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 5.05
Friday, June 14th, 2002


"Don't you want your salmon, Rupie-bear?" Bee stood at the library door rubbing her thumb against the first two fingers on her right hand to summon the feline. The cat, however, remained in its spot on the desk that Oz had only recently vacated for the night. "It's poached, just the way you like it... and with a teeny bit of butter melted on top."

The blonde gave a sigh and began to make her way over to the table. "What have you found, darling? Let mommy see." The demi-angel pulled the book nearest the cat toward her and scanned the open pages. Almost without being aware of her actions, she pulled out the chair that Buffy had abandoned at Amanda's dramatic arrival and lowered herself into it, only for the Siamese to leave the room. Perhaps it was time for dinner after all. It wasn't as if he hadn't earned it. Bee scooped the book up into her arms and followed behind the suddenly hungry cat, reading as she went.

---

"We need these." Bee slapped a floppy magnetic backed sheet of whiteboard down onto the table between Giles and James. The sheet had a prominent logo for a well known brand of cat food and had once had a drawing of a black and white cat at the top. Giles vaguely recognised it as having recently been attached to one of the fridges in the kitchen so that people could use it to make a note for whoever was doing the shopping if stocks of a particular item were running low. Bee had seen it and proclaimed the illustration to be an affront to every member of the feline race, impugning their dignity in an unforgivable manner. She had grudgingly agreed that until such time as a less offensive substitute could be found that cutting the picture from the top and consigning that part to the rubbish where it belonged would be an acceptable compromise.

It was, however, the comprehensive series of titles listed in slightly smudged black ink that drew both watchers' attention. As their eyes skimmed the list, each item it included (or those in languages that the watchers understood) seemed so obviously to be exactly the right reference with which to begin the search for information on the ceremonial knife, the goat-headed seal or The First, that they found it hard to believe they hadn't already tracked down the volumes. Then again, this was a list of a mere dozen books, from a library of tens of thousands, which was still in the process of being unpacked, not to mention the fact that Giles doubted that even the council had copies of all of them.

"Where did you get this list?" the elder watcher asked.

"From the bibliography of the other book."

"Which book?"

"Stayforth's Mythologies and Deities of the Lesser Demonic Races."

"And this is where?"

For a second, Bee looked puzzled and then she dashed off in the direction of the kitchen as fast as her high heels would allow. Both watchers abandoned their cafeteria-style dinners to follow.

---

"So this is where you're hiding? Here!" Faith dumped Amanda's bag of disappointingly mundane library books onto the desk that Giles and the blonde were sharing. Her eyes swept around the office without comment but she wasted no time dropping into the spacious leather sofa and swinging her legs up to rest along part of its length. "I think you can skip the testing on this one. You've definitely got a potential. No human without some sort of supernatural strength would carry 'round that weight in books for fun... well, unless she's a potential watcher.

And check out the sheet music. Seasons in the Sun?" Faith raised a quizzical eyebrow at the lack of cool. "So, what're you doing?" the slayer asked as she threw herself upright again and walked around the desk so she could see the computer screen that occupied both the researchers' attention.

"I'm searching the database of the books that were shipped from England, to see which of these we have and whether they've been unpacked yet. Mr Giles is hovering behind my shoulder like a technophobe because I lost him around the point where I said we could construct a query."

"I-I I say! I'm not a technophobe. I just prefer traditional methods."

"Despite the fact they're slower and less efficient? Even bearing in mind the fact that some of the volumes are in different languages, a simple search by author names will run far more quickly than you could currently search the shelves, never mind the lading notes for the boxes in the basement."

Faith smirked. "Well, when you find what you need I'm sure you'll pass on the Cliff notes. The kitchen is calling. I have the urge for a bacon sandwich or two."

"Spike did come back with you?"

"Well, we split up toward the end. He went to check out a lead while I played hide and seek in the park. Why d'you ask?"

"No reason really. No reason at all." Giles sounded almost embarrassed as he swiftly assured himself that his inquiry definitely did not stem from any form of concern for the vampire's wellbeing.

---

"But how long are you going to be?"

"Why not find yourself a tape measure and we can check that one out when I get back?"

"Spi-ike..."

The vampire considered. Even with his current plan to keep himself entertained he doubted he'd last too long before the boredom became unbearable. "Couple of hours... Three tops. Don't bother to wait up. Wes or Giles can disconnect the phone at your end when the match finishes."

"Wes might. Giles has been MIA since he went running off after Bee and that other watcher in the middle of dinner. You're sure you don't want me to come and join you?"

Spike gave a self-mocking snort of laughter. "If you came out here, my lush sweet peach, neither of us would end up watchin' the bald guys. Just prop up your phone next to the TV speaker so I can hear the commentary and get some rest."

Buffy hesitated briefly before whispering an almost inaudible, "Love you," into the receiver, and waited just long enough to catch a similar reply before she set her phone down next to the TV which was showing the warm up for the game that would decide whether Germany or Paraguay made it through to the quarter-finals of the soccer tournament.

Back at the vineyard Spike connected up the earpiece for his hands-free kit and set about finding a good location from which to keep an eye on the winery without being spotted himself.

---

"Don't worry about it, Roger. I'm sure one of our legal department can have the paperwork drawn up and ready for you by tomorrow lunchtime." The council head shook hands with the older man as he ushered him out of his office. "And, if you can't buy her off directly, then we'll simply do what we must to make her association with Wesley less appealing."

"That woman's far too sharp on her feet to be interested in a milk sop like Wesley for anything other than his money. She'll disappear quickly enough once she realises that she'll never get her hands on any of it."

"We'll get rid of the woman and her demon brat in no time... and once she's out of the way I'm sure we can find a nice English girl for him to meet. After all, these matters are best kept within the 'family', so to speak. Outsiders tend to have a problem with the watcher lifestyle," Quentin observed.

"Huntingdon has a daughter a few years younger than Wesley, or there's Harry's girl. Neither of them are exactly the sharpest tools in the box, but they're pretty enough to look at and they're good enough girls. Either one would give the boy more stability and at least the children would be brought up C of E." Wes's father discussed the young women who had travelled to America as little more than nannies for the youngest of the potentials as if they were brood mares.

"I'm sure we can do a little better than that. Young Wesley seems to have matured somewhat during his time in the colonies. I think it might take more than just a pretty face to hold his interest but let's not get ahead of ourselves..."

---

Saturday, June 15th, 2002



"Corner," Wes announced.

"Come on, Beckham..." Spike encouraged as the blond footballer lined up by the corner flag to take the kick.

"That's Mr Posh Spice, right?" Dawn asked.

"Yeah, Bit," Spike's reply was little more than a mumble as he watched the ball soar toward the box. "Ferdina-a-and! You beauty!" Spike leapt to his feet. "One-nil, one-nil, one-nil, one-nil," the vampire sang almost to the tune of the opening bars of Amazing Grace.

"There's another eighty five minutes to go, yet," Wes tried to remind his fellow countryman. "The game's not over by any means."

"Come off it, watcher! Their goalkeeper plays for Sunderland, for Christ sake. Man U strikers against a Sunderland goalie? And Owen."

The door to Spike and Buffy's room opened and a bed-headed Buffy came toddling out in her pyjamas. "Sleep isn't really an option at this point, is it?"

---

"Owen... Two-nil, two-nil, two-nil, two-nil! Three lions on our shirt, thirty years of hurt never stopped the dreaming!"

"Are you sure he's only had beer?" Dawn asked.

"I don't think you understand the importance of soccer to the English national psyche," Marie observed as Wes joined in with Spike's impromptu sing-along. The lawyer was impeccably dressed, ready to go straight to the office at the game's conclusion. Unlike Spike or Wes she had gone home and got a few hours sleep, getting back to the school just in time for the kick off.

"Then where's Giles?" Buffy asked.

"Giles used up all his soccer hooligan play passes when he went through his rebellious phase. Now he only gets excited over musty books," Dawn suggested. "He's probably in the library drooling over something right now."

"Well, since our little bumblebee hasn't made it upstairs either, I say good luck to him if he is," Spike interrupted his singing rather briefly to comment.

---

"It's coming home. It's coming, football's coming home. It's coming home..." Spike sang as the final whistle blew, the score line being three-nil in favour of the English team. The vampire caught his slayer's eye, the tip of his tongue running along the edge of his upper teeth.

Buffy flushed beneath his gaze, hating that her desire was so obvious. She set her attention on the floor, picking her way through the debris of empty beer cans that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. "I guess maybe I could fit in another hour or two before breakfast if you two are done serenading the rest of the building for the night."

---

Giles opened a weary eye, a stream of brilliant sunlight that broke through the narrow gap between the office curtains causing him to squint. The empty scotch bottle that sat on the desk seemed to accuse him as he stretched tired muscles. The movement brought a low moan of protest from the warm body that lay atop him on the leather couch. The watcher tilted his head downward almost afraid to confirm the identity of the woman with him.

A night spent working on the problem of finding Bee's list of books, first by locating those items in council possession and then speaking to his magic shop contacts while his companion used her own resources, had merged into an early morning of watching England's soccer triumph on a small TV tucked away in a corner of the office. Funnily enough, Giles found it difficult to remember much of the second half of the game. He wasn't entirely sure which of them had made the first move, but in a sense that was unimportant.

Long golden tresses draped both their bodies, nearly covering the red England shirt that his companion wore.

"'Morning," the blonde murmured, brushing a gentle kiss against his collarbone before she tilted her head back to look him in the eye.

"Good morning, Lydia... Or maybe that should be good afternoon."