Red Dragon of Wales
Part One by Joy Lee
[Sunnydale California, The Summer's home, the Second Morning After Joyce and Giles Return from Scotland via the Looking Glass]
Buffy came bouncing into the kitchen to find her Mom squeezing fresh juice. The cinnamon smell of coffee cake emanating from the oven. "Cool! What's the occasion?"
"Just wanted to show my little girl how much I missed her." Joyce handed the girl a glass of juice. "I was so worried when we were on the other side of the mirror that I'd never see you again."
"Mom, you were only gone four hours."
"On your side. We spent eight or nine days in that thing." Joyce shook her head. "And they were a _very_ eventful nine days."
“Well, you're safe and home now." Buffy watched with interest as Joyce removed the coffeecake from the oven. "So we can just forget it and go back to normal.
"Such as it is in peaceful Sunnydale." Joyce kept her eyes on the coffeecake as she was cutting it. "I don't want to forget it all. Some of it was quite enjoyable."
Serving up the cake, Joyce added, trying desperately to sound nonchalant, "I asked Mr. Giles to dinner tonight, honey. Could you try to be home by six?"
"Not generally a problem if Giles isn't bugging me to train, Mom. Can I invite Will too?"
"Uh, I was hoping to keep this family." Joyce quickly turned to put the used dishware in the dishwasher. "Why don't you invite Willow over this weekend."
"Okay. When did Giles get to be 'family'?"
"Well, we got to know each other, uh... better during our adventure." Joyce waved her hands in the air. "And he is your Watcher. Or he was."
Buffy did not know quite what to make of this new friendship between her Mom and Giles. Having the two of them comparing notes might not be the best thing for her social life, what little there was of it.
Still it was only a dinner. What harm could it do?
[Wales, An Anonymous Hotel Room, the Same Time]
"What harm can it do? Jesus, Jones it's a bloody dragon. If it takes a mind to it can set fire to half the countryside."
"It really can breathe fire?" A woman severely dressed in a wool business suit looked bemused.
"It does, Maudie. That's why we summoned it." The speaker was middle aged, balding, with his remaining long gray hair tied back in a ponytail. A rather jovial fellow he had long cultivated his resemblance to Jerry Garcia.
The last of the trio, Jones, was a nondescript young man dressed in a DHL delivery uniform. "Would that be so bad? Show the English we mean business. Better than a few little bombs like the IRA."
The middle aged man sighed and Maudie looked skeptical. "I don't think our countrymen would much care for that," she said dubiously. "The idea was to give them a symbol to rally behind. Not jeopardize life and property."
"Besides," said the other man. "Truth to tell the IRA's bombings have done them bloody little good. The English have gotten used to it. No, I agree with Maudie. We need to galvanize public support, not divide it. Make the Welsh want their freedom. Faced with overwhelming popular opinion the English will give it to us.”
"But we need that dragon back." He frowned. "And I wouldn't mind having a word with Rayne either. Pocketing our money like that and then taking a bolt."
"Well, he did call up the Red Dragon for us," Maudie pointed out. "When you first suggested it, I didn't believe it could be done. That it can is almost like an omen. That Wales will once again be free of English rule."
"Won't do us a great deal of good if we can't control it," Jones was not as impressed
"It might," the older man was thoughtful. "I mean if we handle things properly the English need not know that we don't control it. Treat it like bombings and make the announcement claiming responsibility after the fact. If what Rayne says is true, the beast is pretty much unstoppable. Nothing they do is likely to have much affect against it. And while the English are running about like crazies, we can use the opportunity to make our cause known."
"That's good, Herbie." Maudie started digging through her brief case. "I have the latest tract ready. It would be just the thing for a press release."
"But can we trust Rayne?" Jones asked.
"Of course we can't trust Rayne." Herbie's geniality disappeared. "At least not without having him in our sights. First thing on the agenda is to track Rayne down and bring him back in line. Jones, you think you can find some likely lads to do the job?"
[Sunnydale, 5:45 p.m.]
Willow had an Oz date, so Buffy actually made it home early for dinner. She was looking forward to surprising her mother so she carefully slipped into the kitchen without calling out. Mom, it seemed, had been busy. From the oven the scent of pot roast emanated. A quick peek in the fridge revealed and attractive salad and cheesecake topped with raspberry sauce.
"Putting on the dog for my Watcher are we, Mom?" Buffy murmured.
The dining table was already set. Company plates of course. The flowers that made up the centerpiece were a surprise. Where had Mom found lilacs? They did not have a bush.
Climbing the stairs she heard a squeal. "Stop that!"
"Mom, is something...?!" Thrusting open the door she found her mother wearing only bra and panties, encircled in the arms of her Watcher. Who appeared to be biting Mom's shoulder…
Her first thought, that Giles had been turned, she had to discard. It was still daylight and sunlight streamed through the blinds into the bedroom. Besides the spot Giles was nibbling had no major veins. Not to mention that explanation did not cover Mom's lack of clothes, the rumpled bed or Giles's unbuttoned shirt.
"Buffy!" Joyce grabbed her robe and held it up in front of herself. "Honey, you're home early."
Behind her Giles hurriedly buttoned his shirt and slipped his suspenders over his arms. Thank God he had gotten that far in dressing. If the girl had been five minutes earlier...
"Uh, yeah," Buffy was dazed. And had no idea where to look. This was worse than the night of the Band Candy. Jumping on that last hope she asked, "Are you guys okay? Been around any sorcerers lately?"
This was _not_ how Joyce had intended to break the news. "Honey, could you go take the pot roast out of the oven? We need to talk and we might as well eat as we do."
[A Freighter Off the Coast of California]
Deep in the hold of the ship stirred the vessel's only passenger. He had actually paid for passage. The Captain of the ship was not adverse to making an extra bit of money on the side. And if his passenger choose an inside cabin and only appeared at night, well, the Captain was no great reader. So when his Chief Engineer pointed out the resemblance between the behavior of the Rev. Ramsey and Count Dracula, it brought nothing but bad jokes about 'sucking' which turned the talk to a ribald vein.
The Reverend joined in the joke. His barrel chested laugh had made him a great favorite of the crew. Even the suspicious Chief Engineer enjoyed his company and cheerful stories. It was this need to maintain cheerful good humor in public that had sent him to the hold in search of privacy.
There he was able to lapse into a more normal turn of disposition. Gone was the Falstaffian good humor. In it's place rose a cold calculation. He had waited a century and a half for this time, but finally he had an opportunity to set things right. The Looking Glass was in Sunnydale along with Giles and his tart, _and_ their spawn. He could have their lives and the Glass all in one.
This made Theodore truly smile. The Glass. He would have the Glass. Then he could make things right. He could go back in time and save his Katherine. Just as he should have all those years ago.
And then he would drink her sweet blood and give her his and they would be together for all eternity.
[Sunnydale, The Summers's Dining Room]
No one said anything that wasn't food related until they were seated at the dining table. Giles silently poured wine for himself and Joyce wondering if he should start.
Joyce took the matter out of his hands, "Buffy, the reason Rupert and I wanted to talk to you was, well, some things happened while we were adventuring in that mirror."
By this point Buffy had worked that out on her own. Admittedly she was a little freaked, but she had promised herself she was going to be mature about it. Mom and Giles dating would be weird, but she could handle it.
Her mother went on. "We, well, we had a chance to really talk while we were trapped together in Scotland, Honey. It gave us a chance to work through some of the stuff that was keeping us apart."
Looking over at Giles, she smiled. Giles, caught up in that smile, reached out and took her hand. Buffy found herself staring at the joined hands.
Carrying on Joyce said, "Once those were gone, we realized something else. I know this isn't something you expect at our age. Heavens, I didn't expect to get another chance like this, but falling in love doesn't have anything to do with age."
_Falling in love?_ This went way beyond dating and a little nookie. Buffy could only gape. Maybe this was a spell. That's it! The mirror thing had left them under some kind of spell. She'd get Willow to research it and then everything would be back to normal.
In the mean time, humor them. "Uh, well, that's uh, nice."
Since she did not seem to be inclined to beat him to a bloody pulp, Giles decided he might as well raise the next issue. Still holding Joyce's hand he spoke. "The thing is, Buffy, I've asked your mother to marry me. And she has done me the honor of accepting. We would very much like your blessings."
Opening and closing her mouth several times Buffy choked out, "M-married?"
"Yes, Honey," Mom was looking completely gooey eyed. "In the meantime, Rupert is going to move in with us. I know this will take a little adjusting for all of us. But when you think about it, it will be extremely convenient all around. You won't have to go running to the Library about slayer stuff. Rupert will be right here all the time. Whenever you need him."
Or don't . "Hot damn," Buffy muttered.
But her Mom looked so happy. And, if it was a spell, it wouldn't last long. Humor them, she reminded herself. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about him being a homicidal android."
On the whole that was a better reaction than Joyce had expected. Might as well go all the way. "And, Honey? How would you feel about, oh say, a little brother?"
[A Highway Along the California Coast, Roughly an Hour's Drive from Sunnydale]
The view was beautiful. Overlooking the Pacific the cliff fell straight into deep surf. Waves crashed against the rocks creating a roaring wind that swooped up the side of the cliff and tugged at the tourists enjoying the view.
One tourist was not watching the ocean. He was scanning the direction he had just come with high-powered binoculars. Nothing, thankfully. But for how long? He could feel the creature tugging at the edges of his mind. It was following him. And when it found him? What then?
"Face it, Ethan, you've made a right mess of things this time," he muttered to himself.
Putting the binoculars away he considered his options. They weren't good. In fact they were slim, lousy and probably deadly.
After running across an ocean and a continent he'd finally had time to sit for awhile and do some calculating as to why the creature was following him. A trip to the second best occult library in North America (Ripper would _not_ have looked kindly on him dropping in on the best.) had proven yet again that Ethan really needed to pay better attention to his research. He poured himself a cup of truly disgusting mud which the last truck stop had filled his thermos with under the pretense it was coffee.
Ripper had done the research back in their coven days and Ethan had never quite gotten into the
habit of doing his own. He tended to cut corners. And once again this tendency had come back to bite
him in the arse. Literally if that thrice damned monster actually caught up to him. The only way to get that thing off him was to cast a spell that would sever its ties to his magical aura.
Such a spell would amount to a process similar to defragmenting a computer disk drive. It would go through and clean up all the little remnants left from his practicing magic over the last twenty plus years. He suspected it would hurt like the devil. And would probably leave him completely incapable of clear thought, let alone magic, for at least a day.
He couldn't do it himself that much was a certainty. The thought of letting someone else sift through his aura sent chills up his spine. They would have access to all his secrets. All his hard earned knowledge. Worse they would know the price he had paid for that knowledge.
An unscrupulous magic maker would steal part or all of that and potentially leave him dead or a drooling idiot in the process. A scrupulous one, assuming he could find one able and willing to perform the spell, this was truly high powered magic, not just anyone could manage it, might just decide that Ethan should be kept from performing any more magicks and strip his knowledge from him deliberately.
So all he needed was someone who could perform high-powered magicks, was too scrupulous to steal
him blind and who for whatever reason could be persuaded not to leave him a mindless drone. "And where will you find this paragon of virtue?" He asked himself.
He could just let the creature find him and try to bend it to his will. "Oh, right," he told himself snidely. The beast was as likely to fry him from an overabundance of affection as from malice. It was none too bright. Not a safe option either.
No, his only hope lay down the road some hundred klicks. His old friend Ripper could manage this magick. In the old days he could have done it drunk with one hand tied behind his back. Ripper, it was clear to Ethan, had let his talent atrophy, but it was still there. Locked neatly away under those layers of tweed.
But would he do it? Old time’s sake probably wouldn't mean much to Ripper. And he could hardly call on Ripper's affection. Clearly that was long since gone.
He might do it just because it was the 'right' thing to do, though. Ripper's conscious was the one unchanging thing in a changing universe.
Getting into the car and starting it up, Ethan glanced out at the cliffs. Thinking about Ripper brought back the good times as well as the bad. "And there were good times, old boy. Little as you want to admit it. Where did we go wrong?"
He asked that question of himself on many a lonely night. And never managed a satisfactory answer. The sea did not answer him now.
[Sunnydale]
Wesley had spent the evening at the library reviewing the Watcher Diaries. Between them and the Council Reports he had been going over, his suspicions had more or less been justified. Should he go to Mr. Giles, he wondered. Not that Mr. Giles was likely to know any more than he did. Less actually. Wesley had an inside track on Watcher gossip through his family. But another person to bounce ideas off might help.
Driving passed one of Sunnydale's numerous parks he suddenly noticed Buffy sitting on a roundabout looking the picture of misery. He immediately parked and headed over to her.
"Buffy? Are you injured," Wesley leaned over her deeply concerned. He could not see any wounds, but…
Wiping her eyes, Buffy sniffed, "No."
"Then what's wrong?" The roundabout was filthy, but Wesley took a seat on it anyway. For the Slayer he would sacrifice even his suit.
"Nothing." Buffy wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned her forehead into them.
"Of course. You always come sit in the park after dark and cry when nothing is wrong." Wesley took out his handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it with ill grace.
After a moment passed without comment from Buffy, he tried a different tack. "Buffy, I know we haven't established a great deal of rapport, but I have to think if you chosen this place, away from your mother, friends and Mr. Giles, to succumb to a round of tears then something must be seriously wrong. Since you clearly don't want to speak with them, perhaps telling a relative stranger would help."
"How?" Buffy sniffled. "You can't even manage your own life."
She said it to deliberately hurt him. Or maybe make him mad. Wesley, after all was safe to fight with and she could use a good fight - even just a verbal one. But he took it oddly calmly. "You don't know that actually. Aside from my admittedly less than sterling performance to date as Watcher, you know nothing about me."
He had a point Buffy realized. She really didn't know anything about Wesley. Not even where he came from or whether he had family back in England. "It's my Mom and Giles."
"Are they in danger?"
"Only from insulin overload. While they were gone, in the looking glass, it seems Mom and Giles got to know each other." Buffy finally looked up. This was a stupid place to talk. The bushes were too close there to the west. A vamp could jump them easily.
"Well, that's not surprising. They experienced time passing much faster than we did. It's only natural they would have become better acquainted." Then as she gave him a Don't-be-dense look, he figured out what she meant. "Oh, they got to _know_ each other. Er, and they intend to continue the relationship?"
"Worse. They're gonna move in together. And get married. And 'Buffy, how would you feel about a little brother?' A little brother?! Geez. Last week they were barely speaking. Now they can't keep their hands off each other. I don't know which will be worse. If they forget all about me or if they start double teaming me." Buffy wiped her eyes. It did feel better to be talking about it.
Wesley had no idea what comfort would be appropriate here. Although he understood very well what she was feeling. So he tried for a touch of humor. "Well, it could be worse."
"How?"
"Your mother could have gone through the looking glass with _me_."
It had the desired affect. Buffy looked at him in shock and then slowly started to giggle. "No offense, Wes, but you're way too young for my Mom. Not too mention too..."
It seemed kind of mean to say what she was thinking when Wes was sitting here in the dark risking vampire attacks to cheer her up.
“Stuffy?" Wesley supplied for her. "I don't mind your saying that you know. My sisters tell me all the time that I'm too tightly wound. It's partly up bringing, partly Watcher training and mostly having to grow up far too quickly.
"But, if I may point out, if your mother has fallen in love with Mr. Giles she may have some fondness for stuffiness. As for my age, my mother's most recent husband is two years my junior. And she must be at least ten years older than your mother. Admittedly my mother's choices in men are completely unsuitable."
"Really?"
"Regrettably, yes."
From the tone he didn't much like this guy. Giles's Dad and Grandmother had been Watchers. She had sort of gotten the impression that Watchers were bred as much as trained. That coupled with the comment about having to grow up far too quickly made her ask, "Is your Dad... gone?"
"Only from my mother's home." Wesley looked out at the stars. "And my life. He is apparently quite happily residing in Provence, along with two of my half-sisters, my stepbrother and the doxy he ran off with just before my fourteenth birthday. He broke the news to me that he was leaving at my birthday lunch. I've never particularly liked birthday celebrations since."
"Oh, yeah," Buffy agreed whole heartedly, "Birthday's suck. Why do they do that do you suppose? Save up the really crappy news and drop it on you just when things are suppose to be good? Mom and Dad told me they were breaking up after Thanksgiving dinner.
"So you're like the product of a broken home, too?" Weird that she and Wesley would share something like that.
"Shattered like dropped crystal."
"How'd you react? Burn down any buildings? Get kicked out of school?" She pushed on the roundabout so she could get a better view of those bushes.
"No. I became, let's see I believe my father's phrase was, 'an insufferable prig'. Apparently from his point of view I was suppose to accept the slut who had ruined my parents marriage with loving affection."
"Didn't happen, huh?'
"We learned to be outwardly civil to each other, Mae and I. Mostly because she presented my father with two daughters. The first about five months after father moved out. But it's not the girls' fault who their mother is and they are wonderful, my little sisters." He removed a plastic folder from his wallet and passed it to Buffy. Two dark haired girls about ten and twelve smiled out from a posed shot.
Flipping open through the folder she found a candid snapshot of Wesley on a sunny beach (presumably not in England, Buffy was pretty sure they didn't have sunny beaches in England) being buried up to his neck in sand by the two girls, assisted by a somewhat younger girl with Wesley's eyes and soft brown curls.
"That was taken on our last holiday, just before I came to Sunnydale." Wesley smiled down at the picture. "Maureen is the oldest. Marie is her sister and Karma is my mother's daughter by her third husband."
"Karma?" Buffy wrinkled her nose.
"Dreadful isn't it? At least Wesley has the benefit of being an old family name." He sighed. "I don't know how it happened but both of my parents seemed to lose every ounce of common sense when they broke up. Karma was born during my Mother's New Age period.
"Fortunately I stood as Godfather and managed to slip a nice common Mary in as a middle name. The
Vicar was so relieved that he put it down in registry that way even though Mother objected. I'm rather hoping she'll decide to use that when she hits her rebellious period."
"I went by Anne for awhile in Junior High" Buffy told him. Looking around the park she commented,
"I think we chased the Vampires away with out sob stories about our family lives."
"If you've finished your patrol perhaps you would care for a cup of tea," Wesley suggested. He was loath to end the conversation. For the first time Buffy seemed prepared to accept him as a human being, if not her Watcher. "Or perhaps one of those espresso things you like?"
"Sugar and caffeine would go over good right now." Buffy agreed.
[Greenland]
It was cold. It had been cold for a long time. Resting her wings she snuffled at the whiteness that covered everything. She had breathed on the whiteness back when she had first came upon it. It went away when she did and left only water.
Water was good. Sometimes. Sometimes there was too much water and she could not fly across it.
Then the water was bad. Keeping her from the One. She could feel the One. Far away but he seemed unharmed. The great metal beast that had swallowed him and carried him away had not hurt him.
This was good. The metal beast was bigger than she and could fly very fast and very high. It would be hard to fight the metal beast unless she caught it on the ground. Better not to fight if there was no need. She had learned that from the One. The One knew many things. And was sweet with magic. She needed the One to show her things. She wanted the One.
And the One was so small and fragile. Things could hurt him. That thought had her unfurling her wings and taking to the sky again. She had to find the One. Once she did all would be well.
[Sunnydale]
Wesley took her to the Tea House Kuan to Buffy's amusement. "Giles always comes here if we let him choose. What? Is there a chapter in the Slayer's Handbook about 'Where to Take the Slayer for Coffee'?"
"Hardly." Wesley steered her to a corner table. "This is the only establishment in Sunnydale where the tea isn't so old that they paid British import taxes on it."
"I think I got that one. Boston Tea Party, right?" Buffy was surprised that she had actually recognized a dusty Watcher reference. "That's scary. I've been hanging around you guys to long."
"Heaven forbid you should acquire a knowledge of your own history." Wesley countered.
The waitress, a college student from UC Sunnydale by the look of her, bustled over. Ordering turned into a lengthy process, between Buffy's instructions as to her mochachino and the waitress's fascination with Wesley's accent.
And by extension Wesley.
When they were finally rid of her, Buffy leaned forward across the table and whispered conspiratorially. "Wesley, she's coming on to you."
"I had noticed." Wesley commented dryly.
"If you want I could go to the ladies room so that you could get her phone number," Buffy offered. After all Wes had been almost human tonight. If he was going to go to that much trouble to be friendly the least she could do was reciprocate.
"Please don't." His comment was heartfelt. Then he muttered into his tea, "I prefer the protection actually."
"Okay," Buffy tried to think of a polite way to phrase something she'd half wondered about for awhile.
"You're not interested?"
"No."
"In her in particularly or girls generally?" As Wesley's head came up in startlement, she continued. "Not that it matters, you know. I mean this _is_ 1999 and California, so it's not a big deal, but if you'd rather not tell me that would be cool too, it's just if we're going to work together you're right we should get to know each other better and that's sort of a major thing and would you please say _something_ so I can take my foot out of my mouth before I choke on it?"
By now Wesley was actually grinning. It made him look a whole lot younger. A _whole_ lot younger. Suddenly Buffy could see what it was Cordelia saw in him. Under that stuffy Watcher suit there was a kind of cute guy. Who wasn't _that_ much older than she was. She blinked. Whoa. Wait just a minute. This was Wesley. Council flack and all around doofus. When had he turned into a guy type guy?
“I'm not interested in her. But for the purposes of our working relationship, let's just say that it is possible that there might be women for whom that would not be the case."
"Good. Uh, that is, it would be okay if it were the other way too. Except that it would be seriously weird if my Watcher was checking out the same guy I was." 'My Watcher'? When had Wesley moved up to the status of 'my Watcher'? Giles was her Watcher.
Except Wesley had caught the statement. And he was pleased. She could tell by his body language. Better nip this in the bud. "Uh, Wes, you do understand that no matter what the Council says, Giles is still my Watcher. I mean okay, you've got like the official title, but Giles and I have... "
"A bond." Wesley nodded. "I've been doing some research. In all the prior cases where the Council has dismissed a Watcher from a living Slayer's service there has been cause. Usually something like alcoholism or emotional breakdown. In a few cases the Slayer herself asked for the change because she and the Watcher simply could not work together."
"Not like with us." Buffy thought about that. "Did Travers exceed his authority?"
"Probably," Wesley frowned. "And I don't know why. I can't see where my appointment gained him anything. Admittedly it's an honor which my family, at least the part that knows about Watcher activity, might feel some gratitude for, but our influence isn't that great any longer. Grandfather's health is such that both he and Grandmother have mostly withdrawn from social and political circles and their friends are nearly as old as they are. I just don't see what he could be hoping for."
"Lost, Wes."
Wesley sighed. "People like Travers tend to think a seat in the House of Lords means a great deal more than it really does. Grandfather was active politically once, but it was under Heath. Any contacts he may have had are long gone. Granted Grams could probably arrange a Court presentation for him, or more likely his daughter, but that's hardly something one would go to this kind of trouble for."
"Getting loster here, Wes. What the heck are you talking about?"
"You really don't know who I am?" Wesley was clearly startled.
"You're Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. You're a Watcher. I think Giles said you were teaching somewhere before you moved to Sunnydale. Why? You got some dark secret you're hiding?"
"Hardly." Then Wesley smiled, "Although possibly so from an American perspective. My Grandfather is the Earl of Trent, Buffy. And since my father's older brother has no male children, I am Lord Wyndham's heir presumptive."
"Well, that's... nice. I guess. What does it mean?"
"That I can generally get a good table without reservations at the better restaurants in London or New
York," he was amused. "In Los Angeles it doesn't seem to have the same sort of clout. Not related closely enough to the film industry I suppose."
Buffy tried to make sense of this. "So you're saying that Travers may have gotten Giles fired and you promoted cause you're going to be this Earl thing?"
"No, I saying it makes no sense for Travers to have done that, but I can't imagine any other logical motivation for him either."
Frowning she stirred her mocha. "You know, Wesley, we _really_ didn't need Council politics added to our plate. I mean doesn't the Hellmouth draw in enough vampires, monsters and ghouls as it is?"
"Arguably Council politics falls into the category of ghoulish even without the Hellmouth," Wesley told her.
"Whatever. Right now my primary problem is Mom and Giles." Buffy had been thinking. This was not necessarily a good thing. "I'm thinking maybe it's a spell or a curse or _something_. Some weird effect of that mirror thing. We need to check it out. Try and undo it.
"Now normally it would be Giles who would be doing the undoing, but he's too far under to see it. Willow does pretty good with the spell stuff but she still falls down on the research. Not enough funny languages."
She looked Wesley over. Earlier this evening it would never have occurred to her to go to him for help, but he had been unusually conciliatory tonight. "You on the other hand..."
Wesley looked wary, with justification even Buffy was forced to admit. "While I am always at your disposal, Buffy." The mildly predatory grin she developed at that declaration made him look even warier.
"I very much doubt that any lingering effects from the Looking Glass would cause the sort of behavior
you've described. That sort of emotional manipulation is extremely subtle spellcasting and rarely successful."
"But it _could_ happen?" Buffy jumped on it.
"Yes. It is _possible_," Wesley admitted unwillingly. "But at least on Mr. Giles's part I think the attraction predates their adventure in the mirror."
"Why on Earth would you think that?"
"Because when I commented to him that your mother was an extremely attractive woman he became decidedly possessive in a rather primitive manner."
"Giles went Neanderthal over Mom?" Buffy did not quite believe it. "And _when_ were you checking out my Mom?"
"I wasn't 'checking her out'," Wesley refuted. "I was merely making conversation."
"About my Mom? With Giles? Since when do Watchers hang out and check out chicks together."
"We're not actually neutered as part of training." He said with asperity. "Mr. Giles introduced me to your mother when she stopped by the library looking for you. When she left I made a passing remark that she was extremely attractive and that it was easy to see where your looks came from. Mr. Giles came close to handing me my head.
"At the time I thought it because the remark about you bordered on inappropriate, but now I'm not so certain."
"Oh." Buffy didn't really know what to make of that. Well, the part about Mom any way. The part about her on the other hand. "You think I'm good looking?"
"With the string of young men," Wesley considered his comment and amended, "And not so young vampires, you have following you about, you hardly need me to tell you you're a lovely young woman, Buffy."
Preening a little, Buffy grinned. "I don't know. Might be a useful training method. I take out a couple of vamps and you compliment me on my hair."
"A new technique of positive reinforcement? I will take it under consideration." Wesley smiled at her.
[Outside the Tea House Kuan]
Cordelia Chase was walking home from work. This was not something that improved her mood. First of all she was _walking_. Exercise was all well and good, but transportation was supposed to be supplied in the form of her snazzy Miata. Or something. But that had gone the way of the IRS along with everything else.
Secondly she was coming from _work_. At a dress shop. Where she wore a nametag and dusted. This
was not the way the world was suppose to work. She was supposed to be the buyer at dress shops not the seller. Clearly some major comic imbalance had occurred. Possibly Hellmouth related. No make that probably. Anything this sucky _had_ to be related to the Hellmouth.
Except that she couldn't go to Giles and ask him about it without telling him how Daddy had lost all his money and was probably going to go to jail. _Jail_! Her Daddy. She just couldn't tell even Giles about that. It was just too... shameful. Even Xander's drunk old Uncle Rory didn't get sent to jail.
Nobody was going to find out if she could help it. Harmony and the former Cordettes would enjoy seeing her social fall far too much and the Scoobies would feel sorry for her. She was _not_ going to have those losers pitying her.
Then there was Wesley. The one bright spot in her bleak existence was the good-looking new Watcher. He wasn't shallow like the Cordettes, but Cordelia had a very good idea what social strata he had been raised in. Those suits he wore were made to measure. By a good London tailor, unless she was very much mistaken. And when they had dinner together he had talked a little bit about growing up. Houses in the country and boarding schools meant money. And the way he took it for granted meant old money. No, she did not want Wesley to know about Daddy's misfortune. Even if he was not shocked about it, his family would be.
People like Wesley did not date the daughters of prison inmates. The world just did not work that way.
Trudging passed the TeaHouse Kuan, she noticed his van parked in front. Would it be too obvious to go in and join him, she wondered? And did she have enough money to get herself a cup of tea if he were just leaving?
Since the answer to that was questionable she glanced in the window to see if she could tell how much longer he was likely to stay.
To see him smiling across the table at Buffy, who was doing one of her 'I'm just too cute for words' numbers.
Just what the hell did she think she was doing?!
Wasn't it enough that all the Scoobies and Giles revolved around her every mood swing? Or that Angel brooded over not being able to have sex with her? She didn't even _like_ Wesley. There was no reason for her to try and add him to her collection. Especially not when she knew that Cordelia had him in her sights.
Okay, he was a Watcher and assigned to Buffy, but that was not a Watcher smile. That was a guy smiling at a cute girl smile. And a considerably more comfortable one than he had ever bestowed on _her_.
That did. If Buffy thought she could walk off with all the cute guys, she was sadly mistaken. Cordelia stomped off. Her anger taking away her exhaustion. If Buffy wanted a war she would have one. The blonde might be hot stuff when it came to slaying vampires, but _nobody_ beat out Cordelia Chase when it came to guys.
[Sunnydale, the Summers's Residence]
Joyce poured herself another cup of tea. "I think I'm learning to like this stuff," she commented to Rupert. They were sitting together on the sofa cuddled comfortably and watching the fire.
"Good." He nuzzled her hair. "After all if you marry me you gain British citizenship whether you like it or no and tea is obligatory."
"If? You trying to back out, Rupert Giles?"
He shifted slightly. "I was afraid you might want to reconsider. Buffy didn't seem all that pleased with the idea."
"Actually she took it better than I was afraid she might," Joyce told him. "As for backing out. Not a chance, laddie. You're not getting rid of me that easily."
"I don't want to be rid of you," Giles murmured into her hair. "I want to spend the rest of my life like this with you in my arms."
Sighing contentedly she lay back in those arms. "I'm so happy it's scary."
"How so?"
"Everything is just too wonderful," she tried to figure out what she wanted to say. "I've never felt this happy before. Well, maybe back in my twenties when I was carrying Buffy, early on before..."
"Before?" Giles prompted.
She was quiet for a minute and then decided to tell him. "Hank cheated on me the first time when I was pregnant with Buffy. I found out about it when I was about six months along. It sort of took the edge off my delight at being pregnant."
Giles wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. "I trust it is not necessary for me to tell you that you have nothing of that sort of thing to worry about from me? I am disgustingly monogamous. Even back in my coven days..."
He stopped. Had he just been about to tell her that? Well, perhaps he should. If she was going to share his life and his bed, she had a right to know where he'd been after all.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Joyce commented. She had caught something in his look and tone that suggested they were bordering on a deep dark secret. "Who you were with before we met isn't really important."
"Er, at least in one instance it probably is." Giles cleared his throat. "You remember the fellow that did the spell on the band candy?"
"English fellow, old, fairly lean, not bad looking?" Joyce had been paying more attention to Ripper than the bad guy at that point in the proceeding.
“Old eh? Ethan is six months younger than I am, my dear," Giles told her dryly.
"Hey, I was thinking like a sixteen year old at the time," Joyce defended herself.
"Still," Giles pulled himself back on point. He had better get this out before he lost his nerve. "Ethan probably took that job on as much to get back at me as the money. My last year at Oxford, well the pressure of my studies and training to be a Watcher got to be too much. I dropped out of school and ran off to London determined to play the prodigal son to the limit. Ethan picked me up. He taught me some of the finer points of debauchery and in exchange I showed him how to differentiate real magic from the hype and the dross."
Best get it all out at once, "In our hubris and stupidity we called a demon. We lost control of it and ended up killing a friend before we were able to banish the thing. That brought me to my senses. When I left to try and put my life back in order Ethan took it rather badly."
Looking up at him, Joyce asked, "You were lovers?"
"Yes."
Running her fingers down his cheek she asked, "Real lovers or did you just have sex?"
That stumped him. "It was more than just sex, but I can't say I was ever in love with Ethan. Friends, yes. But not..."
Seeing that he wasn't going to continue, Joyce felt obliged to ask. "Was this youthful experimentation or do you actually like men?"
"The former primarily." Giles felt obliged to admit, "Although occasionally my dreams still include the
odd, er, threesome. I haven't actually... since Ethan all my partners have been women."
She slipped her arms around his neck. "I'm the possessive type you know. I'll forgive the odd dream, but I'm not about to share you with anyone. I wouldn't tolerate it from Hank and I've gotten more selfish as I've gotten older."
"Not to worry, luv. If I have you, I don't want anyone else. Since last November even my dreams have been of you."
"Exclusively?" Joyce teased.
"Er, well," Giles blushed, but told her honestly. "There were one or two where Ethan turned up along with the two of us. I'm afraid that's an anxiety pattern. When I get worried about something supernatural Ethan comes creeping out of my subconscious to taunt me."
"Okay, Freud would love that one."
"Wouldn't he just," Giles gave her half a smile. "I make no guarantees about my mental health, luv. You might want to rethink that large family you have planned. Dad may end up a nutter."
"I'll risk it," she told him.
[London]
The Chief of Anti-Terrorist Activity for MI5 was not a happy woman. And when the Chief was unhappy it meant the rest of the department would soon be sharing her mood. She removed her glasses and dropped them on the antique desk that came with the office. The better to glare at her subordinates.
The three members of the team who made up field operations squirmed in their antique seats. The furniture was not an extravagance. It's vintage was the result of never had been replaced as the office had passed through various departments under a plethora of names. Many arses had squirmed in these seats for similar reasons.
Sandbagger 3, being the junior member to the wetworks team had been delegated the responsibility of submitting their report. So far he had managed to withstand their Chief's glare.
"... in summary, although Ethan Rayne appeared to have legitimate information regarding a cell of terrorists calling themselves the Welsh Union For Freedom after receiving the funds he had demanded for that information, he appears to have left the country."
"In other words he diddled us and then booked," the chief interpreted.
“Er, that is certainly one way of putting it, ma'am." Sandbagger 3 agreed nervously.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I do not like this organization to be diddled." The Chief cast a glare at all parties. "It gives ideas to parties who have far too many to begin with. I think we need to make an object lesson of Mr. Rayne. One does not pull the tail of the British lion and get away with it. Now you say that these WUFF people had hired him to do _magic_?"
"Apparently. According to what he told us, he had been paid to raise the Red Dragon of Wales," Sandbagger 3 finished.
"And what pray tell is the 'Red Dragon of Wales'?" the chief demanded.
"Er, we're not quite clear on that, ma'am." Sandbagger 1 came to the rescue of his junior. "We believe it is some kind of code name."
“No? Do tell, Philip? I thought perhaps Mr. Rayne was going to provide these chaps with a real dragon. Perhaps followed up with a unicorn and a tribe of little people."
As the team cringed, she took off the gloves and laid into them. "Now I want this operation put right. No more screw-ups. The three of you will find Rayne. You will convince him to provide the information for which he was paid. By what means I care very little, although one would prefer you not take an inherently illegal actions while on British soil. You will then either return him to Britain to stand trial or you will terminate him with prejudice. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am." the three agents chorused.
"You will also attempt to locate these Welshmen. I have difficulty believing they pose any kind of real threat, although in this day and age all you need is one or two nutters and it can be a nuisance." The Chief folded her hands in the demure proper finishing school manner she had been taught in her girlhood. "So it would be most appreciated if you could run them to ground as well. Have the bright boys in research _any_ idea where to start looking for our elusive Mr. Rayne?"
"Rayne runs with a most peculiar group of people, ma'am." The elderly gentleman who had helped run the research division for longer than anyone's memory put in. He was not intimidated by the Chief. It was difficult to be intimidated by someone you had given sweets to when she had visited her father here fifty years ago. "However, it is safe to say that none of his usual known associates would be likely to harbor him. The fact of the matter is that Rayne is not well liked even among the charlatan circles he frequents.
Jealousy apparently. The man is quite an exceptional hoaxer. A number of the people who were contacted actually believe his claims of being a sorcerer. And not all of them were gullible fools."
"There has to be someone. Old school chums? Former lovers?" Sandbagger 1 asked.
"Oddly enough we were able to produce one name, who from what we could glean may fit both those categories."
Research clicked on a slide bringing up a police report. "In 1977 Rayne was arrested in the company of one Rupert Giles. Drunk and Disorderly, they were both reprimanded and released. The arresting officer notes that the disturbance resulted when the two of them were discovered in bed with the wife of the discover. This was not the first time the officer had run across the two. They were all around troublemakers, but confined their behavior generally to the immoral rather than the illegal. As a side note he mentions that while he has observed them 'high as bloody kites' he has never been able to discover them in the possession of drugs.
"Mr. Giles, we have been able to track." The slide clicked over to a picture from an employment file. "After apparently sowing more than his share of wild oats in Mr. Rayne's company, he completed his education at Oxford, went on to take an advanced degree at the University of London and after a stint as a teacher at the University of York, he took a position with the British Museum."
A later employment picture came up on the screen. "Where he had a most successful career. Rising quickly for such a young man." Sandbaggers 2 and 3 exchanged amused glances. They were close to a generation younger than this 'young man.' "His colleagues indicate that the smart money figured him for Director of the Museum before he retired.
"Except in late 1996 he suddenly tenders his resignation, packs his worldly goods and decamps for Sunnydale, California to take up the post of, of all things, High School Librarian at the town's only Secondary school. His colleagues at the museum could come up with no credible explanation for this behavior although one of them posited that he believed 'that there may have been a girl involved'."
"Or possibly a connections to our terrorists?" Sandbagger 1 asked suspiciously.
"Aberrant behavior is always suspect." The team’s psychiatrist suggested. "Except Sunnydale, California as no connections to our, or anyone else's terrorists." The Researcher informed them. "It is too distant from any of the major metropolitan areas to serve as an efficient base of operations and even the local
Chamber of Commerce admits it is 'a one Starbucks town'."
"Still," said Sandbagger 1, "It would seem our best shot at locating Rayne. If Rayne and Giles are still on good terms it sounds like an excellent place for him to hide out from both us and his former employers. It there not, it's possible Mr. Giles may have some ideas where we could locate Mr. Rayne and not be adverse to sharing them."
He turned to the Chief, "Send young Ramsey? He could use the experience." He nodded at Sandbagger
3, who looked less than thrilled at this suggestion.
“You'll all three of you go," the Chief declared. "This Rayne fellow is illusive enough that it will probably take the lot of you to catch him."
[Sunnydale, the Summers's Residence]
"Giles is still here," Buffy commented as Wesley parked behind the Citroen.
"Under the circumstances that's hardly surprising." Then, since Buffy seemed disinclined to face her mother, or possibly Mr. Giles, he suggested. "Would you like me to come in with you? There is a lunar eclipse next month. I could use it as an excuse to take Mr. Giles back to the library."
Wesley had just come from the library, Buffy knew. And despite the tea and laughter they had shared looked a little tired. "Nah. But keep that one in reserve. I may want it later. If you wouldn't mind coming in though? I'm not really in the mood for more 'family' bonding."
"I'd be happy to."
As Buffy ushered him into the house she called out, "Hey, Mom. Wesley brought me home from patrol."
Greeting them formally, Wesley ignored the older couple's scramble to disentangle themselves from each other. (He had a great deal of practice.) "Patrol was rather light, Buffy reports. No vampiric activity at all."
"Well, that's good," Joyce remarked as she ran her hand down the buttons of her blouse making sure everything was in order.
"Actually it's not." Giles frowned. "Lulls in supernatural activity are usual a presage to something menacing."
"Oh, joy," Buffy put in.
Joyce tended to agree with her daughter. What she said was, "Would you like some tea, Wesley?"
"Thank you, yes."
"You just had tea, Wes." Buffy shook her head.
"Tea is as much a social function as a beverage." Wesley informed her in his most pedantic tone. "Civilized people converse over a cup of tea. That is a good deal of what is at fault with the colonies. Too many fizzy beverages instead of calming, civilized tea."
Buffy giggled. Giles felt a little taken aback. In part to discover that Wesley was capable to playing off his own stuffy image to create a playful banter, but more to have Buffy realize she was being teased and apparently enjoying it.
Playfulness was all well and good. He did it himself with Buffy on occasion. But this bordered on flirtation. He frowned.
At which point Joyce gave him swift kick in the shin under cover of the coffee table. "We'll need more
cups then. Honey, would you get them? Oh, and why don't you serve what's left of that coffeecake. Wesley, would you mind helping her with the dishes and things?"
"Not at all."
"Come on, Wes." Buffy led him toward the kitchen. "You better get down the company plates. I think
Mom's been watching too much Masterpiece Theater again."
Once they were out of the room, Giles rubbed his shin. "And just what was _that_ for?"
"You were about to go all disapproving father and I wanted you to stop and think about it." Joyce told him severely.
"Joyce! He was practically flirting with her."
"In a most polite and completely appropriate way." Joyce pointed out.
"He's her Watcher not some beau come calling."
"He's not really her Watcher. You are. _And_ he's a very well behaved, properly brought up young man in the same line of work as she is. Granted he's a few years older than Buffy, but she's already demonstrated a decided preference for older men. At least this one is breathing, not a demon and scared enough of you that he probably won't try any funny stuff for a good long time."
She let that sink in for a minute. "I don't think he's likely to be much competition for Angel, but it won't do any harm for Buffy to realize that there are other men out there that find her interesting. Besides you need to be nicer to Robbie's Uncle Wesley."
"Uncle who?" Giles had more or less followed her argument up to that point.
"That's right. You were pretty out of it at that point," Joyce recalled. "According to Robert, Wesley becomes an adopted uncle to him and his little brothers."
"Wesley?!"
"He also said you treated him more or less like a younger brother, so I don't expect miracles as far as your behavior is concerned, but you might try to be polite."
By this point, Giles had been side tracked by an issue he regarded as of considerably more importance. "Joyce, love, are you... do you know for a certainty that Robert is actually going to exist?"
"My calculations are a little off because of the eight or nine days we were in Scotland." Joyce admitted.
"So, no, I'm not certain. It will probably be another week before I can get a test done. But I knew from day one when I was pregnant with Buffy and this feels the same."
At a loss for words Giles let his actions suit his feelings instead.
Figuring they would need more tea what with Mom's new method of entertaining, Buffy had heated up the kettle again under Wesley's close supervision. As she went through the tea making ritual he conceded. You do seem to understand the principal of proper tea making."
"I've been watching Watchers do this for four years now, Wesley. I think I've got it down." She shoved
the tray at him and picked up the pot.
As they headed for the door, Wesley told her. "Clear your throat or rattle the dishes before you get to the lounge. It reduces potential embarrassment considerably if they know you're coming."
It worked too. By the time she entered the room her mother and Giles were sitting, well farther apart at any rate. Although Mom was rather hurriedly straightening her hair.
Okay, as a Watcher Wesley might not be quite up to snuff, but as a consultant on parents he was proving rather useful. She poured him a cup of tea, by way of a thank you.
Taking the tea, Wesley addressed Joyce and Giles, "If I'm not being premature may I offer my best wishes?"
Giles choked on his tea. How the hell could Wesley know about the baby?
Joyce had a better idea of what he was talking about. “Why thank you, Wesley. You're the first. I suppose we'll need to do something to announce the engagement, although we haven't really talked about the timing yet. Rupert, what do you think? You didn't want a long engagement did you?"
"No." Giles stated decisively. "What about the registry office at the end of the week?"
Joyce and Buffy both looked appalled. Wesley grinned into his teacup. There were, it appeared, things about women that he understood better than Mr. Giles did, youthful escapades not withstanding.
"Well, I'd like to have at least a little wedding," Joyce told him. "Maybe here in the back yard with just close friends. I'll call my sister and see what her schedule is. I'd like her to be here. Something like that we could probably put together in a few weeks."
"A few weeks? Whatever would we need a few weeks for?" Giles was truly mystified.
"Well, invitation need to be sent. I'll need a dress and so will Buffy. I'd like you to stand up with me, if you would, Honey?" Joyce turned to her daughter. Who sighed and nodded. Unless this turned out to be a spell it wasn't going to go away. She'd have to learn to live with it.
"And it would probably be easier to hire caterers than try to put something together ourselves. And we'll need flowers and some sort of decorations." Joyce trailed off.
Wesley murmured to Giles, "And a pavilion. And of course she'll want musicians and the vicar will have to be contacted. Not to mention the honeymoon plans and her trousseau. I take it you've never been in on one of these things before?"
The knowing grin Wesley was giving him filled Giles with terror. "Er, no. But it can't be that bad can it? I mean she said a little wedding."
"I've walked my mother down the aisle three times now." Wesley's grin became down right wicked. "There is no such thing as 'a little wedding'. Expect total chaos for weeks. After the first one I always made a point of hiding out at Oxford for the weeks before just to escape it."
Joyce missed this exchange due to her concentration on her discussion with Buffy. "I don't want a white gown the second time around. Maybe I could have a dress, or better yet an attractive suit, the same as the color scheme. Salmon maybe? Or would blue be better? And then you could have one the same color but a lighter shade?"
"That might work," Buffy conceded. "What about Giles? A tux?"
"Not for an backyard wedding. A dark suit would be fine. Gray maybe. He looks rather nice in gray."
"Brown might be better. But we'd have to be careful that it didn't clash with the salmon color. Can we have it in the evening? Then Angel could come." Buffy was starting to get interested in spite of herself.
"Perhaps. Although that will mean getting lighting rigged up. Maybe late afternoon and we could rent a
hall for dinner and the reception. That's easier than hosting a bunch of people here at the house."
"The Jewish Community Center is just two blocks over. They rent it out for parties and stuff, I'll ask Willow who to talk to."
Absent-mindedly Joyce picked up a pad and started to jot down some notes. "Nothing too involved for the dinner. Just a small buffet. I know! We could do it as a high tea sort of thing with sandwiches and little cakes and things."
"But you'll need a real wedding cake." Buffy injected. "To cut and stuff. Chocolate?"
"Definitely chocolate." Joyce giggled. "Rupert, what kind of filling for the cake?"
The doorbell rang long and hard, saving him from this discussion. This was followed by rapid pounding on the door.
to be continued