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 5.19
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


"I would normally offer to put you up," Wes averred as he navigated his way through Sunnydale. "But at the moment everyone is staying at this school that Quentin Travers has set up. Security in numbers sort of thing."

"Don't flap, Wesley. I'm quite sure they'll find room for one more somewhere and, should you still have excess space the next time I visit, I'll take you up on your offer then."

"I'll speak to Lydia when we get there. You remember her? Lydia Chalmers? She seems to be Quentin's second in command these days. I'm sure she'll know of somewhere."

"Of course I know Lydia Chalmers. I worked with her father for years. Actually, there was a time back in the day, before they both got married, when Quentin was rather sweet on her mother."

Wes's brain did somersaults at the idea of Quentin Travers ever being 'sweet' on anyone. It was just the latest in a series of assaults on the world as he knew it.

It had taken Penelope little time to lay out her plans for confronting Wes's father, and neither Marie nor her son had felt entirely comfortable adding further to the potential scenario she had described. Wes had found himself reeling as his mother had spoken, long-held assumptions crumbling at their foundations but not quite toppling.

Thankfully, on the journey back to Sunnydale, Marie had taken it upon herself to entertain his mother. They had swapped stories, Marie telling his mother about how she had met Rosa's father and revealing, in warm tones, how she had come to find a home in the bosom of his family. She had described Rosa, Lily and Clem, her affection clear.

When she had asked about Wes's father, it had been obvious that she was puzzled as to how Penny had come to be married to him. The question was one that Wes had never asked. His parents' marriage had always seemed as immutable as the stars. They shared a house, a vocation, a child, a front they put up to the world and little else. It had been that way as long as Wesley could remember, and it had never occurred to him to that perhaps it hadn't always been so anodyne.

Penelope had told her own story, not as a way to fill in time on the journey or as an anecdote to entertain her son's new girlfriend. She spoke with levity, and, though she faced Marie, her words were chosen for her son. She explained how as a talented but naïve undergraduate, already preparing for a life within the council, she had been introduced to the heroic and dashing Roger Wyndam Pryce at a family wedding. She told how his stories of travelling the world, battling vampires and other demons, had seemed in her inexperienced eyes to cast him in the role of modern-day knight. In those days, even in the twilight of the "Swinging Sixties", there were still far stricter ideas as to what was proper. 'Good' girls barely did more than offer their date a chaste kiss on the cheek goodnight. Dating wasn't dating. It was courting. When Roger had begun to pay her particular attention, it had made her feel like the proverbial fairy tale princess.

Though she cast it in far more pragmatic terms, it hadn't taken long before her innocence had lain shattered at his feet. The wedding, a scant week after her graduation, had been every girl's dream. The honeymoon had lasted nearly a year before her pregnancy began to show. Roger's absences became longer and more frequent and, when he did return home, they no longer shared more than a bed. At first, she had convinced herself that once she had given birth things would return to normal. Gradually, she had realised that while she had married for love, Roger had never been the paladin she'd convinced herself that he was. She also realised that love had even less to do with his motivation. Roger didn't believe in romantic love. He had sought out a wife whose family connections could consolidate his position in the political arena that was the council, a wife whose dowry included a London town house and enough money to carry out renovations on the Wyndam Pryce family home, a strong, healthy, intelligent wife who would bear him strong, healthy, intelligent heirs.

He wasn't a bad man, Penelope had insisted, nor, in his own way, a bad husband. He had never made her promises of love. She had assumed that to be the reason behind his proposal, but with hindsight she realised that although he had set out to woo her, he'd never actually lied about his feelings. The quintessential English reserve that she'd once thought endearing, turned out not to be a barrier behind which he hid his true emotions but the means by which they had been quelled into near oblivion.

Toward the end of her pregnancy, she had moved into her own rooms and, when Wesley had been born, Roger had never pushed her on her decision, though she suspected that had she borne a girl he would have been less inclined to let matters remain as they were. In those days, divorce was still relatively uncommon and, without exception, messy. Even though Roger was seldom home for more than a few weeks at a time, his background presence provided respectability. Divorce would never have been granted on the simple grounds of "irreconcilable differences". She would have had to provide details of Roger's infidelities and they would have provided fodder for the society pages for months, the stories common gossip for everyone in their circle of acquaintances and all their servants. Even if they had moved away from the area, Penelope had opined, the stigma of being raised by a single mother would have blighted Wesley's childhood more surely than being raised within what had become a marriage of convenience. As it was, Roger kept his dalliances discreetly outside Britain and, as he got older, they had waned altogether.

The marriage was far from the one she had anticipated as a young bride, but Penelope admitted that for the most part she had been content with how things had turned out, seeing little need to change things even after Wesley had grown up and left home. Roger, she knew, could be boorish and arrogant, prejudiced and judgemental, but for the most part, even though there were times he overstepped the mark, it was usually because he was doing what he thought, in his antiquated mindset, was right. That was when he needed someone to come in and point out how wrong he was, she had added.

 

---

 

"Spike said you'd be okay about sharing with Wes, so we put Brand in with Oz unless Giles needs the bed and then he gets to sleep on the sofa in the living room. Ha Nath's with Clem, and Lily and Rosa are together. If he was wrong we could always switch things around some more..." Dawn didn't mention that Lily hadn't expected her to mind either.

"That's fine," Marie agreed, taking Rosa's hand as the young girl towed her off to show her their rooms.

"Come see where me and Gramma are going to sleep! There's lots of other little girls here but some of them talk funny. Mr Giles said I might be able to play with them later if you said it was okay. You don't mind, mommy, do you?" Rosa's excitement was obvious and Marie was the last one to want to disappoint her but she couldn't quell her feeling of foreboding. As she followed her daughter into the end room beside Wes's, her enthusiasm was largely feigned and her eyes sought out Lily's. The old demon gave the barest of nods and a gentle smile as if to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about.

"What about all the old furniture that was in the other rooms?" Wes asked, noting that the main living area seemed no more crowded than before.

"Basement," Oz replied with typical economy.

"Spike's been up and about?" Wes asked next.

Lily shrugged. "I heat blood. Make him eat. Sleep no do good if body not have what it needs to make better."

Wes gave a wry smile at the thought of the recalcitrant vampire being mothered and bullied in equal parts by his friend's mother.

"And Buffy?"

"Tara and Bee make chicken soup. When it ready, we feed skinny girl, too." Lily's tone was firm and Wes suspected even slayer stubbornness wasn't going to be allowed to deflect her from her self-appointed task. Wesley could see an upcoming battle of wills. Of course, even that might not compete with the one going on downstairs.

 

---

 

Penelope never even got as far as hanging up the last of her clothes in the windowless room that Lydia had allocated her for the duration of her stay. Room was actually a fairly generous term for it, as anyone other than a real estate agent would probably call it a walk-in closet. Nevertheless, it was big enough to accomodate a narrow cot once one had been located, came ready equipped with rows of coathooks where Penelope could hang her clothes and, unlike the other possible options, she wasn't required to share it with anyone else.

"Penelope?" Quentin's voice drew out each of the four syllables of her name as if he was savouring it. "We weren't expecting you. You should have called to let us know you were planning to visit."

Penelope placed the hanger in her hand over one of the coathooks, fixed a smile on her face, and turned to meet her reception committee. She gave a flick of her right wrist, almost a shoo-ing gesture. "Now, surely I don't need to make an appointment with the head of The Council of Watchers because I have family matters to discuss with my husband. After all, the two areas are separate and really shouldn't overlap. Should they , Roger?"

Quentin cleared his throat. "I merely thought, as a friend you understand, that Roger should be made aware of the situation so that he might offer some... helpful advice to Wesley in his position as head of the family."

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "So, if I understand you correctly, the council has no official position regarding my son's girlfriend and, as you were merely acting as a friend rather than in any gainful capacity at the council, it would be unethical for the council to pay Roger's air fares... and yet, I seem to recall Roger, in his rather vague description of his reasons for coming here, calling it a business trip."

"Well... obviously, with my experience, I'm acting as a consultant in the council's time of crisis."

"Nonsense, Roger. Your experience is years out of date. Your only reason for being here is because Quentin hopes that you can put pressure on Wesley. Wesley is important because he has the trust of the slayers, as does Rupert Giles, but Quentin has already played all the cards he can use against Mr Giles and the best he has come out with is an uneasy truce. He thinks Wesley is the weakest link. If he can control Wesley, through you if necessary, then by association he gains back some measure of power over the slayers.

His logic is as flawed now as it was when he sent Wesley into his first totally untenable position as their watcher. The council has betrayed both of these girls and, while they may make alliances with it, they will never trust any of its members who blindly follow its teachings. Only those with the flexibility to adjust to whatever position they find themselves in and the strength of character to stand up for what they believe to be right will be accepted by them. So, even if you had succeeded in bullying or bribing him into line, the chances are that he would no longer occupy a position of trust."

"Nonsense, Penelope. I'm here because I don't wish to see our son further disgrace the family name by running around with some Mexican puta with an illegitimate demon spawn tugging at her petticoats."

"That is why you came . It's not why Quentin asked you... not that he approves , but, to him, making Wesley give up Marie is just a test to see how far the boy can be pushed. What neither of you seem to have noticed is that Wesley's time in the States has turned him into a man."

"And what sort of man is he that he would hide behind his mother?"

Up until that point, Penelope had been reasonable. Someone watching might almost have thought that she was simply playing devil's advocate, rather than expressing her own point of view, but, with Roger's barb, her eyes turned icy. "Quentin, dear, I'm afraid you didn't seem to pick up on it when I used the subtle approach, but now I really must insist that you give us some privacy. My husband and I have family matters to discuss."

 

---

 

Marie didn't get a chance to speak to Wes alone until she convinced Rosa to take an afternoon nap. She drew the watcher into their room and closed the door tight behind them. "Are you okay?" she asked. "I know that you said that you were alright with things, but you've been kind of quiet."

Wes sighed and sat down on one of the cots, pulling Marie into his lap. His hand stroked the dark waves of her hair as if its silken touch comforted him. "It's complicated."

Marie gave a nod of understanding and brushed her lips against his cheek. "You don't have to-."

"I want to. I just... Mother's never been so...

When I was a child I used to dread father coming home. Whenever something went wrong, he seemed to be there. If I forgot to wipe my feet when I came in from the stables and got mud on the floors, if I spilled my drink on the book I was reading, if I broke an ornament, if I tripped and fell, if I let someone else beat me in an exam... he would be there, telling me how disappointed he was. He could go on for hours, making me stand in front of his desk while he droned on and on, telling me how worthless I was. Mother never intervened. She never tried to stop him.

Oh, she'd wait till he went out or till he went back to work and she'd always have some special treat, some ice cream or a trip to the beach, as if she thought that would make it better. She used to say that if she interrupted him that he only got worse, that he felt as if he had more to prove, but I always thought that she just didn't want to argue with him, that I wasn't important enough to argue for." Wes paused and Marie pressed another kiss against his temple, her gentle fingertips stroking his opposite cheek.

"By the time I was eight, I was already at boarding school during term time but at home I was still wetting the bed whenever father was there. Mother normally worked from home as much as she could during the school holidays. She would let me sit with her and explain her translations as she worked on them. I learned to read Coptic at much the same time as I learned to read English, but when father was there she'd go into the office more often. That was when he started with the cupboard. Every morning after mother had left he'd come up and check my bed and, if the bed wasn't dry, he'd lock me in the cupboard under the stairs... until I learned how to control my bladder , he would say. Two hours at a time then three, then four."

Wes shrugged. "I couldn't tell her. I couldn't admit how petrified I was when he shut me in there in the dark. I didn't even want to admit why he'd put me there. I couldn't bear it if I did tell her and she just stood there and let him do it again and again. I think that scared me most of all. I wanted to believe that if she knew, then she'd somehow make it stop. If I had really believed it, I suppose I would have told her, but deep down I must have thought if I did, then I'd have to give up the illusion that she cared enough to stop him.

Eventually, the bed wetting stopped, but the punishments went on and the fear never went away. I ended up afraid of everything for a very long time. Everything I did was to try to live up to the standards that my father set, even though I knew that I'd never be able to satisfy him and so I was doomed to fail, over and over again." He sighed deeply again.

"And for a long time I resented my mother nearly as much as my father. Even though I could never bring myself to tell her what was happening, even though he never hit me or did anything that would have left any physical signs, I just couldn't help feeling that if she knew me better, if she loved me more, if they hadn't sent me away, she would have been able to tell. She would have known without me having to say anything and I felt like she'd let me down.

Today, it's almost been like going through the looking glass... Hearing what she plans to do. Hearing her talk about meeting father... as if they were real people, not my parents. Everything's the same, but it's all warped and shifted and I'm wondering, if that scared little boy had just said something, would it all have been different?"

"You could ask her," Marie suggested softly.

Wes shook his head. "No, not now. I'm not him any more. That's behind me. It has been for some time now, but if I needed proof of that before, then I got it when I stood up to my father the other night."

"When you punched him in the mouth, you mean?"

"Yes, when you gave me the strength to punch him in the mouth... and every time since when I've not let him bully me or boss me around. The fear, the nervousness, they're still there but he doesn't own me any more, and every time I stand up to him it gets the tiniest bit easier. He'll never own me again.

If I were to talk to mother about it all, that would mean going back there, reliving that part of my past, pulling the scabs off old wounds. It's not something I want to do. It's not something I feel the need to do. There's nothing to be gained. My father and I will never see eye to eye. My mother and I will never be close, but I think the best chance we have of any sort of relationship is if we forget who I thought she was and who I used to be and we concentrate on the people we are today."

"You're okay with that?"

"Yeah, I like where I am now. I'm happy with who I am now. I have a job I'm good at. I have a beautiful girlfriend with an adorable daughter, and they both seem to like me just as I am."

"Is that enough?" Marie asked, worried that Wes was merely papering over the cracks in case he looked weak in front of her, even though she knew a weak man wouldn't have been able to tell her the things he had.

"You can have Lily check me out once I've had a chance to get my balance after they leave. She can search for any lingering trauma, but there are some things that when you manage to move on it's best just to forget."

There were no words for Marie to say, nothing that could speak more eloquently of her feelings than her chaste kisses and sweet caresses. Each touch conveyed a message of comfort and love. The tension gradually left Wes's body, and the pair shifted until they lay curled around each other on the cot. A delicate hand stroked and carded through Wes's hair until his breath was shallow and even, and he slept a dreamless sleep.