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 5.26
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


The air was scented with the slightly acrid smell of burnt motherwort and other herbs, but Giles was confident that his truth spell had worked, despite the fact that the inherent threat of cutting out the liar's tongue wasn't particularly potent in this case. Lydia set a Dictaphone to record and placed it on a chair to one side of the circle where the bringer had been chained. She looked round at Bee, Wes, Giles, Penelope, Quentin and Roger, who had both managed to invite themselves by virtue of being in the library when Wes had gone to fetch Lydia and Giles.

"I think we're ready to begin," Quentin averred and nodded toward Penelope who held Bee's book. Everyone in the room remained quiet as she read aloud, except the harbinger who writhed in his bonds, trying to break free before the spell could take effect. Gazes flickered back and forth between Wes's mother and the bringer. Reaching the end of her incantation in Turkish, Penelope closed the book and settled her gaze on where the creature's eyes would have been. "Speak to us!" she commanded.

All eyes were now fixed on the bringer, awaiting his response.

In a dull monotone Travers informed them, "I am a drone in the mind that is evil."

Giles quashed his urge to point out that they had known that already and let him continue on, at least until the rhetoric began to get repetitive. The bringer was ignored once more.

"I say I'm part of the great darkness. I'm only a fragment of the we. We work as one to serve The First."

"And how exactly do you all do that?" Penelope asked. "What do you do to serve your master?"

"We work to prepare for the inevitable battle."

"Why is the battle inevitable?" Wes queried. "Why now? Why has this never happened before?"

"The witch broke the compact when she brought the slayer back from the dead. My master is confined no longer. He is able to give strength to his servant. Soon, he will have physical form and all will bow before him."

"I rather think you might be wrong there," Giles replied dryly.

"The servants of evil will be set free. They will scourge humanity from the earth and when my master's servants outnumber his oppressors, he shall walk the earth once more."

"What is it that you do to prepare for the battle to come?" Lydia asked, returning to Penelope's earlier line of questioning.

"We attend to the needs of the infinite evil. We exterminate girls and destroy the legacy of the slayer. We build an arsenal beneath the dirt. We obey the commands of our teacher Caleb. We are everywhere. We are like the ocean's waves. We watch your efforts and we are not afraid. We will laugh at you as you die."

Giles seemed to decide that the bringer had nothing more to offer except rhetoric. He picked up the silver athamé that Tara and Lydia had used to prepare the herbs for the truth spell the previous night. He crossed into the circle that surrounded the bringer and took a grip on his chin. He had barely pulled the bringer's head back and the blade had yet to touch its throat when Wes gripped his arm.

"There's more it can tell us," he assured the older man. "We just need time to work out the right questions."

With a curt nod, Giles stood again. He carefully sized up his target before he lashed out hard with his foot, kicking the bringer into unconsciousness. "We've got enough for now."

Quentin was the last to leave the basement, rubbing idly at his temple as he climbed the steps as if he could feel a headache coming on.

---

Wes almost expected his father to try to corner him as they left the basement. There were a full ten minutes before the football was due to start and he was sure his father would like nothing better than to make him late for the start of the match, so he wasn't surprised when his father summoned him with a slightly imperious, "Wesley?"

Nevertheless, there was at least a note of request in his father's tone rather than command. Wes made a point of glancing at his watch. "I have a few minutes."

Dawn gave him a concerned glance as she made her way through the group to station herself by the front door to wait for the pizza guy, and Wes gave her a reassuring smile.

"I thought I should say goodbye tonight, as I'll be leaving in the small hours to get to LA in time for the early flight." He extended a hand toward Wesley, and his son took it cautiously, waiting for the punch line.

They shook hands uncomfortably. "Goodbye, father. I expect we'll see each other in another four or five years."

Roger quietly nodded his agreement. "I'm sure Quentin will keep me abreast of what you're up to in the meantime."

Wes strained to work out whether there had been a hint of threat in the observation or if his father had merely been stating a fact. He decided it didn't matter. He withdrew his hand from his father's loosening grip and looked the older man in the eye. "I'm sure he will." With a last nod of his head, he turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen and the stairs leading to the attic.

 

---

 

"Aiiii!" The game had barely started when Marie rose to her feet, one arm outstretched toward the TV in protest at the foul by the US captain, Claudio Reyna, on one of the Mexican players, but before she could launch into a full scale protest, the referee's whistle had been blown for a free kick.

"What d'you expect, pet?" Spike asked. "He used to play for Rangers before they flogged him to Sunderland. Have you ever seen an Old Firm match? Hell, sometimes the ref goes off bleedin'," the blond added with a nostalgic grin.

Wes gave the vampire a sideways glance as Blanco positioned the ball, ready for a free kick. "I wouldn't have thought you would have watched that many Old Firm matches."

Spike shrugged. "I've spent a winter or two up north... an' there's always the telly."

The free kick curved toward the goal, everyone holding their breath as the US goalkeeper fumbled the catch and had to make a second grab at it. Marie's sigh of disappointment mingled with most of the others' sighs of relief.

 

---

 

"Aren't we supposed to get the ball sometimes?" Buffy asked through a mouthful of pineapple pizza, having watched the ball pass from player to player on the Mexican side, turning onto her back to aim the question at her fiancé who lay on his side behind her.

"Like now?" Spike asked, brushing a kiss against Buffy's collarbone as she rolled back over, his gaze never leaving the screen, as Reyna made a run down the right side of the pitch. As he neared far end of the pitch, the US captain passed to Wolff who then sent it into the path of McBride, who sent it streaking into the far side of the net before the Mexican keeper could reach it. Spike tried to keep his grin from being too smug as he glanced backward at the watcher and his girlfriend. After all, the only American in the room who would normally be interested was Brandon and he had divided loyalties, not to mention that the youth seemed to be watching Dawn more than he was watching the match. Marie, on the other hand, understood that football was far more than just a game and would take it hard if Mexico didn't pull back, but... a bet was a bet.

Wes's arm wrapped around Marie's shoulders, as she muttered a string of Spanish curses under her breath. After a few seconds she took a deep breath and raised her face to look at him. "I know. It's only one-nil," she said, in a deliberately calm tone of voice. "And there's lots of time to catch up..."

The rest of the first half passed with Marie perched on the very edge of the couch, ready to either cheer on the Mexicans as they took several shots on the American goal, almost all of which were on target but were saved by the US keeper, or to protest and bite at her lip when the US team gained possession. Wes was pleased to note that that wasn't very often.

 

---

Monday, June 17th, 2002
 

The second half began much the same way as the first half finished, though if anything the tackles from either team were just a bit more forceful. Again, the Mexicans seemed to be far better at keeping possession of the ball, but the American defence somehow managed to deny them any reward.

"Cool!" commented Oz with typical nonchalance, when America got a second goal with just twenty five minutes of normal time remaining. Marie sagged back in her seat and let her head drop onto Wes's shoulder, tucking her right hand between Wes's upper arm and his body. The watcher looked down and placed a kiss on her temple. The Latina let go of her disappointment with a sigh and wriggled just a bit closer to the Englishman beside her. It wasn't as if a comeback were impossible, and even if the Mexicans drew level, the match would run to extra time and then a penalty shoot out, but any such outcome now seemed remote. Her Latin pride had taken a heavy dent and disappointment made her throat feel thick and unresponsive.

Football, she acknowledged as Wes hooked her left thigh over his right and pulled her even closer, despite what the male half of the population might think, was not the end of the world.

 

---

 

"No," Lily insisted. "You no need to stay up watch Brazil play. You no Brazilman. You English."

"But whoever wins is playing England in the next round."

Lily snorted. "Is past bedtime for stubborn children who have class in morning. Is long time since VCR made. You watch soccer tomorrow."

"It never works when you do that. Some berk always tells you the score before you get to see it."

"Is all the choice you get." Lily insisted and Clem covered a smile behind his hand, as his mother bustled the vampire back toward the room he shared with Buffy.

 

---

 

The first light of the false dawn barely touched the sky when Roger's escort undid the bolts on the school's heavy front door. The junior watcher unlocked the doors of the hired Bentley and pulled open the rear door, holding it open until Roger got inside and then closing it behind him. He slipped into the driver's seat and twisted backward to ask Roger if he would like any music.

Roger gave a noncommittal grunt, which was obviously taken for consent by the younger man, who pressed play on the CD player set into the dashboard. The funereal strains of a violin adagio filled the car as Roger opened his briefcase and removed the files that Quentin had given him.

 

---

 

"I don't give a damn whether they approve of my methods or not." Giles fixed the older watcher with a hard stare. "These texts are cited as references for the only text we've found so far with any information at all. All I want to know is whether your people can make themselves useful by translating them or whether we need to recall some of our able-bodied combatants to do the work."

"You cannot treat long-standing council members as translation clerks," Quentin argued. "They deserve some respect. Why should they present themselves at nine o'clock on the dot, when your own slayer is swanning around taking driving lessons?"

Unheard by either man, one of the double doors squeaked slightly as it opened.

"Because unlike my slayer they are not putting their life on the line on a regular basis, patrolling late into the night or coming straight from those driving lessons to teach potentials. As for treating them as translation clerks, that happens to be their area of usefulness. What did they think they were going to do? Come scurrying across the Atlantic to get the slayers' protection and then just settle in and drink tea for the duration?" Giles' tone was scathing. "We cannot afford to carry dead weight, regardless of how old they might be or what their political influence might be."

"I do hope that you're not including me in that description," Penny drawled, causing Giles to turn.

"I- I was under the impression that your visit here was intended to be short term," Giles replied trying to walk the razor's edge between insulting his colleague's mother and going back on the hard line he had just taken with his employer.

"It was," Penny agreed. "If, however, I can be of some use, especially as my son will be one of those whose safety depends on the progress that is made with this research, you can consider my talents, such as they are, at your indefinite disposal." She gave a slight nod to Giles, and then seemed to peruse the titles of the books that he had set out. "Harold Parkinson is your best bet for that one. You'll find him in the drawing room with a few of his cronies. Tell him I'll bet him a hundred pounds that I can find what I want in this book before he can find it in that one. That'll get his nose out of The Sporting Life." She pulled another book from the pile and passed it into Travers' hands. "I seem to recall there being common roots between Cyratic and Hebrew. I also seem to recall Hebrew being one of your specialities, Quentin. Why don't you be a good boy and lead by example?"

Giles made his way to the door. "Harold Parkinson, you said?" he checked with Penny.

"That's right," she confirmed. "And I'm sure if you mention Quentin's getting his hands dirty for once, the novelty value will be enough to entice his friends to come along."

 

---

 

Spike, Buffy and Faith formed a huddle in one corner of the room as they looked over their new recruits. "I'll take the good witch an' her mate," Spike said, nodding in the direction of where Tara and Bee seemed to be chatting. "Been too busy to keep much of an eye on her since Red..."

Buffy gave a brief nod of assent. "I'll take Dawn and Brandon."

"Guess that leaves me Wes an' Wolfboy."

"What about Giles' bit an' his Scottish buddy?" Spike asked, looking at Lydia and James, "or are we just sticking them in with the rest of the watchers when we do the alphabetical split? I don't mind havin' her in my lot," the blond suggested.

"I bet you don't!" said Buffy with a prod a few inches to one side of Spike's stomach wound. "I'll take her. Faith, you can have him?" she suggested.

"Nah!" Faith demurred. "Been there. Had that. Vamp boy can have him."

The two blondes exchanged glances and then turned to look at the watcher in a different light. Spike shrugged and Buffy stepped forward, leaving Faith and Spike to each take a few steps to either side.

"Okay, potentials, I want you to line up in front of your mentor... You know, whoever you were designated to go to if you have any problems. Watchers, hands up anyone attached to one of the potentials here, where that potential no habla the English. You go in the same group as your potentials and when we divide into teams I want you to stay with them again. Tara, Bee and James, you're all in Spike's group. Wes and Oz, you're with Faith. Lydia, Dawn and Brandon, you're with me. The rest of you line up in alphabetical order. First third with Spike, second third with me and the rest of you with Faith."

Despite Dawn's glowers Buffy's gaze didn't waver as everyone moved to obey her commands. "These will be your new groups. Everyone will be training with their own mentor this morning. Faith's group, if you would file through the conservatory on your way outside, you'll find some crossbows and shortbows have been laid out on the tables there for your use and targets have been set out at the back of the school. My group will be doing some basic martial arts training on the lawn at the front of the school. Spike's group has the gym. Once you master unarmed combat, Spike will be teaching you how to use staves, axes, swords and other weapons. Until then, he'll be teaching unarmed combat, as well. We know that some of you, especially the watchers, may well already be proficient in certain forms of combat, but we need to work with the groups as a whole until everyone is up to standard. If you're good enough to help guide those less experienced, I'm sure it won't take us too long to enlist your help."

She looked round at the groups, trying to meet the eyes of as many of the trainees and watchers as possible, as Spike had prompted her to do when she'd practised this, earlier that morning. "Okay, everybody except Spike's group, get moving."

Spike began to walk his way down the line of potentials who were assigned to him, pausing to exchange a few words with each of them as he went. When he reached a slightly heavyset girl in a yellow and blue top, she launched straight into an excited stream of Portuguese. "Two-nil, is good, no? Now our teams play against each other."

Spike let out a disappointed sigh and replied in the same language. "Yeah, Pele, I guess we do!"