It's dark.
It wasn't meant to be like this. He was only meant to twin with the slayers, orbit them, come into a staggering eclipse of moon and sun once in a while.
He wasn't meant to fall in love with one...
He kicks off from the road, the motorway ripping away behind him as he drops his cigarette. The bike eats up the distance to the border. He intends to get to Panama and take a boat to Africa, and get to Nigeria. He needs that soul. He has to get it.
He supposes it was inevitable really. His sense of always being locked into a constant fascination with slayers was always going to manifest itself as lust, then love.
Not what he just did though. He accepted the demon, it was his fault, and he let the demon out. Now he has to atone. He knows this. He feels regret as if he had a soul right now. But he doesn't, and he really needs it.
This eternal dance with the slayers, of violence, true, but also his mental dabbling in their similarities...it was bound to end up like this. He knows himself, knows the hedonist romantic that can both pair with the demon and roil away from it. He knows that he loves her, this slayer who captured him. And he knows that what he did must be fixed if this journey kills him-which it probably will. This entanglement was headed this way; this was always the ultimate moment in completing this journey he has been on for so long.
When he gets the soul, his first thought is not one of regret. When he gets the soul, his first thought is one of relief, of reconciliation, of understanding. He knows who he is now. He is a man. Different to William, different to Spike, but a man. This is where his innate contradictions come to rest. This is where they coincide.
He is William the Bloody, and...
Oh God. He feels so guilty.