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 5.23
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


Giles knocked softly at Lydia's office door before he slipped inside and pressed it closed behind him. Noting the blonde's pristine white attire, which contrasted sharply against the dark leather of the couch, where she lay with a heavy book propped on her rib cage, he knew that he must have missed the performance of the ward spell.

"How did it go?" he inquired as Lydia set aside the book and stretched out her arms to pull Giles down to her side.

"Good," she whispered, letting her eyes drink in the handsome face next to her, as if she still found it difficult to believe his place there. "It went well. I think perhaps you should have a talk with Tara later, but it went well."

Giles stiffened slightly. "Why? Is she alright?"

Slim fingers came up to brush his lips and a canvas draped leg hooked over his to fix him tight against a surprisingly athletic body. "She's fine. She's with Bee. She just has something she wants to discuss with you..." Lydia's smile became almost predatory as her mouth moved closer to Giles' so that her lips brushed his as she spoke her insistent last word. "Later."

His concern vanished behind a teasing grin. "If I didn't know better I would think you were trying to make me have a heart attack," he joked before acquiescing to a searching kiss.

Finally, pulling back for air as her hands slipped Giles' leather jacket from his shoulders, she responded. "You look in better shape to me than your friend Xander, far better shape, and Anya was saying only last night at the meeting that he has no problem keeping up with her."

"I was under the impression that Wesley cut her off in order to protect young ears before she got that far."

"Well, yes, but we all knew what she was going to say. Besides, exercise is good for you. We can't let you get out of shape doing research all the time. You never know when you might have to be up there in the front line."

"I-." Giles paused, as if a sudden idea had broken his train of thought. His eyes had a calculating gleam and Lydia's smile widened even further as she nimbly unfastened the buttons on Giles' shirt.

"Has anyone ever told you how sexy intelligent men are?" she asked.

Giles' expression softened briefly. "Not recently," he admitted as his hands reached for the hem of Lydia's clinging T-shirt. After that neither of them spoke for a very long time.

 

---

 

Buffy stifled a grin. It was clear that Giles wanted to pace, but since Lily's insistence on bed rest for the two blondes meant that he, Wes and Faith were all crammed into their tiny attic room, it wasn't as if he could manage more than a single step without hitting his head or bumping into someone.

"I know that you," he began with a nod to the couple in their cots, "and Faith had some ideas about how you wanted to proceed with the training, but I think, perhaps, we weren't making the best possible use of the resources we have available. Even the most research based of watchers receives some martial training-."

"Do they even have marshals in England?" Buffy interrupted. "I thought that was a sort of Hicksville thing."

"They have some sort of combat training," Giles continued as if Buffy had never spoken. "In point of fact, since we are talking about adults, some of whom have trained extensively in martial arts, fencing and other hand-to-hand skills, unless either of you two ladies is in a hurry to pass on your mantle, they provide a far more formidable potential army than a gaggle of partially trained teenagers."

"Soooo been there and done that with the mantle passing, but we've still got to train these girls to fight."

"No one is arguing with that. All I'm suggesting is that we pull the younger, fitter watchers - and people like Oz, Brandon, Dawn and Bee if she can be spared - off the research side of things. We let the older, more experienced watchers take care of that. To be honest, it's unlikely that we have enough relevant material to keep everyone busy anyway-."

This time it was Faith who interrupted. "Okay, I get with the not so wrinkly watchers like Wes and the fighting bit, but it's not so much like he needs the training, and Oz is his own mutt, but bringing in the junior pep squad seems a bit over the top."

"With more experienced people in the groups to work with, the girls will improve more quickly, and, although the watchers may have training on an individual level, they aren't necessarily practiced at fighting in groups as you were planning to teach the girls, and daily workouts can only improve over all fitness levels. As for bringing in the others, do you really think that when this all comes to a head, Dawn or Xander or even Anya will be content to stay at home and let others fight their battles?"

"Dawn isn't-" Buffy began.

Spike shook his head. "Dawn isn't going to stand back and watch you lead an army with kids younger than her an' let you just tell her to stay home. Mean, you're welcome to try to convince her, but even if you left her home, short of lockin' her up, she'd be there with bells on five minutes after you got there. Won't do no harm for her to learn what end of a sword to use same time as the rest of them. S'not like we didn't promise the kid. We've just been kinda busy to follow through. An' watcher's right 'bout the boy an' the demon bint, even the little senorita. Not that I'd expect her to go along for any fight, but what if they bring it to us?"

"I can take care of Marie," Wes responded calmly. "She won't be available for the daytime sessions, anyway, but I can work with her one on one in the evenings."

"I was going to suggest that we have an evening group for Xander, Anya, possibly Bee and any of the others who can't make the normal sessions. They may not get the benefit of your training," he said, looking at the two slayers and the vampire. "I expect you'll be busy with patrol or enjoying a well earned evening off, but I think even Xander can remain focused on something that isn't a doughnut for long enough to learn a few moves that might help prevent him getting killed."

"How's cutie gonna take us nickin' half his watchers?" Spike asked. "It's not like he's gone out of his way to lay out the welcome mat."

"That would be why Lydia is the one discussing it with Q.T., as you call him, right about now. As far as he's concerned, over and above the obvious, it's a way for the watchers to stay in the loop regarding the training and what's going on."

"How many of them know more than the basics?" Buffy questioned Giles with an interrogating tone, still obviously unhappy at the idea of Dawn getting involved in any sort of battle.

"James was already a brown belt in karate when I knew him at fifteen and I wouldn't say he was completely atypical. Perhaps the female watchers tend toward the research side of things slightly more, but even there, I think you might be surprised." He refrained from adding that he certainly was, but Spike met his gaze with a knowing smirk just the same.

"It makes sense, B," Faith cajoled.

"I guess," Buffy conceded with obvious reluctance, "but if Quentin's suck ups start causing trouble, then they're out."

"No one would expect anything else. Quentin can make an announcement at dinner. He seems to be good at that."

---

 

It took several impacts of her entire weight against the door before it shook enough in the frame to open slightly the next time her shoulder struck it. After she had that first bit of movement, she simply kept pushing, her feet scrabbling slightly against the floor until the opening was wide enough for her body. The door bounced against something, but in her excitement she didn't care. All day, 'the shrill one' had kept her at her side, screeching into her sensitive ears about the perfidy of 'the boy', who had occasionally been in the same room at the time. Rogue had wanted to go to 'the boy' who was sad and upset, but that, it seemed, was not allowed.

Instead, when 'the shrill one' went for food she decided to spend some time with her master. He hadn't come out of his room, and though this wasn't unusual for him, Rogue didn't feel that it was right for her to be shut out. The room smelled funny, too. Dried blood and harsh chemicals that made her nose twitch. She looked around for a suitable tribute to offer her master, finding the perfect thing just beneath the edge of the bed.

She gripped the heavy black boot firmly between her teeth and clambered over his mate, ignoring the way the mattress tilted and wobbled under her feet. After all, having conquered a closed door, a tilting bed was nothing to fear. She dropped the boot squarely on her master's stomach, sure that he would get the hint that it was time for walkies.

 

---

 

Riven from sleep by the impact of several pounds of Doc Marten on top of an only slightly healed stab wound, Spike prepared to let loose a blue streak such as hadn't been heard for at least a week.

"What the f-."

"William!" Lily's raised voice held a distinct tone of warning and Spike belatedly processed the chatter of several young voices, coming from a few doors down.

Spike grimaced and grabbed the dog by her purple glittery collar, which Dawn must have found at some point during their recent visit to Revello Drive. Rogue panted happily and strained against him, enjoying their game of tug of war. She did think it was cheating when he lifted her up though, just because she braced her front legs against his lap when she pushed back. Finally, he tucked her in under one arm, her head resting on his shoulder and pressed down on her rump until she lay down.

"You alright, love?" he asked in a concerned whisper, once the canine behemoth was vaguely under control, his hand absently brushing along her wiry flank.

"Sure," answered Buffy in a sarcastic whine. "She just bounced the door off my head, tilted the bed all over so that my fingers got trapped between the two cots when it fell back into place, stomped all over my seeping wounds and practically pushed me out the bed to get to you. I'm peachy!"

Spike couldn't help but smirk at her exposed lower lip. "Look at Princess Pouty. Gonna give me a taste?" he coaxed. With Rogue pinning one shoulder in place, he couldn't really manage any more forceful options. Fortunately for him, his partner wasn't immune to the appeal of a wicked grin and a tight, if rather bruised and battered, chest.

She leaned over him and managed several teasing kisses before the pain in her side reminded her that she was supposed to be resting.

As she eased herself back down onto her own cot her hand came to rest on the cream envelope that they had forgotten about earlier. She looked around until she spotted the note that came with it and picked it up. She read through the tailor's message as if she hadn't seen it before.

She looked over to Spike. "It wouldn't seem right to just replace her," she whispered. "I mean, it's not like I want everyone to wear black armbands or anything, but if we asked Bee or Marie, it'd be like we were saying that they could take her place, like she was expendable..."

Spike nodded. "An' it sort of smacks of sayin' to whoever you ask that they didn't make the first round draft pick."

"You watch NFL? No, wait, daytime... Nothing better to do," she answered for him before he could say anything. "Only if we don't replace her then that sort of screws with the numbers and everything sort of falls apart at the first dance."

"Don't worry, pet. For one thing, you've got Rosa on your side of things an' for another, if we're not doing the whole high table thing, I don't see why we should lumber everybody with designated partners, anyway, or make them as might not want to, dance."

"So I have Dawn and Xander and Rosa... And you have Clem and Tara and Anya? And you think that'll be okay?"

"I think you should do whatever you think is best. She was your friend, but it's not like you have to make your mind up straight away. You've got a whole month to decide."

"A month?" Buffy screeched and started mentally counting off on her fingers.

"Well, nearer five weeks," Spike tried to reassure her.

"We don't have five weeks. It was five weeks yesterday and we still haven't booked a photographer and we've got all these bringers and Two Rock Huey, Louie and Dewey and the creepy preacher guy and everything to sort out before then, 'cause they are sooo not invited... And we haven't got the invitations back from the printers yet and we really need to get them sent out by the end of the week."

"Everybody we're inviting is right here in this building, pet."

"My aunt and my cousins aren't, and they need to travel all the way from Illinois or somewhere."

"Alright, so phone them up and say the invitations have been delayed and warn them when it's going to be and ask if they think they'll be able to make it."

"But that's not right . They should get a nice crisp invitation like everyone else."

"An' they will. They'll just get a bit of advance warning before it arrives."

Xander's head appeared briefly around the open door. "I would give in now, Spike. If you hadn't missed out on most of the preparations for that Thanksgiving dinner she cooked, you'd know all you can do is rush to obey her every command. And since, at the moment, everyone including the bitty kiddies in the end room can hear, I'm going to close the door now."

"That is so not true. Spike, tell him it's not true. And then you can call the tailor and tell him we'll all be there at lunch time tomorrow... and Xander, we're going to the mall tomorrow night to get your suit!" she shouted after the carpenter, who had already closed the door and gone.

Spike grinned broadly. "Aren't you the cutest little 'Wedding Nazi'?"