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

Sorry about the long break between updates. I'm going to try to make up for it by doing a nice big batch of chapters (which also means I'm going to be skipping the proof-reading, so apolopgies for any typos that got past me and my beta first time around).

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 5.01
Friday, June 14th, 2002


"Hello, father." Wesley's voice might have sounded cool to anyone less familiar with him but both Bee and the man sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a china teacup and reading the previous day's London Times, knew better.

In a grand gesture the broadsheet was lowered to rest on the stainless steel surface and the elder watcher peered at his timepiece. "Ah, Wesley, so good of you to finally grace us with your presence." He sniffed as if he could smell the whisky on Wes's breath even from six feet away. "I'd hate to interrupt your drinking."

"I-I'm sure if p-perhaps you had let me know in advance about your arrival, then I would have arranged to b-be here."

"Don't you think that if you expected me to let you know of my whereabouts, you should have let your mother and I know that you were no longer living in Los Angeles? Or perhaps that slipped your mind along with your manners?"

"Wh-wh-..." Before Wes could point out that his mother, at least, had always had his cell phone number, he found himself struggling to keep up with the next accusation of inadequacy. "Of course. Father, may I present Bianca Weston, my business partner?"

Bee calmly extended an exquisitely lacquered hand, playing Roger Wyndam-Pryce at his own game, her hazel eyes somehow seeming as chill as the mercury glare of her other countenance. "Mr Wyndam-Pryce."

"B-Bee has proven of invaluable help to me even in the short period since I returned to Sunnydale. She has a true gift for languages and an amazing facility for magical lore."

"Hmmph!" Roger took Bee's hand and shook it with rather more enthusiasm than Wes had really expected. "It's just as well Wesley has someone to keep him right. There was a famous sorcerer in England in the 1700s, Thaddeus Weston. I don't suppose that there's a family connection?"

"There's a few generations in between, but his brother Robert moved out to California and then somewhere down the line you get to me."

"That's quite a prestigious lineage for someone who finds herself working with Wesley," the elder Wyndam-Pryce offered.

Bee gave a thin-lipped smile, her eyes on Roger rather than Wesley. "Every family has their black sheep."

Roger gave a snort of amusement as if he had no inkling that Bee's jibe was aimed at him rather than his son. "That is a fact I find difficult to deny with the evidence so clearly before us, although I'm sure no one in your own family would feel that way about you."

"No, that's true. In my family a person's worth isn't seen as being dependent on them being a carbon copy of previous generations.

Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, it's been a very long day." Bee gave Wes's father a curt nod and, out of his line of sight, treated her partner to a broad smile and a wink before she made her way to the stairs in the back corner of the room.

The climb to the attic seemed like a marathon after their underground trek but at least the whisky dulled the pain of her aching muscles slightly, though it didn't help much when Rogue pushed her way past out of nowhere on the narrow stairs.

Drawn by the light at the far end of the corridor, Bee made her way to the room where Dawn and Brandon were curled on the sofa.

"How're we doing?" She nodded at the screen.

"Not good. You let in two goals in the first five minutes," Brandon explained. "Unless Korea beats Portugal, it looks like you're going out."

Dawn gave a snort and punched her boyfriend playfully in the arm. "Notice, since we're losing, Brand has suddenly decided that he's Irish rather than American, even though he's only been there for holidays."

"I'll have you know I was born in Dublin's fair city and hold dual nationality," the green-eyed youth proclaimed.

"What's happened to Buffy, anyway?" her sister asked. "I'm assuming Spike came back with you?"

Bee smiled. "I think he mentioned a shower."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "At least they're not getting down and dirty in the parking lot."

"Have you seen Rupert?" Bee asked.

"He was in your room, last I saw. Tara gave him his meals like you said and set up his tray."

Bee smiled her thanks. "Well, since we're doing so abysmally and Rupert's already taken care of, I'll head for bed."

The blonde slipped off her boots before tiptoeing back to the door where a sheet of Scooby Doo writing paper read 'Tara & Bee'. A sliver of reflected light cast a pale glow over Tara's bunk as she stood in the doorway getting her bearings. Rupert half-opened an ice-blue eye from where he lay on top of Tara's blankets, curled in the space between the witch's tummy and her thighs. He seemed to condemn his owner for her prolonged absence and made no effort to move. When Bee saw the slight dampness that remained on the other girl's cheeks, however, she found it hard to begrudge her a little bit of feline companionship. The Wiccan put on such a brave face it was hard to remember it was less than three weeks since Willow's death.

---

Wes's father waited until Bee's footsteps faded into the distance before he made any further comments. "I take it that she isn't the demon floozy I heard you've been tramping around with?"

"Wh-what?" For a few seconds anger stiffened Wes's resolve, lending him the strength he needed to stand up to his domineering father. "Marie is neither a demon nor a floozy and I would be obliged if you would keep any such opinions to yourself."

"There's no need to overreact, Wesley. Perhaps if you were to actually let your mother and I know about your lady friends before you move them into your house, then we wouldn't have to rely on second hand gossip to find out about them."

"Marie and I are not living together. N-not that there would be anything wrong with it i-if we were."

"Really? Then, if you're so sure this whole assignation is nothing to be ashamed of, why is it that my peers have found it necessary to tell me about it, whilst you prefer to keep us in the dark? Or perhaps you intended to confer our family name on some demon spawn and present it as a fait-accompli?"

Wes wilted under his father's probing gaze, suddenly too tired to argue or attempt to justify his actions. "No, father."

"You do realise that for six generations your family has been dedicated to the ideals of the watcher's council. I had been hoping that, your previous debacle not withstanding, you would make it seven. However, even you must realise that this relationship is completely unsuitable for a member of the council."

"If you say so, father." Before Wesley could even add that if that were the case he would willingly renounce any connection to The Council of Watchers, his father was plunging onward.

"I'm glad that's settled, then. I suppose at some point you were going to get around to asking after your mother."

"H-how is mother?"

"Sturdy as ever."

"Look, father, for those of us whose body clocks aren't on British Summer Time it's actually rather late and I'll have work to do later, so I'd really rather get some sleep."

"Interesting that you can make time to gallivant around with notorious vampires - I'm assuming that William the Bloody is the reason the slayer came flying through here in her underwear and has yet to return - until the early hours of the morning but you can't spare a few minutes to talk to your own father when he's flown through eight time zones to visit."

"Spike and I were not gallivanting..." Even to his own ears Wesley sounded beaten down.

"Then, perhaps you would care to tell me what exactly it is that you were doing whilst those watchers worthy of their salary were researching what The First is up to?"

"No, father, I wouldn't." Wes made his way to the foot of the stairs and paused before his weary footsteps scuffed their way upwards. "No doubt we'll continue this discussion in the morning. Goodnight."

---

Buffy stretched on tiptoe to lather her shampoo through Spike's white-blond curls, her breasts brushing against the firm musculature of his back.

"Did you know Giles was going to blackmail the council into paying up seven years worth of salary?"

Even with his back to her she knew that playful smirk was on his lips. "He might have mentioned it."

"And you never thought I might want to know?" She gripped a handful of the peroxided locks and tugged on them in a gentle reprimand.

"Thought if they came through it'd be the kind of surprise you could cope with... an' if they decided to keep bein' wankers there was no point you bein' disappointed."

"I think maybe, for that, I should just keep all the things I bought this morning."

The vampire turned to face her, his arms slipping around her waist as his forehead rested against hers, the suds from his hair starting to slide onto both their faces. "Has someone been getting me pressies?"

Buffy took a half-step back and raised a hand to her face, wiping the soap from her brow before it reached her eyes. "No, no pressies. Prizes."

A lascivious smile lit up Spike's face as he tilted his head back slightly to let the shampoo rinse away down his back, watching her under lowered eyelids. "Prizes for what?"

"You wish!" Buffy retorted. "Tomorrow morning, in the gym, an hour before we start with the potentials. I get into staking position, you lose. You get into position to drain me or break my neck, I lose."

"So..." The vampire's head tilted slightly to one side as his eyes met Buffy's in a teasing stare. "What do I get when I win?"

"Aside from an overgrown ego?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "If you win, there may be a leather duster involved and a hip flask, possibly a cell phone, some keys, a few other bits and pieces..."

"Sounds to me like you don't get as much out of the deal if I lose, as I do if I win."

"Well, that's true, but the way I look at it, you could have bought a new coat any time you wanted, but the old one meant something because you had to beat a slayer to get it. So, if you want this one, you have to go through me... and if you can't, then Brandon's going to be a very happy guy come his next birthday. He's more or less your size, which is why we dragged him with us. Have to say, he looks pretty darn hot in it. If I were a few years younger..."

Spike's low growl was barely audible over the susurration of the flowing water but Buffy knew it was all in jest, just as he knew that there was no one else she was interested in.

"...And I wasn't totally gone on some sexy hunk of undead Billy Idol wannabe... Actually, are you sure you're not Billy Idol? He did kinda disappear after the 80s? I only have your word for it that you're over a hundred. Maybe that's just vampire big-talk. Maybe you're really only fifteen. Maybe Drusilla turned you after a concert or something and that's why you've been in hiding, except-."

Spike's hair had long been soap-free and Buffy's chatter was simply too adorable. His lips claimed hers in mid babble.

---

It was quite some time later before Buffy claimed a new locker, pushing Spike's boots and dirty clothes inside and then perching her toiletry bag on top. She peeled the sticky label with the combination from the back of the padlock and tucked it underneath the lapel of her pyjama jacket. Even as she taunted Spike about how he could traumatise some poor kiddie wandering around in nothing but a towel, her eyes were drifting shut as if they were weighted with lead.

"Come on, pet." The vampire scooped her into his arms. "Time you got some sleep."

"I'm the slayer," she slurred. "I don't need no steenking sleep."

Spike smiled indulgently and kissed the tip of the slayer's nose. "Course not, love."

The library was dark as they went past but lights still burned in the kitchen. Buffy didn't even notice the watcher who was still sitting at the kitchen table, but Spike did. It wasn't so much a double-take that told him the identity of the old man as a double sniff. The vampire put a little extra swagger in his step. After all, if his towel fell down then he'd simply make an even bigger impression.

"Daddy Wyndam-Pryce, I do believe." Spike's cocky grin set the watcher's teeth quite on edge. "I would offer to shake hands, but they're kinda full right now." By now the vampire was already at the foot of the stairs, mounting them sideways to avoid bumping his precious cargo. "Don't wait breakfast for us," he called back down the stairwell as if he thought the watcher was on kitchen duty. "We're kinda shagged out."

---

"Look, kid, I don't know what the problem is." The dungareed, dreadlocked potential loomed over her much, much smaller Asian counterpart, the four year old having to be dragged in the direction of the girls' changing rooms. "I don't speak Chinese. All I know is that I was told to see that your ass went in the shower."

"It's okay. I'll see to her." Lydia crouched down so that she could speak to the tot eye to eye. Her camisole top and boxers exposed several feet of shapely if rather pale leg and her hair spilled in loose waves almost to her waist. Stroking the young girl's hair and soothing her gently until she could get her to say what was wrong, the watcher eventually replied in Cantonese. "No, honey, it's not haunted. There aren't any ghosts. You just heard some naughty, rude people trying to scare you..."