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 5.06
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


"Tell me that they've got their own TV and video in there," Xander begged Oz as he stumbled into the attic's main living area, his hair rumpled and a towelling robe over his black satin pyjamas.

"Nope. Why?" The werewolf continued tuning his acoustic guitar.

The brunette gave a heartfelt sigh. "Don't ask. Let's just say I was hoping I could convince Anya that they were watching porn films in there."

"Ah." The redhead made a chord and strummed over all six strings, evidently satisfied with the results since he began to absently finger a tune from the instrument.

"Little lady trying to make you keep up with that vampire stamina? Boy! Is she in for a disappointment!" Faith drawled as she too made her way into the room, looking far too alert for Xander's taste, her damp hair suggesting that she was recently returned from the shower, a large white envelope clutched in her hand.

"Heyyyy and what part of don't ask... Okay, yeah, laugh it up. At least she missed the last four hours what with going to work. So what's with the paperwork? You never struck me as the love letters type." Xander made a passing attempt to change the subject.

"Present from Quentin." Faith pulled an official looking document from the envelope. "Pretty, huh? President's signature and everything. Now all I need is his cheque book."

Oz stopped strumming to take the sheet of paper from her outstretched hand, scanning through the text that granted the slayer amnesty for her crimes. "Cool."

"Cool? This is better than cool! This is great-sex-on-a-rollercoaster wild... This is like being given my whole life back. Course if this little deal with The First goes pear-shaped that might only be a week or two, but hey..." The slayer shrugged, but her mood was obviously still buoyant.

Xander looked at the document over Oz's shoulder. "So that's it? You kill two guys, do a couple of years and then walk away with a presidential pat on the back, all forgotten and forgiven?"

Faith's eyes clouded over and then hardened before she met the carpenter's glare. "It's not forgotten. It'll never be forgotten, not by me and sure as hell not by you an' the rest of Snow White's dwarves, but I've spent as long as I need to contemplating my navel. Another couple of decades in the can isn't going to change how I feel about what happened, so, the way I see it, I'm going to put more on the positive side of the scales out here kicking some butt than I will feeling sorry for myself. You got a problem with that, then I suggest you take it up with good old George W."

Xander let his gaze drop to the floor. "No, I guess I haven't got a problem."

Oz picked up the TV remote, flicking through a couple of channels before he paused. "Wacky Races?"

Faith's smile brightened and she flung herself into one of the vacant armchairs. "Sure."

"I think there might be some popcorn left from last night, if anybody wants some," Xander offered, heading for the microwave that had originally come from Spike's crypt.

---

"You three should go and get some proper sleep," Tara suggested kindly as she passed mugs of coffee to Bee and James and placed a saucer of milk on the table for their feline companion.

"I've slept," Bee argued.

"Passing out in a wooden chair with your head on a book is not sleep. It's exhaustion... and no wonder, after moving round all those boxes of books in the basement to get at the ones you wanted."

"But the answer could be right here in one of these books," James protested.

"And if it is, you'll likely be so tired you miss it or fumble the translation," the Wiccan pointed out reasonably. "I can make a start on any that are in English or even have a reasonable try at something in Latin. Wes'll be here as soon as he has a shower, at least until Marie finishes at the office. He might only have had an hour or two but at least he went to bed. I'm sure Oz would help and probably Xander if you asked. Dawn would jump at the chance and she would probably drag Brandon in as well."

"Slight problem," Bee argued. "Only one of these books is in English. There were a couple of others on the list but the council didn't have copies. Giles and Lydia were making some calls last night to see if they could scare them up."

"See, even Giles went to bed. If it was urgent Giles would have been right here reading."

"Actually," Wes interrupted from the doorway, sounding rather shamefaced. "Giles didn't go to bed last night at all. We-. Ehm, well, we rather assumed that he was with Bee... unless he came upstairs after the football finished."

"Oh crap!" The words came from Bee's mouth but they rather effectively mirrored the thoughts of the whole group. After all, with the exception of a slayer, what better prize could The First claim than her beloved watcher? Coffee and books were forgotten in an instant as every person in the room headed toward the attic, hoping against hope that Giles would be in his room. Only Rupert affected an air of unconcern, sniffing at Bee's coffee mug as if considering a caffeine boost before strolling over to his saucer of milk and lapping delicately at its surface.

---

The room was a wreck. The beds, somehow, had ended up one upside down on top of the other pushed against one of the side walls. The holdalls that had been tidily stored away under them had ended up pushed roughly under the angle of the roof by arms, legs or other body parts, one of the bags tipping on its side as it had been moved and leaving a trail of Spike's washing in its wake. The comforter took up most of the rest of the floor and the once bare light bulb had acquired a shade that bore more than a passing resemblance to Buffy's pyjama top.

Spike pulled Buffy onto the centre of the quilt so that he could wrap its edge over her as her sweat-soaked body began to cool once more. He curled against her back, propping himself on one elbow to better watch her face, while under the quilt his free hand roamed up and down her side.

Buffy squirmed just that little bit closer, her eyes widening in mock surprise at the firmness of the flesh which rubbed against her behind as she did so. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked, her voice tired but teasing.

"Marry me and keep me as a trophy husband." Unable to resist, Spike ducked his head so that he could breathe gentle kisses along the line of his lover's shoulder, his tongue snaking out to savour the salt taste of the perspiration that gathered by her collarbone.

As his lips moved to the juncture of her neck and shoulder Buffy tried to force herself to pull away slightly before the vampire could wreak more havoc by stimulating her claim mark, but as if he knew what she was thinking, Spike's lips pressed over the mark in an almost chaste kiss. "Mine," he whispered the tender acknowledgement of belonging.

Buffy nuzzled against his cheek as she answered him. "Yours... always." As she began to turn in his arms to reciprocate his caress, the vampire stilled, suddenly alert.

"Best cover up, moonbeam. That many pairs of runnin' feet has to mean trouble." Before Buffy could absorb the sudden change of pace, Spike had gained his feet and taken Buffy's robe from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. He passed it to her before grabbing the nearest pair of black jeans from the mess on the floor.

---

By the time Spike opened his and Buffy's bedroom door, lounging against the frame until Buffy joined him, in order to curtail her friends' view of the room behind them, Wes had already established that the other watcher had not returned to his room.

"So who actually saw him last?" Wes asked.

Faith shrugged. "He was with Watcher Wonder Woman when I got back from patrol. Something about tracking down some books. That's the last I saw of him."

"He came down to the basement at around one to give us the list of which crates contained the books we were looking for. He said he was going back to Lydia's office after that to ring 'round various book dealers and such to see whether he could locate the missing volumes," James volunteered.

"We didn't see him after that," Bee admitted. "We assumed that by the time we finished unpacking he would have gone to bed."

"Not if he called himself a red blooded Englishman, he wouldn't. He'd have to have a damn good reason to miss the match."

Bee lifted an eyebrow in James' direction.

"I'm Scottish. We didn't actually qualify," he admitted slightly sheepishly.

"Okay, when you finished in the basement did you see any signs of a struggle when you left?" Buffy asked.

"I can't say that I did, but then we were carrying the books and there weren't all that many lights on," James qualified his denial.

"Has anyone actually seen our delightful headmistress this morning?" Spike asked.

Everyone shook their heads or looked blank.

"Right then, option the first, the newest Big Bad's got both of 'em. Option the second, Travers is playin' some sort of silly buggers double-cross to try an' keep you ladies from runnin' the show. You do what he says or he pulls Rupert's bits off with rusty pliers or some such or option the third..." Spike gave a soft snort of disbelief. "He's gettin' his end away with Miss Prim an' Proper."

"Whatever," Buffy interjected. "It sounds like her office is a good place to start... but first-."

"You really really need to go pee," Spike finished for her in his best 'Buffy' voice.

---

Giles couldn't help wishing that Lydia had slept just a bit longer, preferably long enough for a clean getaway. He wasn't gullible enough to believe that women twenty years younger than him were just going to throw themselves at him. It wasn't as if they had any common ground between them, not in any real sense. She was Travers' protégée. At some point down the line Quentin was going to use this against him, he was sure, and if he was fool enough to allow it to carry on the end result would just be more catastrophic... Not that-. 'Control yourself, man. It wasn't that good... Okay, yes it was... but that was the point. Travers probably sent her to study at some geisha school or something. Get a hold of yourself and get out of here before you end up like Xander, being led round by your blasted prick for the rest of your life.'

He cleared his throat in preparation for politely asking her to move so that he could get dressed, but when she looked into his eyes it was as if she already knew what came next.

"Ohh!"

'Damn, she is good. That looked like real confusion and embarrassment there.'

"You want to go, don't you?"

'That vulnerable look really might have worked if I hadn't seen her whole Burmese burning eyeballs statue act... Besides it's probably just because she can't focus properly without her glasses... At least she got rid of those damn awful black things.'

As she scrambled backward to get out of his way, Giles became aware of several things at once. The first was his total lack of clothing. Second was that while his brain was back-pedalling like mad to get him out of there, certain parts of his anatomy weren't necessarily in agreement. The third thing was the frown of what looked like acute pain that crossed Lydia's face when she moved and the fourth and possibly most disturbing was the babble of voices just outside the door.

When the blonde collapsed to her hands and knees and grabbed for the wastepaper basket, her bare behind peeking provocatively from below the hem of her football shirt, he just couldn't help himself. He simply couldn't walk away from a woman being ill like that. His hands automatically stroked the long hair away from her face as her stomach wretched and heaved, bringing up bile and little else, his voice providing soothing whispers.

He was barely even aware of the crunch of metal as Buffy twisted the lock to breaking point or the press of people who practically fell through the doorway as she pushed it open.

"Oh-oh!" Buffy covered her eyes and turned to leave. "Option the third."

Spike, having delayed his entry long enough to check that he wasn't going to be scorched by a stray sunbeam, leant against the doorframe with a smirk. "So, does every woman that sees you starkers puke her guts up the morning after or is this a special case?" he drawled.

---

The duty security guard knocked on the door to Marie's office. "Your eleven thirty appointment is here." The lawyer quickly closed all the files she had been working on and slid them into her desk drawer.

"Thanks, Richard." Her appreciative smile faded when she realised that the man accompanying the part-time body builder was not who she expected.

"I'm afraid there has been some kind of mistake. Mr Wyndam Pryce doesn't have an appointment. I'm sorry but I'm expecting someone else. I think it would be better if he left."

The guard looked momentarily confused and Roger quickly butted in. "This will only take a few moments and I'm afraid the gentleman whose deposition you were due to take became ill. It was all rather sudden."

Marie's mouth set into a grim line. "It's okay, Richard. I'll speak to him. Let's say I'm starting my coffee break now. If Mr Wyndam Pryce hasn't left by eleven forty five, perhaps you could come and escort him out."

---

"It's all very simple. You sign here and now to say that you will refrain from seeing my son again and the money is yours. You know the sort of trouble that is building here. I'm offering you enough to take your daughter and the rest of your family anywhere you want within reason. Enough to allow you time to pick and choose where you want to continue your career.

The only condition is that once I leave this office the offer is null and void."

"And if I don't sign?"

"Should you refuse to sign you take the chance that Wesley might be more amenable to persuasion. His mother and I don't really use the town house any more, except for theatre trips and such. It may be time to pass it on to Wesley and if that is insufficient incentive then it's worth bearing in mind that at the moment Wesley stands to inherit a considerable sum when I die. His cousin, however, may turn out to be a better candidate for carrying on the Wyndam Pryce name. His wife is the daughter of one of the most successful watchers of the twentieth century.

Really, can you afford to take chances with your daughter's wellbeing? This is the battle the council has dreaded since its inception. Do you honestly want her in the middle of all that?

This thing with Wesley is all very new... Is it worth taking risks with your daughter's safety? More to the point, will Wesley think it's worth that much? Will he walk away from his birthright on the off chance that this thing between you might turn out to be more than a fling? Or deep down will he be glad that he doesn't have to bring up something else's brat?"

Marie picked up a pen and with a determined glare she scrawled along the dotted line.

A/N Thanks to ilpopi for suggesting certain things in his not so recent review