Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.18
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


"P-pardon?" Wes stuttered into his phone, in stark contrast to his previous relaxed tone.

He gulped deeply as Marie, once more, confirmed the identity of the person she was meeting. Suddenly, he was convinced regarding the reasons for Marie's silence on the matter up to this point. There was no way, were he to be placed in the same room as his father, that he'd be able to keep this secret.

"H-how? No, wait! We can do this on our way to L.A. Strangely, I think it might be for the best if I were to leave before my father is up and around. Give me fifteen minutes to grab a shower and a fresh coffee and I'll pick you up. That way we can leave your car in case Lily or Clem should need it while we're away." His voice softened and he added the words, "Me too," before he ended the call.

His gaze fell on Oz, who was collecting up the empty coffee mugs that had been left around in the wake of the football match and the impromptu follow up meeting. The redhead's half-smile and his minimalist nod were enough for Wes to know that Marie's family would be securely moved into the school on his return.

 

---

 

Giles finally resorted to simply ordering everyone out of the attic's living area. "Buffy, I'm sure you can read your post just as easily in your room. If you and Spike plan to supervise your S.I.T. groups as normal tomorrow, you are both going to need all the rest you can get. As to the rest of you, those of you who aren't returning to their beds can make themselves useful in the library or in the kitchen until it's a more reasonable hour. I'm sure Spike wouldn't be too upset if someone were to bring him some heated blood. But no one's going to get any sleep with the rest of you rehashing Ireland's miracle ninetieth minute equaliser or whether it was Shay Given's fault they went out on penalties... And if any of you see Anya before I do, could you ask her to meet me in the library some time after eleven?"

Giles shooed the waifs and strays on their ways before he searched out a change of clothes and took advantage of everyone's absence to remove the two blood-stained leather coats that were draped over the sofa where Buffy and Spike had been sitting. Taking his prizes, he made his way to Lydia's office.

The blonde awoke as the door to her office opened and she reached out to switch on a lamp that rested on an end table beside her makeshift bed. Her welcoming smile soothed his nerves.

"Giles, were you aware that you have a large portion of the instructions for a truth spell in mirror writing on your left cheek?"

---

 

Spike looked at the company logo on the first of the envelopes that were addressed to him and skipped over it to open the second. He hesitated to pass on the information it contained to Buffy, not now, maybe in a day or two when she'd... when they were both...

"What is it?" Buffy asked, mentally thanking Giles for his insistence that they go to their room. The more intimate surroundings allowed her to cuddle in close. Her flesh brushed against Spike's and she felt his sadness and reluctance.

Knowing he couldn't procrastinate any longer, he passed over the elegant hand-written sheet that announced that the suits and dresses he had ordered were ready for their first fittings.

A large smile flickered on Buffy's face before the incongruity of the vampire's reaction once more took hold.

"What's wrong? I mean, this is good. It's good, right ?"

"It's good, honey." Spike pulled her into a hug. "It's just we never talked about what you wanted to do... after..."

"After Willow."

"Yeah, after Red." Neither spoke further, and Spike's grip tightened until there wasn't a millimetre between them. Later they could think about weddings and dead bridesmaids. For now, they simply held each other.

 

---

 

Xander awoke slowly. He couldn't help having this feeling that something was deeply wrong.

'Anya here? Big check,' he thought, knowing that no one else could manage quite the same chainsaw effect without waking themselves up.

'Little Xander awake and ready to play? Check.

Sunday morning. No need for anyone to rush off? Check.'

The arm he had wrapped around his wife's waist tightened and she stirred in her sleep. Her in-out snoring became a series of snorts, then, a snuffle and, then, stilled completely. Her behind nudged provocatively against him, and still Xander tried to pinpoint what the proverbial fly buzzing around inside his brain might be.

'Spike and Buffy twenty-four hour sexathon sound effects? Wait a minute...

Way past time for patrol? Yep!

Way too early for Spike to be moving his undead ass-. Woah, bad images! Way too early for Spike to be out of bed. Not much better.'

Xander couldn't work out which affected him more. The picture of Spike's naked push-ups, all the worse for being transposed from his crypt to the room next door and for the image of Buffy arching up under him, was distressing enough. The freaksome idea that he found the lack of any panting, moaning or screaming penetrating through the walls to be more than a little worrying didn't help. The fact that Anya might want to revisit her vengeance roots, if she realised that he was lying naked in bed with her and worrying about the fact he couldn't hear the couple next door having sex... That reached all the way up to terrifying.

'Little Xander? Suddenly not so playful...'

He leaned over and kissed Anya gently on the cheek. "How about I bring you breakfast in bed?"

Anya let out a sleepy "Mmmmmm," of appreciation. "With waffles?" she asked.

"Not sure I can manage waffles in the watcher kitchen. If not, maybe pancakes..."

Anya let out another contented moan and snuggled back into her pillow. Xander felt around on the floor until he located his pyjamas and congratulated himself on avoiding potential disaster and making Anya smile all at the same time. Maybe he was getting the hang of this marriage gig after all.

 

---

 

Wes draped his towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, placed his shaving kit on the table and accepted the mug of black coffee that Oz poured for him.

Tara passed Bee a braised chicken breast from the fridge and then removed a gallon of milk and placed it on the table. She gifted him with a gentle upward curve of her lips for him alone. "If you wait a few minutes there'll be pancakes."

As if by magic, Xander appeared. "Did someone mention pancakes?"

"Sorry," Wes answered in between gulps of coffee. "No time." He upended the cup, draining the last of it.

"Want me to put those in your room?" Oz asked, setting about the task of emptying yesterday's brew from the massive tea urn that the watchers had brought with them, ready to refill it once more.

Wes checked in his jeans pockets for his car keys. Finding them there, he gave a nod of assent, voiced his thanks and headed out.

Xander shook his head as the watcher departed. "There's something deeply suspicious about a guy that can't make time for pancakes... And speaking of deeply suspicious, how come we haven't heard from Spike and his palace of perversion this morning?"

 

---

 

Marie stepped forward to meet Wes as his car pulled up, leaving Rosa with her grandmother on the front step of the apartment block. She gave him a tentative smile as he opened the car door. "Are you mad at me?"

Wes pulled her into a hug before moving back to look her up and down. "Mad? No. Amazed? Perhaps. Nervous? A little. Bemused? Definitely. And in awe and more than a little glad that you're on my side... I won't say that I don't have a few pertinent questions, but, so far, no, I'm not mad at you." He waited until Marie's smile made it to full bloom before he winked at Rosa over her mother's shoulder. The child took this as her cue to claim a hug.

Marie stepped away to let her in. "She wouldn't settle to pack her things until I promised she could see you before we left." She waited until her daughter was eventually mollified sufficiently to accept a parting hug from her and return to Lily, who wasn't about to let Wes leave without one last embrace and a whispered word of wisdom in the Englishman's ear.

"All you need to do is be yourself and your mother will be proud of you."

Wes tightened his grip on the old demon, picking up her slight form and twirling round before he sat her back down, letting her huff and pretend she was too old for such things. "I hope so," he answered, climbing back into the car.

 

---

 

Marie waited until Wes had manoeuvered them onto the freeway south and then broached the subject that seemed to hover unspoken in the air between them. "You said you had some things you wanted to ask?"

Wes's mouth formed a wry twist. "I was rather deciding whether I should start with 'How?' or 'Why?'," he admitted.

Marie's smile was almost a smirk. "Even in England's home counties there aren't that many Wyndam Pryces, first initial R, no 'h' in Wyndam, Pryce with a 'y'. I think there were perhaps three Wyndam Pryces all told and I could be wrong, but I'm guessing even if your mother and father's number hadn't been listed, I could have picked any one and got some sort of relative."

"Well... yes," Wes flustered, looking embarrassed that he hadn't realised just how easy it would be. "I suppose that leaves 'Why?'."

Marie shrugged, though Wes didn't notice with his gaze fixed on the road. "I don't like being the reason you get hurt. You said once that your mother wasn't the type to make you choose between me and your family. I put that together with how I would feel if my husband was planning on giving away the amount of money your father offered me. I guess I thought if your mother wouldn't object to me, then she wouldn't exactly be pleased with your dad's scheme to buy me off and I didn't think she'd buy into the idea of disinheriting you. I took a chance and called her."

"And judging by my father's inability to withdraw cash from any of his accounts it would appear that you were correct, though, again, I have to admit to being at a loss as to how she did that."

Marie couldn't prevent a giggle, though she stifled it beneath her hand. "She cleared them all out?" she asked.

"Yes. Now... are you going to tell me just how that came about?"

"You tell me. When I rang her originally I was thinking maybe she'd get on the phone and tell your dad to stop being an idiot. I might have mentioned that if they mainly used a joint account, then she might be able to make him reconsider his actions if she gave him a bit of a shock. The rest of it was down to your mother.

You worked for the council in the field. What would have happened to your bank accounts if you had been eaten up by the mayor? If you just disappeared one day and there was no body..."

"Actually, it's standard practice for watchers in the field that, where possible, a trusted family member be nominated to have power of attorney..." Wes's voice trailed away to a whisper as he realised the extent of the upcoming battle. "And he can't reverse the position because my mother was always based at the London office. She never signed anything like that."

"Even if she had, she said she would have arranged for her solicitors to have it reversed before she withdrew any of the money."

"My father has been retired for years. He's not going to be amused when he realises that mother has taken advantage of a legal privilege that he would have rescinded long ago, had he even remotely contemplated that she would make use of it in this way."

"Is your father ever amused by anything other than his attempts to belittle people? Your mother has seized the opening advantage. She's shown him that she won't tolerate his behaviour. Now, it's time to begin negotiations."

"With a little advice from her legal counsel?" Wes asked.

"A little, perhaps, though I don't think your mother will need much guidance."

 

---

 

"Which terminal is she arriving at, and how long do we have before she gets here?" Wes asked as they made their way toward the airport.

"Actually, there's no rush. We're meeting her for a late breakfast at the Sheraton Gateway. She flew in overnight," Marie informed him. "She said to have Reception call her room when we arrived and then go ahead and order and she would come down and meet us."

Wes sighed, his nervousness making him slightly shirty. "So my mother is happily sleeping off her jet lag in her luxury hotel room. With a little help from you, she's already proved she can hold my father to ransom. All she need do now is administer the coup de grace. It may be paranoia setting in, but I find myself beginning to feel rather superfluous. I don't even know why she bothered to cross the Atlantic. She could have done all this by phone."

"She's trying to help... and so was I, though you don't sound so sure about that."

Wes hesitated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I suppose when it comes to my mother my feelings are somewhat ambivalent and the fact that the two of you seem to be getting on so well without ever having met... I don't know what's coming. I almost feel like an outsider. I don't know how to react and it's making me on edge."

Marie's hand came to rest on Wes's thigh, kneading softly at the tense muscles there. "Querido, the only thing your mother and I have in common is you. If accepting her help means that your father and his objections go away, then, I'll take anything she cares to offer, but it's for us; me, you and Rosa. If I find out that maybe I like her, that's just a bonus."

 

---

 

Wes had already finished his croissants and was reduced to getting refills on his coffee while he watched Marie work her way through a full English breakfast. He teased her about putting on weight, though he didn't believe it was likely to happen any time in the near future and wasn't overly worried about an extra curve or two.

Marie laughed back at him. "If you think I eat too much now, caro, you don't want to be around if I get pregnant again."

"Well, I most certainly don't intend to be anywhere else." Wes sounded mildly affronted.

"If you're that serious about the girl, then it's just as well she called me... before she becomes the mother of my grandchildren."

Wes rose from his seat and Marie put down her knife and fork to greet the elegant woman who had come up behind her son.

Penelope Wyndam Pryce's eyes twinkled as if she enjoyed discomfiting Wes, but unlike her husband there was no element of malice in her amusement. "You, I assume, must be Marie?" She extended a friendly hand, an elegant watch of solid gold showing beneath the sleeve of her exquisitely tailored trouser suit. Marie noticed, however, that her nails were unlacquered and trimmed functionally short and that there were slight calluses on her fingers that intimated she was no hot house flower. Her hair was cut into a fringeless jaw-length bob and streaked with a shade of ash blonde that made it almost irrelevant whether there might be a strand or two of grey in the mix. Her complexion was so flawless that Marie wondered if she'd been applying Oil of Olay when she was still in ankle socks. She was almost as tall as Wesley and, though she wasn't slender, she could never be described as heavyset. Instead, she seemed to radiate a robust health, her height allowing her to carry off a few extra pounds with ease. She could have passed for anything between mid forties and late fifties, though the presence of her son seemed to indicate the higher end of that range.

Marie took the woman's hand. "And you must be Wesley's mother. Why don't you join us?"

"Wesley's mother is a rather cumbersome title. Perhaps you should try Penny?" Before Marie could respond, she had turned her attention to Wes. She took in his open necked shirt, jeans and CAT boots. "That's a new look for you. Contacts or laser surgery?" she asked.

"C-Contacts."

"Shame, laser surgery is an absolute boon, but you look good. This young lady obviously agrees with you. Now, I know I try not to interfere between your father and yourself. Most of the time it's counterproductive, but didn't it even occur to you to let me know that he was behaving like an absolute ass?"

Marie couldn't resist. "There are times when he doesn't behave like an ass?" she asked.

Penelope's mouth twitched slightly. "No, actually. I like this one, Wesley." She tilted her head toward Marie. "...Not that I ever had the privilege of meeting any of his other girlfriends, you understand?

Now, what's to be done about Roger?"