A Cricket from California by Elsa Frohman

And so it began -- with the kettle boiling on the stove in the Summers kitchen. It whistled merrily, sending out a plume of white steam that condensed in the air turning the atmosphere moist and inviting.

"Chamomile tea?" Willow asked brightly as Buffy came into the room. "Soothing herbal goodness..."

"No thanks. If I get soothed, I'm going to fall over," Buffy said with a sigh. "I think a can of Red Bull might be more in order."

The Slayer looked right knackered -- at least that's what Spike would have said if he were here, Willow thought. Her friend's hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, her shoulders were rounded and there were dark circles under her eyes. She'd neglected her makeup, and she was as pale as the vampires she dispatched nightly.

"Might not be such a bad thing," Willow said carefully, "if you fell over, that is. You need some rest. It's Christmas Eve. Give yourself a break."

"I'll rest when..."

"We're going to find him. But in the meantime, it won't do any good for you to push yourself into a collapse."

Buffy leaned against the counter and sighed. "Can't sleep anyway. If I drift off, the dreams..."

"Perhaps Willow could give you a sleeping potion," Giles said as he came through the kitchen door. "Something that would keep the dreams in check. You really do need to get some rest."

"And I'm Grinching everyone's Christmas," Buffy said with a sigh.

"Nobody faults you for being worried," Willow said. "But right now, there's not much that can be done."

"Except worry."

"And you've done that exceedingly well," Giles said.

Willow poured the boiling water from the kettle into the teapot, covering the china vessel with a crocheted cozy.

"I have a little present for you, Buffy," Willow said, glancing over at Giles.

"But we're exchanging gifts in the morning..."

"I know, this is something extra." She picked up a little folded envelope from the counter, and handed it to her friend.

Buffy turned it over in her hand. "What is it?"

"Be careful, there's powder inside."

"Sleeping potion?"

"A little more than that."

"Um... I know you mean well, but..." Buffy glanced over at Giles.

"It's all right," Giles said, answering the unasked question. "Willow and I discussed it, and I think she's come up with something that may be very good for you."

Buffy frowned slightly. "Like having my memories erased?"

"No!" Willow said, sounding a little hurt. "Nothing like that at all. And notice, I'm telling you about it and putting it in your hands -- no surprises, no unilateral action. I've learned that lesson, thank you very much."

"Sorry... I didn't want to sound ungrateful. I'm just so tired..."

"And that's what this is about," Willow replied.

"But you said it was more than a sleeping potion..."

"It's a dream spell. A nice, safe, relaxing dream spell."

"So I won't have a Slayer dream?"

"Well, you shouldn't. You'll have this dream instead. And you've got total control over what it will be about."

"So if I want to dream about Brad Pitt and me..."

"Well, you could. But what this is really good for is travel."

"Travel?"

"You've always wanted to travel, haven't you? You can go anywhere, any time you're curious about. Just have a nice little one-night holiday."

"Anywhere, any time?"

Willow nodded.

"Then I could go to where the First has Spike and find out..."

"No!" Giles said, reaching out and taking the little packet from Buffy's hand. "That would be highly inadvisable. To do that, you'd have to let the First into your sleeping mind. A very, very bad idea."

"Then I can't use it for anything useful..."

"Taking a break would be useful," Giles said gently. "You're pushing yourself too hard. You need more than sleep. You need to give yourself a chance to unwind."

"Giles is right, Buffy. This spell was developed for researchers -- so they could go and see how things were in the past. But it's only good for trivial research. It would be very dangerous to try to use it to discover something evil."

"OK, no evil. Little vacation... so, how does it work?"

Giles put the packet back in her hand.

Willow poured a mug of herb tea and put it on the counter next to Buffy.

"You take this mug of tea upstairs with you and get ready for bed. Before you lie down, you put the powder in the tea and drink it. Then you write your request on the paper." She handed Buffy a ballpoint pen.

"Anywhere, any time? How does that work? If I've never seen
Paris, how can I dream about it?"

"That's the magic. There are -- well, I guess you could call them echoes -- of every day that has ever happened. They're just out there in the ether floating around. So, say if you wanted to talk to Einstein on the day when the Theory of Relativity occurred to him, your sleeping consciousness would be transported to an echo of that day and place. But Einstein'd be speaking German, of course, so it probably wouldn't be that interesting for you."

"What if I had my Berlitz phrasebook with me, and I told him to give it up; it's all nonsense -- and he should get a haircut?"

Willow laughed. "It wouldn't make any difference. You're not at the real event -- just an image of the event. You can do anything you want; it won't change anything."

Buffy looked at the little packet. Lines formed between her eyebrows as she thought.

"But if it's just an image, why would it be dangerous to..."

Giles looked like he was going to snatch the packet back again,
so Buffy closed her hand around it.

"Because a being as powerful as the First will maintain a connection with all the images of itself," the Watcher said. "Don't try it. It's not worth the risk."

"Right."

"I mean that, Buffy..."

"I get it. Light, fluffy, relaxing dream. No big bads."

There was a sharp, almost metallic chirping sound, and Buffy flinched.

"What was that?"

Giles shrugged. "Sounded like a cricket."

"Cricket? As in bug? Bugs in my house? Where's the Raid?"

The Englishman chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it. A cricket on the hearth is good luck."

"Really? He must be one lost little cricket then. When's the last time there was any good luck in this house?" Buffy said with a sigh.

Willow picked up the mug and put it in Buffy's hands, wrapping the Slayer's fingers around the warm china.

"Merry Christmas, Buffy. Now, go have a nice holiday."

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 cheekbones 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.

Chirp the Third

The college chapel was grander than anything Buffy would have imagined. She'd thought it would be a small place for a few students to gather for worship. Instead, she found herself before a building that would have been impressive had it been called a cathedral. It was a tall, narrow, gothic church with an even taller tower at each corner. It was built without the flying buttresses that shored up the walls of most European cathedrals. The clean lines of the walls emphasized the height of the roof, and colored light spilled out of the massive stained glass windows onto the fresh snow of the courtyard.

It was built facing the river. Buffy and William had approached along a riverside walk, and they stood now at the riverbank looking up to the church.

"Chapel?" Buffy said incredulously.

"Yes, a nice one isn't it?" William said mildly.

They could hear the organ from the church playing a Bach cantata.

"Shall we go in?" William asked, offering her his arm again.

Buffy nodded. "It's strange. I'm trying to remember the last time I went to a church service. The best I can say is: It's been a while."

William smiled. "The church is always eager to welcome back its prodigal sons and daughters."

Buffy stopped and looked at William. So strange to hear him say that, knowing what she knew of William's future. She wanted to tell him to never forget it -- but knew it wouldn't make any difference. This wasn't William. It was an image of William. She couldn't warn him to stay out of London stables, or stay away from dark-haired women who promised immortality. Nor would she want to, she realized. If William sidestepped his fate, she would never know him. She'd miss both the mortal enemy and the immortal lover. Would she do it if she could? Could she bear to give up the Spike she'd known if it meant William could live out his life as a man?

Such cruel turns of fate lay ahead for this gentle soul.

Would it even be right? Was William's life worth more than Spike's?

"Miss Summers?" William asked, noticing her reluctance to move forward.

"Could I ask you to do something for me?"

"Certainly! If it's within my power, it's yours."

Buffy smiled.

"Call me Buffy."

"Buffy? I thought your name was Anne..."

"It's a pet name they have for me at home. It would make me happy if you'd use it as well."

"Very well... Buffy. Nothing would give me more pleasure."

They proceeded up the walk to the church and went inside. It was filling up, and they had to take a pew near the back. The interior of the church was lit by candles and decorated with miles of evergreen roping. William took a hymnal from the rack and began book marking the songs listed on the board at the front of the church.

Sitting was neither comfortable nor relaxing. Buffy had thought it would be good to get her weight off her feet, but in practice, the bustle and corset made the sitting position awkward. She had to perch on the edge of the seat with her back ramrod straight to manage it at all.

William regarded her little squirming attempts to find a better position with mild amusement.

"You're really not accustomed to dressing this way, are you?" he asked quietly.

Buffy shook her head. "We're a bit more casual out West," she said.

William took her hand in his. "The trouble you've taken was well worth it... Buffy," he said. "The clothing may not be what you're accustomed to, but I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Buffy smiled back at him. "And what would you think if you saw me dressed in blue jeans? Would you still think I was beautiful?"

"I don't think you're capable of anything else," he said earnestly. "I think you would be beautiful in any clothing at all."

The organ struck up the processional, and the choir began its march up the main aisle. William's attention was drawn to the pageant, but Buffy's eyes stayed on him.

As the service went on, the warmth of the church began to tell on Buffy. She was sure that if she had been able to sit back in her pew, she would have fallen asleep. The thought was disturbing. This was a dream, she reminded herself. If she fell asleep in a dream, would it mean the dream was over and she would wake up? She didn't want to wake up now. The church, the Christmas music, the fragrance of incense and pine, and her hand cradled in William's -- it all felt so safe and right.

William let go of her hand for a moment to change the page in his hymnal. It was time to stand and sing along. Buffy moved closer to William -- ostensibly to share his hymnal, but she had to admit that it was really about being close and feeling the warmth of his living body next to hers.

"Angels From the Realms of Glory" the curate announced.

William began to sing.

Angels from the realms of glory,
Wing your flight o'er all the earth;
Ye who sang creation's story
Now proclaim Messiah's birth.

Come and worship, come and worship
Worship Christ, the newborn King.

He had a lovely tenor voice. Buffy joined in, but felt her contribution was weak in comparison. The song continued through several verses.

Sinners, wrung with true repentance,
Doomed for guilt to endless pains,
Justice now revokes the sentence,
Mercy calls you; break your chains.

Buffy stopped singing. Hearing William sing those words robbed her of her voice. How strange it all was. Could it be coincidence?

As the service ended, they filed toward the door, where the priest was stationed, greeting his congregation as they left. There was a bit of backup in the vestibule, and they stood in the crowd, William close behind her, his hand on her waist.

When they got to the reception line, the priest shook Buffy's hand and wished her a merry Christmas.

"Thank you, Father," she said. "And you as well."

As she spoke, there was a chirping sound. Buffy looked around.

"A cricket," the priest said.

"It's good luck, or so I've heard," Buffy replied with a smile, though the sound left her vaguely uneasy for some reason.

William pumped the priest's hand enthusiastically.

"An inspiring sermon, Father," he said.

"Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Smith," the priest replied.

They headed down the church steps into the crisp night air. The snow had stopped, and the sky had cleared. There was a canopy of stars overhead, glittering in a velvet-black sky. A thin crescent of moon cast pale light on the fresh snow that glittered back at the stars.

They walked along in silence for a while.

"It seemed like the cricket bothered you," William said after they had reached the river walk.

Buffy stopped and looked at him, memorizing the innocent, untroubled expression on his face.

"It was the third one I've heard today. I think it means something."

William tilted his head to give her a puzzled look. It was a gesture so typically Spike, that it squeezed her heart.

"I think my time here may be nearly up."

"Oh... You have to go back to your family..."

Buffy nodded.

"Of course..."

Buffy took both of his hands in hers and looked up into his face. "If I could grant you one wish with a kiss, what would you wish for?" she asked.

William thought for a moment.

"I would wish that I could be with you forever," he said. "I would wish that a century from now, you'd still be with me."

Buffy stood on tiptoe to give him a quick, light kiss on the lips.

"Make that a hundred and twenty years, and I might be able to deliver," she said with a chuckle.

"What about you? If I could grant you one wish with a kiss, what would you wish for?"

"I would wish that I could tell you something and you would believe me, and remember it always."

William bent down and kissed her, slowly and gently, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

"Tell me, then. I promise I'll believe you, and I don't think I could forget if I tried."

Buffy swallowed hard. Her throat was tightening.

"I want to tell you that forgiveness is always possible -- always. And redemption happens. I've seen it, and I know it's true."

She spoke the words and wished with all her heart that they could transcend this pleasant dream and find their way to the real William's bleak future.

He looked down at her, his eyes filled with wonder. For a moment Buffy could believe he understood.

She pulled away from him.

"I have to go now."

"I'll walk you back to your hotel," William said.

"No... I'm sorry. There isn't time."

"But, Buffy..."

He was fading away, along with the river by their side, the snow banks, the church in the distance.

*^*^*^*^*

"Willow told me to let you sleep, but come on, Buffy, it's almost nine o'clock and it's Christmas!" Dawn was saying.

"Mmmph?" Buffy answered, pulling the covers over her head.

"Come on! I want to open my presents!"

Buffy sat up.

"What happened to 'I'm not a kid?'" she said muzzily.

"It's Christmas! What point is there to not being a kid on Christmas?"

"OK, OK... I'm getting up. There'd better be some coffee waiting when I get downstairs."

Dawn swept out of the room in triumph.

Buffy sat up and glanced over at the nightstand. The empty mug was still there, and beside it was the paper where she had written her request. She picked it up and looked at it.

"Show me Spike when he was my age," she'd written. She looked at it now and thought about her "holiday" as Willow had called it. She certainly felt rested now -- more so than she had in weeks. And her determination was renewed.

"I'll find you, William," she whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Spike."