Chapter 3

Clem peered down the rabbit hole leading to the lower half of his friend's lair.  The vampire was sprawled, unconscious on the dirt floor fifteen feet below.

"Hey, you okay, buddy?"  the flappy-eared demon asked.

William stirred, moaned a bit, then opened his eyes.  "What?" he asked groggily.

"I asked if you're okay."

"I'm…" the 19th century would-be poet began.  He squinted up at Clem.  "Who…?"

Still looking down, Clem stood up and waved several videos over the hole for his friend to see.  "I brought some movies.  I got "Clueless," "Excess Baggage," and even "Blast from the Past."  I thought we could have an Alicia Silverstone marathon today."

"Alicia who?"

"Aw c'mon.  Don't do this to me, Spike!  Alicia Silverstone.  I mean, she's like so underrated as an actress…don't ya think?"

"Um, er…"

"And I've got popcorn and cheetos…it's gonna be great…"

* * *

Buffy sat in her kitchen sipping coffee from a mug she'd gotten as a birthday gift from Spike a week earlier.  Embarrassed by the lavishness of the other presents she'd received at her party, he'd quietly given it to her the next night.

She held it up and smiled.

On the mug was a photo of the vampire—wicked grin and all—and below it the words:  "Warning:  I Bite."

"Not last night," she muttered and took another swig of the overly sweetened liquid.

Willow walked in.  "Hey."

Buffy.  "Hey."

"How's it going?"

Hah, a loaded question!  But she had no idea.

"Fine," Buffy replied absently.

"You look kinda worried about something."

"Do I?"  Buffy peered at her reflection in the side of a stainless steel toaster oven.  "Nah, I'm just practicing my 'pensive Buffy' expression.  You know, with no Giles around—somebody's gotta look that way."

"I see…" Willow shot her a doubtful look.  She noticed the coffee mug.  "Ooh, I see you're using the mug…"

"Yeah, well all the other ones were dirty," Buffy lied.

Willow leaned closer to her friend to examine the mug.  "You know, if I weren't like—gay now—I'd actually think that Spike was kinda—"

"Don't say it!"

Willow altered her course, just slightly.  "But don't you think that Spike's been…acting kinda different lately?"

"No."  More lying Buffy.  "Not the slightest bit."

"Well, I've kinda noticed—"

"Nah," Buffy cut in.  Unless you count his uncharacteristically tender and gentle lovemaking last night…  "Not different.  Nope.  Not at all…"

* * *

It was almost too easy.  He had them eating out of the palm of his hand—these Victorians.  So prim and proper.  So easy to shock.  Spike shot a sideways look to Cecily who'd been openly staring at him for the last half-hour.

See me now, do you?  He winked at her and grinned rakishly.

"Fascinating.  Simply fascinating, William," Derby commented.  "And you say you've had many encounters with these creatures…?"

"Another story!" a woman demanded.

"Yes, another one!" agreed a man.

Spike held up his hands, laughing.  "No.  No.  Maybe another time."  He glanced at Cecily, who nodded at him then moved to another part of the room.  "I've uh, got to go," he quickly muttered.

The disappointed crowd dispersed and Spike strode over to where Cecily now sat.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the seat next to hers.

She looked up at him, flushed a bit, then nodded.  "Please," she said, eyes lowered.

He smiled, sat down and composed himself.  This was a moment he'd replayed in his head many times.  A defining moment, so to speak.  He'd regretted it for over a century.  Now he had a chance to change it. 

"Oh those…"  What was the word he'd originally used?  Ah yes…  "Vulgarians!"

 Cecily looked up, a little confused.  "Excuse me?"

"Oh they're so utterly depraved, vile…  I could go on forever.  But they're not like—you and I."

"You and I?"

The bait had been set.

A flicker of understanding shone in Cecily's eyes.  "William."

"Yes?"

"Those poems of yours…"

"I know, they're awful…"

"I was wondering."

"Hm?"  He was relishing every second.

"Are they…are they about—me?"

"You?"  And here it was.  The moment.  "You think they're about you?"  He did his best to sound incredulous.

She nodded, then asked almost shyly.  "Well, are they?"

Spike suppressed a smirk. 

Then with feigned indignation, he thundered, "Hell no, woman!  Not one syllable!"