One shot
DECEMBER 23rd, 1999, SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA
Spike sat in a dark corner of Willy’s demon bar. The coming New Year didn’t hold any hope of joy for the chipped vampire. He felt as impotent as the Slayer implied despite his protesting of the opposite. Here he was – the Big Bad – at the mercy of the Slayer and her little friends. The Slayer’s mercy and her soft, kissable lips, he thought to himself. No, don’t think about that, Spike growled at himself.
Spike grunted in surprise when a familiar female voice sounded behind him. Then, he realized that she also sounded drunk.
“It’sh not like it’sh the first time we kissed, William.” Buffy lurched into the seat across from Spike. “You can quit spluttering about Buffy breath.” She tilted her head to the side with a sigh.
“Slayer, what are you doing here?” Spike snarled.
“Of course, it was just on my cheek. I had to wait over 100 years to feel your lips pressed against mine, and I didn’t even know how much I wanted it at the time. What a waste of a good opportunity.”
“Shouldn’t you be off making kissy faces with that college boy of yours?” He refused to acknowledge the fissure of jealousy that shot through his dead heart at the thought of Buffy being with the human man.
“Riley’s one of those soldiers,” Buffy said.
Spike wasn’t sure how to address that little factoid, but it didn’t matter because the Slayer continued on without waiting for his reply.
Buffy hunched over her drink. “I don’t know why you’re so upset about Riley. You made those mooneyes at that bitch Cecily the whole time.” She pointed one drunken finger at Spike. “She wasn’t even human. Did you know that? Of course, you didn’t. She hid it from all of you so well.”
“How the hell do you know about her?” Spike barked. After being turned he had made sure that no one knew anything about his life before. There was no way Buffy Summers could possibly know about Cicely Underwood.
“You forgot me?” Buffy’s lower lip poked out in a pronounced pout.
Spike caught himself staring at the plump, round lip of the Slayer.
“You kissed me at midnight on Christmas eve. We’re each other’s true loves,” Buffy said in a protesting voice. “The magic in the mistletoe said so.”
Spike was stunned at the revelation. There was no way that the Slayer could be Lizzie Winters no matter how much he now realized that they looked alike. Why was the demented bint pretending to have intimate knowledge of the woman? Spike pointed at Buffy, and he said in a menacing tone, “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Slayer, but my former life is none of your soddin’ business.” He threw a wad of cash down on the table before he stormed away with his mind lost in a sea of unwanted memories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
SEVERAL WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, 1879
William Jamison ducked into the secluded alcove of his club, the same one his father had belonged to, when he heard the voices. His father was long dead, but he still had the privileges that went with the Chesterfield title, even if there was not as much money behind the name now. He recognized the three men strolling up the hallway towards him. They were three of his most hated peers: Carl Pendergrass, Edward Schmellings, and Ronald Weatherby. William grimaced while he hoped the males wouldn’t notice him. As they spoke, he realized that they had paused near the alcove.
“Jamison’s still sniffing around Miss Underwood.” Schmellings’ whiny tone of voice grated on William’s nerves, even though he was too much of a gentleman to ever utter this aloud. “If you want to catch her for yourself, Pendergrass, you need to find a diversion.”
William didn’t like the sound of that. It wasn’t like he had approached Miss Underwood with his attentions. Thus far, he had worshiped her beauty from afar. She was an angel who didn’t deserve to have these mortals anywhere her glorious exquisiteness.
“What about a game of Blind Man’s Bluff and that odd American visiting the Wyndam-Pryce’s?” Weatherby drawled in his usual lazy tone. “Of course all the Wyndam-Pryce’s are odd. It’s that colonial blood.”
William stifled a grunt. He didn’t know his cousins very well, but they had been polite and kind every time he had anything to do with them. Meade Wyndam-Pryce hadn’t turned his nose up at his English relatives like some offspring of British society and American wealth had a tendency to do. William promptly ignored that the tendency very often went both ways.
“When you’re rich, people overlook your oddities,” Schmellings said. “Of course that doesn’t explain how William the Bloody Awful Poet does it. He has the title and none of the riches. He simply has all that ridiculous poetry.”
William felt his heart hitch at the cruel nickname. He hated how the others said he was a bloody awful poet. He was just glad his mother hadn’t heard the name calling. He knew that finding out how the others thought of him would hurt her almost as much as her sickness did.
“Jamison’s like a dog with a bone,” Pendergrass muttered. “He just can’t get it through his head that my Cecily isn’t interested in him.”
Schmellings let out a scoffing noise. “My sister says that Mrs. Underwood has employed magic on the mistletoe this year. Some blather about kissing your true love at midnight.”
William shook his head while he thought, Everyone knows magic is fakery. Only a fool believes in magic. He tried hard not to think about Pendergrass’ opinion that Miss Underwood wouldn’t care for his attentions. William was quite sure he was in love with her.
“Your sister’s nothing but a romantic idiot, Schmellings,” Pendergrass said.
“Didn’t say I believed it myself. There’s no such thing as magic or true love,” Schmellings muttered, his voice whinier than before. “I was just trying to help, Pendergrass. If you convince Jamison of the magic, maybe he’ll start mooning over whoever you trick him into kissing.”
“Leave it to me, boys,” Weatherby replied in his drawling tone of voice. “I know just what to do.”
As the voices faded away, William resolved not to fall for any tricks that would keep him from the beautiful Cecily’s side. He would just decline the invitation to play Blind Man’s Bluff with the other gentlemen. He would stay with Cecily while they watched the others play, and just maybe she’d consent to a kiss on the cheek. If he managed to write a special poem to her beauty, she was sure to give him a few liberties.
When William arrived home, he forgot about the overheard conversation. His mother was having one of her coughing fits. His attention and concern were placed on her instead of the Christmas party at the end of the month.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
CHRISTMAS EVE, 1879, THE UNDERWOOD RESIDENCE
“Jamison,” Meade Wyndam-Pryce’s voice boomed across the room. “Come meet my ward Miss Winters.”
William looked up from his writing tablet to see his cousin enter the sitting room with a petite blond woman on his arm. He set his pad aside, and he rose to his feet to greet the newcomers. William stuck his hand out to greet Meade. “Merry Christmas, cousin.”
Meade grasped the offered hand, and he shook it with vigor. “Merry Christmas. I thought I might find you hiding in here. You’re missing the fun.”
“I’m waiting for Miss Underwood’s arrival,” William said softly.
“Ah, the lovely Miss Underwood,” Meade laughed. “I can see how you might become infatuated with that beauty.” He grinned at the quiet blond beside him. “Not as beautiful as Lizzie here, I’m afraid.”
William felt his cheeks redden under his cousin’s teasing. Did everyone know about his interest in Cecily Underwood?
The woman rolled her eyes. “You’re embarrassing him, Meade. I’m Bu-…“ She stopped for a moment to clear her throat. “… Lizzie Winters. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stuck her hand out much in the same way that William’s cousin had.
William glanced at Meade who grimaced slightly at Miss Winter’s forward manner. It was obvious the young woman didn’t realize the faux pas she had just presented. Not only had she not waited to be introduced, but she was standing at the same level as his cousin and himself.
William in no way wanted to embarrass the young woman, and he could tell his cousin didn’t either, making William glad it was just the three of them in the room. He grasped the hand, turned in over, and bowed over the hand in the manner his mother had taught him. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Winters. The pleasure is all mine.” He was surprised over the firm pressure and strength behind her grip.
A smirking Schmellings appeared at the sitting room door. “It’s time for the games to begin. Jamison, you’re it first.” He threw a scarf at William. “Miss Underwood is eagerly awaiting your arrival in the parlor.” He turned to leave the room.
A small smile broke out on William’s face. He hurriedly gathered his notepad before he gave his cousin a nod. William stumbled from the room in his rush to see Miss Underwood. Behind him, he barely heard Miss Winters speak.
“I don’t like that Smellings guy,” Miss Winters said to Meade. “He’s all smarmy like Giles’ friend Ethan.”
“His name is Schmellings, my dear,” Meade corrected.
William entered the parlor, eager to catch a glimpse at his beloved Cecily. He handed his things to the servant stationed at the door. His gaze travelled around the room until his eyes fell on Cecily. His heart leapt into his throat, and he forgot to breathe.
“Ah, Jamison is here.” Weatherby’s drawl was loud enough to hear above the chatter. “Let the games begin. As soon as you’re under the mistletoe with your sweetheart, Jamison, we’ll be sure to tell you.”
William was too far away to see Weatherby wink at his friends. He turned away to put on the scarf for the game, and he missed the moue of distaste that crossed Cecily Underwood’s features.
“Why do you insist on encouraging him?” Cecily grumbled to Carl Pendergrass, one of the men she considered worth encouraging.
William turned around to blindly face the room. “I’m ready,” he called out. He put his hands out in front of him, and he stumbled forward.
“This way, Jamison,” Weatherby called out. He laughed when William lurched in his direction.
“No, she’s this way.” Schmellings’ voice came from another direction, and William stumbled over his feet when he changed his route mid step.
Pendergrass’ sarcastic voice rang out in the room. “Wrong direction again, William.”
William stopped in his tracks, and he shuddered when an odd awareness skittered down his spine. He was fairly sure that Cecily was in a particular direction now. He lurched off on the bearing his nervous system told him was the correct one.
“Well, he’s finding the mistletoe easily enough,” one of the women tittered in the quiet room.
Another woman replied in a mocking whisper, “But will he find his true love?”
“Wrong way, William dear,” Pendergrass scoffed. “You’re getting cold.”
William drew in a deep breath when his hand encountered the soft, cool hand of what was sure to be a female. The odd awareness grew in intensity when he bowed over the hand and murmured a small greeting, “You are so beautiful, Cecily.”
William tried not to react when he heard the twitters and gaffs behind him. His heart dropped when he recognized Cecily Underwood’s distinctive giggle come not from in front of him but from the same direction as the laughing. He stood up straight to pull off the blindfold to find Miss Winters standing directly under the mistletoe. William was mortified to have embarrassed Miss Winters in such a manner. He was surprised to find her glaring at the others behind him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Meade, who was standing behind her, placed his hand on her shoulder in warning.
“There’s your true love, Jamison,” Schmellings said while he elbowed his friends in the ribs. “Give the girl a kiss.”
“That would not be proper,” William turned to face his attackers, and he said in a stiff manner. “It’s one thing to insult me and my actions, but it is quite another to insult a lady that is under the protection of my family.” He turned back to Miss Winters. “Please accept my apology for these vulgar oaf, Miss Winters.”
Miss Winters continued to glare at the mockers while she replied in an angry, but sweet, voice. “Don’t apologize for them, Mr. Jamison. You’re much too good for these idiots.” She directed her next comment to the other gentlemen and their ladies. “I’ve listened to you all make fun of everyone around you for several months including me. Now personally, I don’t give a darn what you think about me. You haven’t experienced anything until you’ve had the Queen C insult you.”
“Lizzie,” Meade said under his breath. “Be careful what you say.”
“Jamison here’s nothing but a bloody awful poet, my dear misinformed Miss Winters,” Weatherby said. “You’re quite lucky not to have had your ears bleed listening to his drivel. He’s not called William the Bloody for no reason, you know.”
William was surprised when Miss Winters stared up into his face with a speculative look on her own. After tilting her head to the side for a moment, a grin broke out on her face. William’s breath caught in his throat at how – ironically really – breathtaking she really was. Then, she turned back to the other aristocrats. “You are all such fools. From everything Mr. Wyndam-Pryce has told me, William is a good, loyal man that takes care of his mother. I’m glad I met him. It gives me an interesting perspective.”
William felt his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. No one had ever defended him against his peers before. “It’s kind of you to defend me, Miss Winters, but I am quite capable of dealing with them on my own.”
Miss Winters laid a hand on William’s arm. “I’m sure you are, but that doesn’t mean you should have to.” Her eyes went to the mistletoe above her head. “Meade’s been trying to drill all this Victorian stuff into my head, and it’s so not working. I do remember that I have to give permission for you to kiss me.” She tilted her head to give him access to her cheek. “You may have a kiss.”
William’s eyes immediately went to Meade. He could tell his cousin was trying to suppress laughter as he gave William the go ahead to kiss the young woman on the cheek. He debated it for about thirty seconds before he complied. The young gentleman leaned down to claim his reward with a brush of his lips against Miss Winter’s cheekbone in the lightest of kisses.
Maybe. Just maybe, seeing William kiss Miss Winters’ cheek would make Cecily so mad with jealousy that she would rush to his side before she lost him completely.
“Looks like William found his true love tonight.” Mrs. Underwood entered the room just in time to see the kiss. “The magic of the mistletoe works, I see.”
“Oh, Mother, magic is silly.” Cecily crossed the room to link arms with her mother. “You’ve just been pulling our leg this whole time, haven’t you?”
Mrs. Underwood put her hand to her chest. “Why on earth would I do that, Cecily? Magic is as real as you or me. Now, who is ready for refreshments?”
William and Lizzie met at several other social gatherings where they visited and occasionally danced with each other under the watchful eye of Meade Wyndam-Pryce. To her dismay, Lizzie learned more than she ever wanted about Cecily Underwood. The two social misfits found companionship with each other until the night when Lizzie and Meade arrived just in time to hear some words that would change everything.
Cecily Underwood let out a disdainful sniff. “I do see you. That’s the problem. You’re nothing to me, William. You’re beneath me.”
Lizzie and Meade stood in the doorway unable to respond as an upset William pushed past them in his need to be elsewhere.
Lizzie let out a heavy sigh. “We should probably go someplace else for awhile. William’s going to be quite cranky for awhile.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
DECEMBER 23RD 1999, SUNNYDALE, CALFORNIA
If Spike looked back over his shoulder as he stormed away, he would have seen Buffy’s eyes fill with tears. He would have seen her pull a sprig of mistletoe out of her pocket and stare at it longingly.
“Cecily Underwood was a complete and utter bitch,” Buffy muttered. She dashed the tears away from her eyes. She missed her friend William, and she had hoped to find him again in Spike.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
Spike looked up when the Slayer slowly descended down the stairs of the Harris’ basement. He had snuck upstairs to steal a bottle of the old man’s whiskey, and now he sat in front of the television. “What do you want, Slayer?” he snarled.
Buffy stopped in her tracks, and she sat down on the step she was standing on. “I was patrolling right after the whole thing with the laryngitis guys when I fell through a weird blue vortex-y thing.”
Spike looked away. “So what?”
“I found myself in 1879 in Meade’s parlor. He was very surprised to say the least,” Buffy accompanied the words with a self-conscious laugh. “Did you know his family was already involved with the Council, even then?”
Spike’s head shot up. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“Your cousin Wesley, however many times removed, is living in Los Angeles with Angel.” Buffy let out a huff of air. “Anyway, Meade tried very hard to teach me how to be a good Victorian lady. As might you remember, I wasn’t very good at it.”
“You were still the Slayer, weren’t you?” Certain recollections and bits of memory were falling in to place for Spike.
Buffy nodded her head.
“Why did you let me get turned? Thought for sure you’d want to stop something like that,” Spike sneered. “You knew that I’d kill two Slayers before I met you again.”
Buffy nibbled on her lower lip for a few seconds. “I didn’t want to lose my friend.”
“We’re not friends,” Spike growled. “You’re the Slayer, and I’m a vampire. We’re natural enemies now. When I get this chip out, there will be hell to pay.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Buffy replied sadly. “But there’s one thing I wanna do before we go back to being completely at each other’s throats.” She pulled the sprig of greenery out of her pocket. “I want to kiss my true love under the mistletoe, really kiss him.”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Spike went to rise to his feet, but he found himself pinned to the couch under the Slayer’s body. She buried the hand holding the mistletoe in his hair while she grasped his chin with the other. Before he could launch a protest, her soft, pink lips were covering his mouth. His hands fluttered in the air as if he didn’t know what to do with them for a few seconds before finally settling on Buffy’s hips.
Buffy pulled away long enough to mutter in Spike’s ear. “Underwood was a stupid idiot. It took every thing I had not to drag poor innocent William into a dark closet and have my wicked, 20th century ways with him. All that dancing we did seemed like foreplay to me. It always has.” She nibbled at the ear she was whispering in.
“You’re being completely unrealistic, Slayer.” Spike’s eyes fluttered closed.
Buffy hopped up from Spike’s lap, and she handed him the mistletoe. “Perhaps, but I’ll never forget it. Merry Christmas, William.” She turned and sauntered back out of Xander’s basement, leaving a dazed, horny vampire in her wake.