Part 5

Buffy was thoroughly enjoying herself. William had taken her for a drive around London, hoping to jog her memory. He had pointed out all of the famous landmarks that she had only read about in books. She made a mental note to visit Giles in London if and when she ever got back to her real time. She felt in no rush though, as William was undeniably sweet and she liked his company. There was nothing remotely evil about him. She felt a comfortable, safe, "warm and fuzzy" feeling with him. Quite the opposite of how she felt when she was with Spike.

William spoke often of his little sister, Emily, whom he obviously adored. She was 15 – the same age as Dawn. He spoke warmly of her accomplishments: playing the piano, speaking several foreign languages, and painting. But he seemed most proud of her intelligence and wit. How she could hold her own in any conversation, even with their father. William's father, Buffy found out, owned a bookstore of some sort. Apparently, he was very studious and spent much of his time locked up in his shop-- presumably reading--even after the store had closed for the day. Buffy found this to be odd and William agreed with her. He was appalled at the thought of having to follow in his father's footsteps as a bookshop owner. Although it was a very large, respected establishment, he had no interest in any type of commercial enterprise.

"And what are you interested in, William?" Buffy asked.

William became very uncomfortable. "I, uh…" He stammered a bit. "I, uh, enjoy more creative endeavors." He smiled weakly.

"I never would have guessed that you were the creative type," Buffy said, thinking of Spike. "What do you create exactly?"

"Well, I paint tolerably well, but my real passion is…." William smiled with embarrassment, "Poetry."

"Oh, like 'Roses are red. Violets are blue…."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind." Buffy smiled. "I think poetry's a pretty cool hobby. I'd love to hear some of your stuff."

William turned bright red. "Oh no! I'm afraid that my poetry's not very good. It's quite detestable, actually. I've heard that some people even refer to me as 'William the Bloody' for my 'bloody awful' poetry." He attempted a smile but could only manage a strained grimace.

Buffy's left eyebrow shot up. "William the Bloody." The Slayer struggled to suppress the urge to laugh. "That's terrible." Knowing that a vampire retained the basic personality characteristics of the person they had once been, she found her time with William to be quite enlightening. She thought of Spike and wondered if he had written any poetry about her.