Buffy thinks hard, which isn't easy to do when you're warm and happy and sore and tired in the very best way ever - from shoe shopping in Rome. She carefully considers what she is about to say. Finally, she picks just the right word.

"Infantile."

"Ah, yes," Wesley says, his voice tinny through the phone line. "And also hang-dog."

"That's two words," she protests, laughing. She can hear the ice cubes rattle as he takes a sip of his drink. "Scotch?" she asks.

"Er - no, Irish and British, respectively," he says.

"I meant are you drinking Scotch?" She rolls her eyes and kicks her feet over the arm of her chair, looking out at the sunset past the garden gate.

"Right. Yes," he says. "Sorry, don't mean to be a prat."

"Don't get all British on me now, Wes," she chides, and she relaxes when she gets a warm chuckle in return.

"Yes, dear," he says. "Now, back to our game: describe a souled vampire in a single word. I choose...ah-ha! Broody."

"Too easy," she says," that one's a given. It's printed right on the warning label. How about...shirty?"

"Now who's getting all British," he says. "Don't tell me you're expanding your language skills?"

"That's mostly Dawn," she admits. "But I can say "Dove è il deposito di pattino?"

All she hears after that is laughter. "Where's the shoe store? That's wonderful. Your accent is lovely, Buffy."

"Your laugh isn't bad either," she replies. After a moment of silence, she continues. "OK...brave."

"Yes," he says. "And also...strong."

"Agreed. And...gentle, sometimes."

He pauses again. "And...friend."

"Yes," she says. "That's a good word." She hears the ice cube noises again and closes her eyes. After a moment, she says, "siete il mio amico, anche, Wesley."

"Grazie."