Buffy and Spike walk silently threw his home ground cemetery. The air catches William's unusually styled dew; primp and proper for the impressing part.

"You know, not many remember, maybe it's just Dru now, but I used to be human. Just like yo – ah … Xan – ah … Willo – are any of you people normal?"

"First off, you were never normal. You were evil abnormality waiting to break out. Steven King with kittens."

"One of those would really hit the spot. Lord knows that steak didn't have nearly enough blood in it. It should come with little blood packets."

"As an addendum to my 'First Off', I'll add: ew," says Buffy.

"You know what addendum means?"

"Sure. I picked up the den table and I addendum. Poof."

"Right. Well, as I was saying, I was human. I was a writer; a poet. Only Dru and – wait … wasn't there going to be a 'Secondly'?"

"There was. I just can't remember," she looks at him in a strange new light and speaks, "You were a poet?"

"Yep. And a mighty fine one I might add."

"Do you still write?"

"Not nearly as much, but ever since I got my Borg implant," Spike says with dry sarcasm, "I've had time to reflect; what with the lack of ability to be evil. There was a long period where I didn't write anything."

"How come?"

"Well, there's the evil part and…" he trails off.

"And? You're not stopping there. You just can't tell a story and not finish it. What if Sleeping Beauty didn't end with: 'And they lived happily ever after'? Then the witch might come back and kill all the dwarves, wreck Snow White's life, and grow lots of bad apple trees full of bad apples. I mean it, it'll be a Fox special: When Fruit Goes Bad. So tell me already."

"Don't laugh – I declared my love for someone."

"Have we met her yet?"

"Yeah, but what makes you think…"

"You always hurt the ones you love. You know the expression."

"Yeah, so?" says Spike.

"You vampatized her. Right?"

"Yeah, eventually. But that was a lucky guess. Well, as I was saying before one of your many tangents, I told her how I felt. I used a poem. Everyone laughed at me and she didn't feel the same. I don't know about your dear diary, but that's a kind of pain I prefer not to pen out."

"Well, was your poem funny?"

"Quite the opposite. I find humor in many things and situations, even my own, but an expression of love, that's not something to make light of."

"Then what was it?"

"I used a word. It was just a word. And they all made fun of me."

"You had the last laugh. You're still alive, in the loosed sense, and relatively healthy and they're all dead."

"Well, yeah, because I killed them all."

"So, what was the word?"

"Effulgent. Don't laugh."

"Effulgent?"

"Yeah. Do you know what it means?"

"Does it have something to do with birds?" asks Buffy.

"Bird brains … it's sort of like radiant. Wish I hadn't burned my dictionary long ago; some words don't appear anymore. Some forgotten."

"Radiant? Okay. Now that I know what it means, I can laugh at you. Ha ha," Buffy does so in a joking manner.

She gives him a teasing jab.

"Well, there's home. Wanna come in?" he asks.

"She replies sarcastically, "My crypt or yours?"

"Better Crypts & Gardens," he says opening the door; it's bulky metal mechanisms sound off and echoing briefly into this lair.

Buffy passes in. she sees the candelabras lit and scattered about. And the air abounds with the smell of incents, she notes.

"Spike, if you're trying to impress me…"

"With candles? Think hard, pet – you've seen them here before."

"So, you're not trying to impress me? Am I not worth impressing? I'm impressable."

He moves slowly to her after closing the crypt door, "You are impressive.

'And they would join; the Slayer and the vampire; merge into a power that would scatter people, change environments and make the ground tremble.

And together they would be great.

The moon itself shall fall.'

Buffy, I-"

"Stop – if you're going to say love, remember who we are. And if that fails, remember Mr. Pointy."

"Just because it isn't spoken, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Embrace it, Buffy. I may have forever, but you … you need happiness now. Love isn't wrong, Buffy, regardless of either's condition. If Hitler can find love, so can I."

"Setting the bar a little high, don't you think?"

"If it means having you, I'll set the bar atop the heavens themselves," his left hand reaches over and gently gropes her right arm, while moving in closer. She pulls away.

"Don't…"

"Don't what? Love you?"

"You're incapable of love, compassion, caring."

"I'll have you know I loved Dru more than you might know. Just because we were both vampires, doesn't make null the act."

"No, you sucking them dry makes them null."

He grins, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Buffy folds her arms, turns her back to him and walks away from him a little.

"You're a bad thing. If I had a doctor, he wouldn't recommend you."

"Why do you mask your feelings with humor and sarcasm?" Spike asks.

"I learned it from Xander. It makes uncomfortable situations better."

"Knock, knock."

Spike…"

"Knock, knock."

Buffy puts her hands on her hips, "Who's there?"

"I want."

"I want who?" she rolls her eyes.

Spike grins and moves in.