path nearly brought her into a collision with William, who was returning with a cup of hot cider.

"What did you say to him?" William asked, glancing over at the stunned Wynton-Phillips.

"Never mind," Buffy said with a smile.

"Would you like to meet my adviser?"

"Sure!" Buffy took a sip from her cup and made a mental note that "cider" meant something different here. This was an alcoholic beverage. She'd expected a cup of apple juice. But it tasted good, spiced with cinnamon and warm with the gentle burn of alcohol.

William led her across the room to where an old man in a well-worn dark suit sat in a chair against the wall.

"Dr. Henry Blythe, may I introduce Miss Anne Summers?"

"Charmed, Miss Summers, charmed," the old man said, taking her hand and shaking it. "How did you come to know our William?"

Buffy took a deep breath and glanced over at William who was looking a little bit uncomfortable.

"Oh, we're old friends... family friends," she said, the words spilling out as she thought of them.

"Well, that's fine, very fine then," the old man said vaguely. "Friendship is always good. And you'll do better with our William here than any of those young swains over there. Yes, you will. That's a worthless lot. Not a serious scholar in the bunch. I always say a good heart is better than a good family tree, any time. I say that, don't I William?"

"Yes, you do," William said with an affectionate smile. "You've said it many times."

"Well, it's true. Our William here has quite a future in store. He'll put those boys to shame he will."

"What subject do you teach, Dr. Blythe?" Buffy asked.

"Oh, used to be philosophy..." the old man said wistfully. "Nowadays I mostly stay in my quarters and organize my papers. Not many students come to see me -- except for our William, that is."

"Dr. Blythe is the consummate authority when it comes to fly fishing," William said with a smile. "In the warmer months we take a punt out on the Cam and cast all afternoon."

"William is too kind. I don't think we caught a fish in all of September. Don't let him fool you, young lady. He visits me out of kindness."

"Form up for the dance!" someone called from the other end of the room.

"Dance? There's dancing?" Buffy asked.

"Oh, yes," Dr. Blythe said. "We've got a fiddler. I'd join you, but my rheumatism doesn't allow. You young people run off and enjoy yourselves." He gestured for them to leave. "Merry Christmas, children."

"Would you like to dance, Miss Summers?" William asked.

"Oh, I would, but I don't think I know how. I'm sure we do different dances in America..."

"It's not difficult," William said, sounding like he'd very much like to join the fun. "It's only country dancing."

"Country dancing?" Buffy found herself visualizing cowboy boots and Stetsons.

"We'll form two lines, the men on one side and the ladies on the other. Then the caller tells everyone what to do. You don't have to be experienced..."

"Oh! Like square dancing?"

"Is that what you call it in America?"

Buffy nodded.

The dance turned out to be quite easy to follow. William was a forgiving partner, and after only a few missteps she was keeping up admirably. The music was lively and the steps were quick. There was a heady thrill each time William's hand found her waist for a swing. After three dances, Buffy was flushed -- her wool jacket and skirt, which were quite warm enough for the outdoors, leaving her a bit over heated in the warm hall.

"Would you like to rest, Miss Summers?"

"I think we could sit one out, yes," she replied.

They moved off to the side, letting another couple take their place in the line. William went to get her another cup of cider.

As she waited, Buffy noticed Wynton-Phillips in a corner paying predatory attention to a young woman who looked to be a maid or cook. She wore a simple gingham dress, and her hair was caught in a single braid that hung down her back. The girl looked half frightened, half flattered by the young man's attentions. She kept taking tiny steps to back away as Wynton-Phillips advanced on her again and again.

William returned and put the cup of warm alcohol in her hand.

"So, what has you so fascinated?" he asked.

"Not so fascinated -- more like annoyed," Buffy replied. "Your friend Wynton-Phillips is putting major moves on that girl over there, and I'm not sure she entirely likes it."

William frowned, at first puzzled by her jargon, but catching on as soon as he glanced in the direction she was indicating. He expelled a disapproving breath.

"That's Lizzie, the groundskeeper's daughter. She's afraid to turn him down out of hand because of the trouble he could cause her father."

"I'm going to go rescue her," Buffy said. "This won't take a moment."

William blinked in surprise as Buffy stalked off to take on the predatory young man. He caught up with her as she stepped between Wynton-Phillips and his prey.

"William and I would so like for Lizzie to come over and have a cup of cider with us," she said, the sweetness in her voice belied by the fire in her eyes.

"Now, Miss Summers..." Wynton-Phillips began, his voice dripping with smarm.

"Leave the girl alone," William said firmly. "It's Christmas Eve; surely even you can find a little kindness in your heart."

Wynton-Phillips glanced from William to Buffy and made no effort to disguise his irritation.

"Go play with your tart, Smith," he sneered. "And allow me my sport."

"I will not stand such disrespect for Miss Summers!" William said angrily. "Have you no manners at all?"

"Step outside with me, and I'll show you my manners," the other man snarled.

"Now, now... this is nothing to get upset over," Buffy said, seeing the situation spiraling out of control. "No offense taken. We were just inviting this girl over to have a drink with us..."

"As if she'd be better off in the company of someone in your profession," Wynton-Phillips said.

Buffy's mouth dropped open in surprise. Her little joke seemed to have backfired.

"What I can't figure is where Smith, poor as a church mouse as he is, found the money to hire you for the evening."

"Enough!" William shouted, grabbing Wynton-Phillips by the lapels.

"Outside," the other man snapped.

Before Buffy could react, William and Wynton-Phillips were stalking toward the door. She drew a breath. For that brief moment, William had been Spike -- all Spike. She'd almost expected to see his game face. She was left wondering whether there was any difference between the man and the demon after all.

But there were more important considerations now. William was heading into a fight with a man who was taller and heavier, and probably better-trained in fisticuffs. She hurried after them.

The first blows had fallen before she arrived. William was on his back, in the snow, with a bloodied nose. But by the look of Wynton-Phillips, William had landed a blow or two before he was felled.

Buffy knelt at William's side. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"He'll recover," Wynton-Phillips sneered as he wiped a bit of blood off his lip. "I went easy on him." He laughed derisively. "You know, I've got a lot more money than he does. And I'm in the mood, if you take my meaning. What do you say? What's the tariff for the balance of the evening?"

Buffy had had enough. She was up in a flash, and Wynton-Phillips was down. He never saw what hit him. She hauled him up again by the lapels and slammed him against the building.

"I'll do you for free," she snarled into his face.

The look of shock and fear on Wynton-Phillips' face was priceless. Buffy had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She let go of his coat and backed off. He was gone before she could take another breath -- running off into the night, too humiliated to face her again.

Buffy turned back to William, who was watching her with wide eyes.

"I've scared you now, haven't I?" Buffy said with a resigned sigh.

William got up and dusted himself off.

"You've ... surprised me. Who are you?"

"Oh, you know us Western girls -- cattle drives, fighting Indians, building railroads. We're a tough lot..."

William laughed. "Miss Summers, I'm not sure that was a wholly truthful explanation, but I will accept it graciously."

Buffy smiled back at him. "If you don't want to stay with me now..."

"On the contrary. I've never met anyone quite like you. I think I'd like to know you better." Having said that, he blushed slightly and looked down bashfully.

"Why don't you go back in and get your coat and hat, and we can go somewhere else?"

William nodded and went back inside. Buffy remembered her muffle and followed him. In the warm entry hall, William was putting on his coat. The old servant handed her the muffle without a word.

As she took it, there was a loud chirping sound from the cloakroom. Buffy startled.

"Just a cricket, Miss Summers," William said with a smile. "They're good luck, you know."

"So I'm told," Buffy replied.

They stepped back out into the night air.

"Wait," Buffy said. Now that her hands were back inside the muffle, she had found something useful. She pulled out a handkerchief, and in the light shed by a gas lamp, she wiped the blood from under his nose.

They stood face-to-face, scant inches between them, Buffy looking up into William's clear, blue eyes; his warm breath playing over her face.

They stood transfixed, and Buffy felt her heart race. She closed her eyes, and their lips met. His kiss was gentle, tentative and heart-breakingly sincere.

Then he seemed to remember himself, and he stepped back abruptly.

"I-I'm sorry, Miss Summers. That was unforgivable. I have no right..."

Buffy smiled at him. "Don't apologize -- or you'll make me angry."

William was blushing furiously. "It was rude and forward."

"It was beautiful."

She moved close to him and closed her eyes. "I'd like another, please."

The second kiss lasted longer. His arms were around her, and she could feel the pounding of his heart as his chest was pressed against hers. His lips were warm and gentle, exploring her with desire held in check by his innate reserve. She could have stayed this way for the rest of the night, but William broke the embrace again.

"Where would you like to go now, Miss Summers?" he asked.

She wanted him to take her back to his room. She wanted to strip out of this absurd corset and bustle, and make love to him until the sun came up. But she knew she couldn't suggest it.

"I don't know. You're the local expert," Buffy said with a smile.

"There's a midnight service at the King's College chapel," he replied.

Buffy suppressed a chuckle. She wanted to go to his room and get naked, but William -- no, Spike -- wanted to take her to church.


On to Chirp the Third