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 5.07
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


A shocked gasp was enough to rapidly curtail Spike's gloating, his movements so fast as to be almost undetectable. One second he lounged in the room's doorway, the next he stood behind the slayer's sister, one hand covering her not so innocent eyes as he turned her around and marched her from the room. "I don't think you're precocious enough for that part of your education, Dawn."

"But lots-." The teenager started to protest before the warning inherent in the fact that Spike had, for once, used her given name percolated through into her consciousness.

"But nothing. You aren't going to win this argument. You know, I know and lover boy there..." Spike nodded toward Brandon, who by default had been left to grab Rogue's collar before the dog could try to investigate the bin into which Lydia was currently being sick. "...Had better bloody know that that was the last you're goin' to see of any bugger's dick until you're in college at the very earliest, so shut up, stop whining and go see if there's anything useful you can be doin'."

The vampire's voice faded as he marched the young girl along the corridor and Wes cleared his throat. "I think, now that we've ascertained that Giles and Lydia are safe, that it's time we gave them both some privacy."

"And, however belated that sentiment might be, I'm sure we both congratulate you on it." Giles' tone betrayed his impatience with the crowd of spectators, but he didn't bother to move from where he knelt on the floor with one arm around the female watcher's back and his other hand smoothing her hair away from her face. He ignored the shuffle of slightly abashed feet and waited until the door clicked shut once more before he so much as cast a glance over his shoulder to check that he and Lydia were alone.

---

It took some time for the blonde watcher's stomach to finally still enough that Giles felt safe to settle her once more on the sofa, finding a couple of blankets and tucking them around her before he combed all four corners of the room to find his clothes and get dressed.

He crouched down by Lydia's head and his hand tucked a corn gold lock behind her ear. "I feel that I owe you an apology."

Tired but defiant grey eyes looked into Giles' own. "I may be younger than you but I am a consenting adult, Giles. I wasn't exactly sober but then neither were you. Obviously we made a mistake, but to suggest that our responsibility is anything other than equally shared would be patronising in the extreme."

"That wasn't the apology to which I was referring." Giles did his best to sound soothing and sincere and his best was far better than he would have given himself credit for. "I'm- Well, I'm afraid that I allowed an element of paranoia to dictate my actions when I first woke up this morning. After my boorishness I would quite understand if-." The watcher rose to his feet, one hand reaching fruitlessly for the glasses that, due to a vestige of male vanity, he had failed to replace as yet, and then running through his greying hair in a gesture of frustration as he began to pace to and fro in front of the sofa.

"What I'm trying to say is that I made somewhat of an ass of myself earlier. If, however, you might be prepared to overlook that and if you feel well enough later, perhaps you might accompany me for dinner?"

Despite Giles' recent solicitousness, Lydia felt that she had good reason to be sceptical. Nevertheless, she found it a strain to keep a note of hope from her voice. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Perhaps..." Giles hastened to explain. "I don't know if it would really be safe for us to go out alone after dark and if you're still feeling fragile then, in that case, it might be easier to order in but we could probably manage some candlelight if you wanted and possibly even some privacy if I haven't...

We-. Ehm, well, we might have skipped a few of the steps in a normal courtship but it seems to me that it might be worth taking the time to get to know each other a little better before we decide whether it was a mistake. It's possible that on closer acquaintance you'll find me a crashing bore-."

"Before I answer, can I ask what brought about your change of mind? Until we were interrupted you seemed to be in rather a hurry to leave."

"I'm afraid that my reasoning doesn't make a great deal of sense."

"Try me."

"It did seem rather too good to be true that a gi- woman as young and attractive as yourself would be genuinely interested in a man my age, especially in light of your allegiance to Quentin. Then, I found myself thinking that no one would make themselves so ill simply to further some political agenda."

"You think a woman would be more likely to sleep with a man she wasn't attracted to than to wilfully make herself ill?"

"Well, no... It was around that point in my deliberations that I realised my logic might be somewhat spurious. I know that my earlier conclusions don't reflect particularly well on my opinion of you but-."

"That would be rather an understatement." The words themselves may have been harsh but Giles' head swung around to look her in the eye, hoping that he had heard the underlying humour in Lydia's tone correctly.

"In my defence, some of our previous encounters have been more acrimonious and it has been pointed out to me rather often of late that perhaps I'm not the figure of a man that I was even a few years ago."

"Experience can have its own attractions. Has it also been pointed out to you that the way you kiss would make almost any woman go weak at the knees? ...Or perhaps that was the whisky." This time there was no doubting the gentle teasing in her tone. "Though, I do think, if I were to accept your invitation it would in all probability require some grovelling on your part before I let you off the hook for implying that I might be Quentin's Mata Hari."

"That could be arranged... assuming of course, that on further acquaintance I don't find that you need enough alcohol to make you ill before you can steel yourself to socialise with an old man such as myself."

"If it didn't involve moving my head, which is rather painful at the moment, and if my teeth were clean, rather than my mouth justifiably smelling like I spent the last half hour regurgitating my entire stomach contents, then I would prove to you just how little persuasion I need to do far more than socialise. For now, though, I think I'll just lie here for a decade or two until I feel better."

"Perhaps some tea and toast might help with that? You could call it a first instalment on the grovelling."

"Tea would be lovely and if you could rustle up a couple of painkillers that would be great, but maybe after that you should check to see how the others got on with their research last night. You don't need to hover over me all day. I'll be alright."

Giles nodded slowly. "On one condition... You let me pop in every hour or so to check on you."

---

"So, how did your meeting with the little chica go? All wrapped up satisfactorily?" Quentin ushered Roger into his office and then hailed a pair of potentials who had the misfortune to be using that stretch of corridor. His eyes raked over them both, mentally linking them to their files. He totally disregarded one of the pair, his lip almost curling in distaste at her obviously Americanised form of dress, and focused fully on the other.

"You, girl! Michael Varley is your watcher, isn't he?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

"Good. He should have taught you how to make a decent pot of tea, then. I believe the tea service is kept in the cupboard above the sink. Run along and make a pot for two and make it quick!"

Quentin closed the door behind him, taking his time as he walked around his desk to pick up the contract that the elder Wyndam Pryce sent spinning over the wide mahogany surface with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

"Perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger?" the council head asked his guest.

"Tempting... Very tempting, but it's still rather early for me."

"I know it must rankle somewhat to have to disburse family money to a total stranger, but I'm sure in the long run-."

"I rather think you need to take a closer look at the signature on that document, Quentin."

Quentin sat down and opened out the pages, holding them at a precise ninety degree angle in front of him and turning to the final page. His long sigh somehow seemed to combine sympathy and understanding. His fingers traced the ink that, instead of M. Alvarez, read 'Vaya al Diablo!' "I do suppose it would be difficult to make that stand up in court."

"The woman had the gall to call some muscle-bound beach bum of a security guard to escort me out of the building like a common criminal."

"Don't worry about it Roger. When Wesley leaves her high and dry and she realises just what sort of pay day she's missed out on she'll be wishing she'd been a bit less stubborn. So-o-o... What now?"

"No doubt our little puta del Diablo will come running to Wesley, but as the boy so rightly pointed out the other day there's nothing he can do to make me leave. I think we should allow him a few days to realise just exactly what he could potentially be giving up before I approach him. Let him think the papers aren't ready for him to sign yet."

"Yes." Drawing the word almost into another sigh, Quentin steepled his fingers together in front of him. "The girl almost seems to give him some back bone. It may be best to allow his temper to cool somewhat before making your approach."

---

Wes glanced up from the yellow legal pad that contained his translation notes, a huge smile brightening his face as he saw Rosa running through the library toward him.

"You're late," he gently admonished the child as she impacted and he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her so that her face was level with his own.

"It was mommy's fault. I was ready hours and hours ago."

Wesley settled the girl so that she rested on his narrow hip with his arms supporting her and turned to watch the lady in question approach. Her hair hung in loose waves down her back, swaying and glistening with reflected light as she strolled across the room. The tailored suit of this morning was gone, replaced by a white T-shirt that left several inches of bare golden stomach between it and the top of the skin tight denim shorts that, judging by what he could see from this angle and the expressions on the faces of the male watchers who had a better view, would barely cover the deliciously rounded curves of Marie's behind. Canvas sandals, with a high wedge-heel, fastened by ribbons that twined up her calves like particularly fortunate clinging vines, completed the ensemble. Wes had never seen her wear an outfit in public that covered less or attracted him more, though not entirely for the obvious reasons. In the watchers' world of circumspect tailoring it was a declaration of war.

"Hard day at the office?" the watcher asked, his lips twisting in amusement at the stir this beautiful, confident woman was causing.

"You might say that... though the problem was more in the way of a personal nature but I had to make a phone call or two, out of range of flapping ears."

Wes's grin took on an evil twist as he turned back to the little girl. "How about we see whether your Uncle Will wants to read to you for half an hour or so while me and your mommy get all caught up?" he suggested.

The little girl rolled her eyes at being fobbed off, even if it was on one of her favourite uncles, but acceded fairly gracefully. "Can we go to the beach and get ice-cream later, then? Mommy and me have got our swimsuits on underneath so we can go straight in."

"That's a deal, Rosita. Come on!" He led the pair from the library, taking Rosa up the stairs in his arms alone when Marie paused at the sight of Bee pulling tray upon tray of chocolate cookies from the catering-sized ovens in the school's kitchens.

---

"What's up?" Marie asked.

"Who says there's anything up? Can't a girl just want to binge out on chocolate cookies for no reason?"

"Are you telling me that there's nothing but chocolate in these cookies? Because my nose tells me otherwise."

"Okay, okay! That particular batch of double chocolate chip may have some additional seasoning but the rest are all just chocolate."

Marie picked up one of the cookies that Bee had pointed at and broke it in half, nibbling carefully on the smaller part and passing the other half to the demi-angel. "As far as I know no one we know is planning a party so why don't you tell me why you need to chill out?"

"Well, say every day you go past this dress shop and one day in the window there's this really stunning outfit. You know that if you tried it on that it just wouldn't look right on you. The waist would be too loose or it wouldn't sit right on your hips. Maybe the colour would just make you look washed out... whatever. You know it just wouldn't be right but it's so pretty you just keep looking at it on the mannequin and wondering if maybe you should go in and try it on... because even though you know it wouldn't be right, just maybe you're wrong?" Bee looked up as she took a large bite from the half cookie in her hand.

"I think I know what you mean," the lawyer probed cautiously for further detail.

"Well, some bitch is wearing my dress! And I thought it liked me, too. So, maybe there's another dress that if I wait long enough it'll be ready and it'll be even better but I was kinda enjoying the whole window shopping experience and now there's just that naked dummy in the window and that woman's wearing my Donna Karan."

"This all translates to Giles is seeing someone, doesn't it?"

"Who says I'd be interested in a Laura Ashley number like that?" Bee responded in indignation.

"I think I would have had a vague idea anyway but you do remember who my 'mother-in-law' is? If it's any help she seemed to think the wait for the 2005 collection would be worth it?"

Bee pulled out a chair at the table and sank into it before pushing the rest of her cookie into her mouth all in one and reaching straight away for one of the chocolate-only ones. "2005? I'm just meant to wander around bare-ass-nekkid for the next three years, huh?"

---

There were girlish giggles coming through the ajar door of Spike and Buffy's room as Marie made her way to Wes's current sanctum. The watcher lounged on one of the room's camp beds and as Marie used her behind to push the door closed after her he held out the arm that wasn't propping him up to draw her onto the bunk beside him.

"Personal? Want to tell me about it?" he asked as Marie shimmied as far into his embrace as possible, her hands loosening the buttons on the front of his shirt.

"Your father scared off my eleven thirty appointment and then offered me a six figure sum if I would sign an agreement saying that I wouldn't see you."

Wes tried to keep his face neutral. "That would go a long way toward paying off the mortgage on the apartments and letting you take Lily, Clem and Rosa away from here. I couldn't blame you if you decided to take it..."

"Does that mean you would take it?" The Latina's eyes searched Wes's face for clues.

Sensing her insecurity, Wes rolled them both so that the weight of his lower body pressed Marie into the bed, stalling any thoughts of escape that she might have before they could fully blossom.

"We're talking about the man who I wouldn't even ask for my air fare back to England when the council fired me. He would have to come up with a far more enticing offer before I would let you go... but I don't have anyone else who's dependent on me."

"We're all dependent on you, you and the others. Your father doesn't realise that I know there won't be anywhere in this world where we can run, if you all fail. Maybe the only thing I can do to help is to be here for you. It's not a big thing or an important thing. When people talk about what happened, no one will remember me or Rosa but if it helps even a little then I don't want to be anywhere else."

Wes lowered his head slowly, watching the shifting emotions in Marie's dark eyes until he was too close to focus on her features. His eyes drifted shut as he drew her lower lip between his own, his kiss unhurried, making each taste of her flesh last. He teased her chin, the hollow between her jawbone and her neck as her face tilted back, the dip above her collar bone that was only just visible above the tight cotton of her top and finally his lips and teeth nipped their way back up until he nibbled on one golden earlobe. "You help," he whispered. "You and Rosa give me something real to fight for. Please tell me you'll turn him down."

Somewhere during that long exploratory kiss, Marie had wrapped her legs around Wes's waist, her ankles crossing behind his back, and now she used the muscles in her legs to grind against Wes's pelvis, her hips undulating against him in tiny circles that became ever more urgent. "I already told him to go to hell."

Wes's moan was almost louder than the creak of mattress as he responded to her words with a forceful buck of his hips.

"He won't stop there," Marie gasped, even as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders. Her hands explored the liberated planes of his back, alternating soft strokes with the drag of long nails.

"Rosa?" Wes asked, knowing that they both teetered at the point of no return.

"You think Spike won't be able to hear that we're busy? Just make sure we don't push his patience too far."

Strong hands pushed at the bottom of Marie's top until the hard peaks of her nipples were hidden by only a thin layer of Lycra and, as if they had never diverged from it, Wes returned to the topic of his father. "He can't offer me anything I want more than this... more than you or Rosa." He worked by feel alone, his eyes never leaving her own, wanting her to understand the sincerity of his words. "So beautiful," he murmured in a voice cracked with passion, letting his fingers mould and massage her breasts for several seconds before he responded to the way she squirmed against him, biting down on one firm peak while he twisted the other tight between thumb and forefinger.

Blood blossomed on Marie's lip as she bit down hard in an effort to still her moans and she had to wait some time before she recovered enough to continue their talk. "If bribes won't work he says he means to disinherit you."

"Let him. The cantankerous old bastard will probably outlive all of us in any case." Wes's words stirred the tiny hairs on Marie's rib cage as his mouth quested ever lower.

"True," Marie agreed, before, as she tried to flip them both until she was on top, the narrow bunk tipped and left the couple on the floor. "But I don't think we should let him win without a fight."

Wes looked up, enjoying the way Marie's muscles moved under her golden skin as she pulled her T-shirt over her head. "These phone calls you made... You have some sort of plan?"

Marie's top had been joined by the upper half of her bikini and her reply came as she unfastened Wes's belt and pushed down his jeans until they would go no further without removing his shoes. "Just promise me that you won't sign anything ... not for a few more days."

"A couple of days would be the least I could do, but I've no intention of letting him blackmail me into leaving you... ever."

"I believe you, but I have a feeling that when you turn him down, he'll try to get you to sign something to say you won't contest his will. If he tries to do that, then I want you to stall."

"And what exactly am I stalling for? He can keep his money. I don't want it."

"I don't either, but if he chooses finances as a weapon to use against us, then I will use it as a way to retaliate."

"I'm not entirely sure I want to know..." Wes commented as Marie's hands moved toward the fastenings on her shorts and those were the last words either of them spoke for quite some time.