Chapter Ten

 

----====Giles====----

"Tie! Tie! Where the hell is the bloody tie that goes with the sodding morning coat?" Spike’s plaintive wail rang through the first floor of Trefonen Manor.

I should have snapped into action, of course. Spike as Best Man was responsible for watching over Wesley this morning during the fraught hours between breakfast and wedding, and according to Anya and Lilah, I was responsible for watching over Spike. A difficult task, but someone had to do it.

However, at that particular moment I was kissing Anya. Taste of mint, citrus, honey, and herself: I had to savour as much as possible, because it was going to be a very long day apart –

"Giles, Anya! Ewww!" Dawn’s voice screeched not very far away from us. "You’re on the *stairs*!"

Took my own sweet time pulling away from my wife, at whom I then looked in mock-horror. "Oh dear Lord. Anya, we’re on the *stairs*."

"Here, honey." She took off my glasses and handed them to me. "If you clean them well, maybe you’ll recognise your surroundings." With a bright smile at our spectators, she said, "That was sarcasm. With added gesture for emphasis."

Dawn made a noise of dismay, and Connor – who stood next to her, actually deigning to breathe the same air as the younger Summers – said, "Yes, exactly."

Actually, now that I looked, there was a spot on one of my lenses. I pulled out my handkerchief and started to polish, saying, "Honestly. I don’t see why a simple farewell kiss between husband and wife deserves such scorn." Anya looked at me and nodded; in fact, after the displays from both Buffy and Spike, and Wes and Lilah, that we’d seen yesterday, our snog hardly even counted as a public display of affection. After I replaced my glasses, I said, "And so I’ll say farewell for now, Anya."

"Farewell, Rupert. Until after the wedding." She clutched at the lapels of my suit jacket, pulling me close again so that she could whisper, "Check on me before the ceremony, though, okay? I might need reinforcements."

"Absolutely," I whispered back. With a hand to her arm, I steadied her; she began to walk down to the ground floor and the reception room currently doing duty as a bride’s chamber. It was time for her to watch over Lilah, who so far this morning had thrown a couple of femme fatale versions of tantrums. Also, at breakfast, a shoe – but Angel had ducked that. Would have served him right if it had hit him, too, for that crack about preferring to be in hell rather than be thought her actual father.

"Tie!" came echoing down the first-floor corridor. Spike’s ringing tones were only covered by the toll of the front door bell, reverberating through the house.

"I’ll get it," Dawn and Connor said in unison, and they hurtled down the stairs –

"Don’t run in the house!" I said rather sharply, which, being teenagers, they wholly ignored. However, they did take care not to hit or startle Anya on their way down. She looked up at me and raised her eyebrows, and I shrugged. Right, I couldn’t help it. Like the Ripper-voice had done last summer, the father-voice just bloody appeared without warning.

Connor got to the door first and pulled it open, revealing lovely cold April drizzle and three guests. The first in was George; he smiled at Dawn and said, "Hello, Miss Summers. I know I’m early, but –"

"Call me Dawn, remember?" she said breathlessly. Clearly he’d made a conquest on Thursday’s drive from Manchester. "Come in, come in."

He walked in, brushed the dampness off his hair. I said, "Hello, George!"

"Hullo, Giles! Anya!" he replied. "Is there anything I can do? I do realise I’m quite early –"

"If you would like to visit with Dorothy, George, that would be incredibly helpful. Perhaps Dawn would like to show you where she is," Anya said.

He looked at both of us and winked. Dawn got a death-grip on his arm, which brought a distinct scowl from Connor. "I’d love to," George said, and then he smiled at Dawn again.

She squeaked; even I could hear it. Without further comment, she pulled him toward the dining room, where Dorothy was ensconced.

Connor pointedly ignored their exit. He brought in two people I hadn’t met: however, judging by the hesitant prettiness of the woman and the guarded gaze of the man, I guessed that they were Wesley’s friends –"Hi, Fred. Hi, Gunn," Connor said.

Still on the stairs, Anya did the most peculiar thing; she pulled a mobile out of a pocket, pressed a number, and spoke a word I couldn’t catch.

"Hey, Connor," Fred said. "Here we are, and ooh isn’t it pretty, and I know we’re early, but it was my fault because I found a shortcut when I was reading the ordinance map, which is fascinating with both Trefonen the village and then Trefonen Manor as completely different, it’s so funny this is called a manor, so don’t anybody blame Charles for us, you know, being early...."

"Nobody’s blaming me for nothing, girl. Don’t put ideas in people’s heads," he said fondly. "Besides, I’m an usher, got to be here to do the job."

And as if out of nowhere Lorne appeared, resplendent in shiny blue suiting with a silver shirt. He seemed to be tucking a mobile into his pocket – ah-hah. "My darling double enchilada, you look pretty enough to eat! And you as well, my fine fajita." He kissed them both, which made Gunn jump a bit, and then said, "Come with me, Angelenos, let’s have a cuppa and a sweet nibble, and I’ll give you the lay of the land."

With a wave to me and Anya, he escorted Connor, Gunn and Fred away from the direction of the bride’s chamber. Of course, right. Under pain of, er, pain, Fred was to be kept away from Lilah’s sight. The Matron of Honour had clearly enlisted her troops ahead of time.

I was so proud of her that I might have gone down the steps and demonstrated it, except that once more, in tones of utmost anguish, came "Sodding, sodding tie!"

"See you later, darling," I threw over my shoulder; I was already down the hall before the echo died.

Pushing open the door to Buffy and Spike’s room, I found a very cranky vampire in white shirt and grey pinstriped trousers, doing his damnedest to destroy yet another length of silk. Fully dressed, Buffy sat on the bed and stared as if mesmerised by his struggles.

"Rupes, where the bloody hell have you been?" Spike demanded. He yanked the grey silk away from his neck and held it out to me. "Do this! I can’t manage without a mirror."

I sighed. "Right, right." After I began the task, however, I did say, "I understand why Spike is making a fuss, but Buffy, why are you being so singularly unhelpful? Couldn’t you have done it for him?"

"Slayer here. The Chosen One; She Who Stops Apocalypses. Not She Who Ties Fancy Knots Named After Racetracks," she said.

"Nice try, my dear. You’re not excused." As I worked with the silk, I added, "Why isn’t Wes in here? Spike, you’re supposed to be watching him."

"Knocked on his door ten minutes ago and he growled at me. Nasty, deep growl. I was scared to go in," he said.

"Now that sounds like a job for the Slayer. Buffy, would you go fetch him? Ask him to join us in here?"

"And without winding the poor sod up, pet?" Spike added.

"I will knock on his door. I will request his presence with you two. I will not go in, or provoke him in any way," she recited. And then she flashed one of her biggest smiles. "‘Not that I would anyhow. We’re pals now, me and Wesley."

"God help us all," Spike and I both murmured – and then looked at each other. The echo-effect was disturbing.

Buffy disappeared out the door. I pulled the fabric through, fanned it out in the approved manner, and fixed the pin. Spike looked down with a jaundiced eye. "Do you think Dorothy insisted on these sodding clothes? You know, as an evil ex-Watcher scheme to torture the undead?"

"You look fine, you little prat. Stop whinging." I patted the tie. "There, you’re done."

He just stood and looked at me expectantly. For a full minute. What the – and he said, "Aren’t you going to help me into my coat, Jeeves?"

I narrowed my eyes. Right. I brushed at his shoulder fussily. "Well, sir, I certainly could. Yet you appear to be quite cold; I rather think I should light a fire first."

"Anyone ever tell you that you’re dead vicious, Giles?" But he scrambled into his waistcoat and jacket himself.

As Spike was working on his cuffs, Wesley walked in. "Hello, you two," he said. Gloomily. He picked at the lapel of his own morning coat, as of yet without boutonniere.

"Found him, fetched him, and now will leave him to you guys’ tender mercies. So have fun," Buffy said from the doorway. She came in, kissed Spike rather lingeringly. "Later – and honey, you look gorgeous."

Spike smiled down at her. "See you in a bit, love." He watched her leave, the smile never dimming.

I looked at Wes. Distinct strain around the eyes, a furrow across his forehead. I leaned in, sniffed. He snapped, "I haven’t taken a drink yet this morning, Dad, if that’s what you’re trying to find out."

"I was, yes." I straightened back up. "Because since you haven’t, I suggest that we go on down to the, er, study–" I had to repress a wince, but according to Lilah and Dorothy, that was where the groom was supposed to wait for the ceremony – "where I cleverly have hidden a brandy bottle and three glasses. For any last-minute batch of nerves, you know."

He smiled, a bit of the edge smoothing out. "As I’ve told you before, we’ll follow you anywhere."

"Within reason," Spike added. "And brandy sounds like a bloody good reason to me." He looked around the room for a second. "Now where did I put my shoes?"

Honestly. One should be able to keep track of one’s belongings.

After we got Spike sorted, we headed downstairs. Wes was pensive at best, with downcast head, returning monosyllables to Spike’s questions about the flowers, the order of the ceremony itself, and the registry office legalities. I decided not to press the issue until we got into the study, though – and Wes did snap out of his doldrums just a bit when Gunn and Angel met us in the ground-floor entryway.

"Hey, English, now that I’ve made it inside the damn house – I’m impressed. Saw the weapon room, by the way. You definitely part of The Man."

Wes said, "Really I’m not, Charles. But, er, thank you. How have you enjoyed your stay?"

"Fred’s loved it. Went to castles and museums and crap, don’t think she’s stopped talking since she got off the plane."

"Well, what about you?"

"I’ve enjoyed it ‘cause my girl has." And then he stopped himself from saying anything else.

Angel chose that moment to unfreeze. "So, Wes, where you going to be until the ceremony?"

"The study," Spike volunteered. However, he very thoughtfully swallowed the ‘I know because I’m the Best Man and you’re not’ comment I practically could see tripping off his tongue.

Angel sent me a look. Well, I wasn’t going to confess that I’d gotten up at sunrise to do another bit of sage-and-fire magic to cleanse the bloody room, was I. He shrugged and said, "Huh. Well, okay. Connor and I will be by in a minute, we have to give you something."

"Thank you, Angel," Wes said, and he gripped Gunn’s shoulder. "I appreciate all of you being here today."

The two of them smiled, and then headed back toward where Lorne had taken Connor and Fred. We turned the other way, down the Corridor of Destiny.

There were servants hurrying about with the last-minute necessities for a traditional day wedding (with touches of California). Everything seemed organised, however. When we passed the small ballroom, opened and aired yesterday just for this occasion, I glanced in. Looked well enough.

That order explained the relative calm – indeed, the gales of feminine laughter – coming from the bride’s chamber just ahead. Spike clapped his hands over Wesley’s eyes as we got nearer: "No peeking! It’s bloody bad luck."

"I hardly think it applies in this case, Spike. I believe the tradition only works if one hasn’t slept with one’s bride-to-be the night before the ceremony. And I want to see Lilah, just for a moment; I just want to reassure --" Wes brushed away Spike’s hands, then took a step toward the chamber.

His hand was actually on the handle when I managed to say, very loudly, "Wesley! Do you think that excuse will count with the Matron of Honour? Anyanka has in fact re-read all the wedding books, and she’s, er, a demon about tradition." Forgive me, beloved, I thought penitently, but needs must.

Wes looked at me, his hand still on the door-handle. Spike moved up, Vampire Police Negotiator talking down a hostage-taker. "Step away from the door, slowly. Think, mate. You don’t want to do this."

"Wes!" It was Lilah. The oak door between her and us did nothing to soften her tone. "You can’t see me until the ceremony, and you know it. Even if it’s just a superstition, don’t you dare jeopardise our perfect day!"

He hesitated, which gave me and Spike the opportunity to grab his arms and drag him away from the danger zone. "Don’t worry, sis, I’ve got it all under control," Spike called back as we went.

"That’s right, Spike, do your job. Rupert, I heard you too, and I’m counting on you." Yes, there was my wife; I knew that edge in her voice. I gripped Wes’s arm more tightly and walked a little faster.

Wesley had stopped struggling, although he kept sending amused glances at me and Spike. We moved past another open door – I caught a flash of Dorothy leaning forward, her face relaxed. She was in the middle of a story: "In ‘57, I believe. Indeed, we managed to find the relevant passage in the Codex, and then –"

Wes had seen the same moment. A few steps on the other side, and he said, "Mum looked happy."

"She probably is. George is here, and he and Dawn are, um, visiting with your mother."

"Ah, the invaluable Pankhurst. The ‘good’ Watcher."

"‘Ah, the invaluable Pankhurst,’ who specialises in sweet-talking women old and young," I corrected. "And you know better than to imply what you just did, Wesley."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "Just a bad habit. You’re quite right, Rupert."

"You’re horribly confused, mate. *I*’m the one who’s always right," Spike said. With a flourish, he pushed Wesley into the study ahead of us.

I took a deep breath. This morning there had been a unfamiliar sense of lightness in the room. Even though I’d still sensed traces of the daemon, the choking presence was gone. With the addition of some sage and my own magic, the room felt clean again. Didn’t hurt that I’d stored the picture gallery away.

Didn’t hurt that Spike, Lilah and Anya had burnt the portrait last night, either. I’d felt a band of pain lift when they’d done it. When she’d come upstairs, Anya had confessed to me -- and been suitably rewarded, of course.

Spike tilted his head, looked around. "You’ve done wonders with the room, Rupes."

"Oh stop it. Wes, are you all right?"

He stood with his back to us, hands fisted at his side – for a moment, a small boy awaiting harsh judgement. And then he breathed, turned, and smiled. Adult again, in control. "Yes, indeed. You’ve done wonders."

"I had great help." I gave Spike’s shoulder a quick squeeze, then said, "Right, brandy. And you’ll tell us why you were so mournful upstairs."

Wes sagged onto the couch. "Do I have to?"

"Yes." Spike handed him the first glass. "Now don’t drink that until we’re all ready to toast."

"I rather need alcohol to say it." Wes swirled the brandy around the glass. "It’s something I just found, you see. I didn’t mean to intrude, but there it was. It fell out of her briefcase when I, er, tripped –"

I turned to see why he’d broken off his words. Angel and Connor stood in the doorway.

Connor was the first to speak. "Um, Wesley. Dad and I wanted to give you something. Something that’s just for you today, not for you and Lilah."

"Although we got something on the wedding-register, too. Well, Fred did. Something about a ‘fancy French toast thingamabob.’" Angel seemed more expressionless than usual. He stepped closer to Connor, and then said, "This is for you, Wesley. A symbol of sorts."

And Connor held out a key. "It’s to the front door of the Hyperion."

"We, uh, changed the locks. After I got back. Your old key wouldn’t work. But this will." Wesley slowly stood, his hand going out to take the small golden object. Angel continued, "We trust you to keep this safe."

"Because even with your own firm and all, you’re still part of Angel Investigations. Part of us," Connor finished.

Wesley’s fingers closed over the key, a little convulsively. "I can’t....I can’t –" And then he sought out my eyes and Spike’s. Spike nodded, and Wes looked back at the Los Angeles father and son. "I can’t believe you lock the doors now. When did that start?"

Angel smiled. "Like I said. It’s a symbol."

"I can’t..." Wes began, and then took a deep breath. "I can’t thank you enough. Both of you."

"We trust you," Angel repeated, as if that was enough. His gaze flicked over to Spike, who straightened. A charged moment passed between the two of them. "And you, Will. You and I should probably talk."

Spike made himself smile. It was a damned good effort, too. "We’ll do that, mate. But after the important ceremony."

"Right. After the ceremony. See you there," Angel said, as he guided Connor out of the room.

"Oh my God." Wes sank back down on the couch, his eyes on the key lying on his palm. And then he started to laugh, dark and with an edge of hysteria.

"What’s wrong, Wesley?" Spike gave him back his snifter, and Wes tossed back a mouthful. "Hey, told you not until we’re ready –"

"Wolfram and Hart is going after a client of Angel’s. A sub-contracting deal." The words dropped, granite, into the suddenly silent study. Wes gave that dark chuckle again. "That was the file I accidentally saw. Lilah has to know that the Brriash demon is innocent of the faulty-construction problem, has to know that the contract out on it isn’t valid – and Angel’s team has been hired to guard the Brriash. Angel told me."

Spike put a hand on his arm, stopping him, before sitting down at Wesley’s side. "Mate. You don’t know that Lilah gets the Angel connection."

"That’s right." I sat down on Wesley’s other side. "The file looks bad, but the context could be harmless." Over Wes’s bent head, Spike and I exchanged a look: not that Lilah’s business was ever harmless, we knew.

"Don’t try to coddle me." Wes took another drink. "It’s not good."

"No, it’s not." I said it as calmly as I could. "Does this alter your feeling about the day? About what you’re going to do shortly?" I beat down a sudden flaring image of Anya alone at the altar a year ago, without any support, without my support. Couldn’t allow myself to think about that.

"No. No, not at all." Wesley’s voice was firm. "I’m terrified of how difficult this is all going to be, but Rupert, I am absolutely certain of my decision to marry Lilah."

"Because you love her," Spike said quietly. "It’s blood and bone and heart, and it’s real. Scarily real."

"That’s right, Spike. I’ve learned from you." Wes tried a smile. Pathetic effort. He took in a deep breath, and tried another smile. Better. "I am meant to marry Lilah. I’ve never been more sure of anything."

A cough came from the doorway. Dorothy stood there, a flower in each hand. Oh, right, we’d forgotten the boutonnieres. She came into the room and just waited.

"Mum," Wes said. He got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and Spike and I followed suit. "How long – er, what –"

"Someone take these, if you would." Dorothy gestured with the flowers, and Spike stepped forward to collect them. She scarcely even noticed. Her eyes were fixed on Wesley. I’d almost have said that she looked frightened, afraid to reach out to him. She swallowed, and I could hear every one of her years in her voice. "Wesley. It’s right that I say a few words, on this day that is so important to you."

He smiled.

One hand went to the pearls around her neck, twisted. "As you know, I was older when you were born. Lilah’s age now. I’d given up hope, and – perhaps I didn’t...."

"Mother," Wesley said. Nothing else.

She drew a heavy breath. "I’ll start again. Marriage is very difficult, Wesley. As I can attest." For just a moment, I could see deep regret. And then she did reach out to him, her hand brushing against his cheek. The lightest of touches: it made her wedding ring flash in the lamplight. "I pray that yours works better than mine."

"It will, Mum. And I thank you." Wes caught at her hand, and then kissed it.

"Yes. Well." She stepped back, the mask of breeding back in place. "You and William should put those buttonholes on. Not much time left."

"We know, and we will," Wes said with a smile.

"Fine. I won’t tell you again," she said with a glimmer of answering humour. She stopped at the doorway and looked over her shoulder, back into the study. "It seems different in here."

"It is, a bit," I said. I nodded respectfully to her.

"Yes." She returned the nod. "I suppose that there’s some reason that pictures keep disappearing from all over the house. Perhaps I’ll learn about that later." And she was gone.

Brandy, brandy, brandy: there was a collective rush for our snifters. We didn’t bother with a toast, just tossed some down our throats. And then together we sank back down on the couch. We stared straight ahead at nothing, at the light from all the lamps I’d turned on earlier. At the light.

Spike was the first to speak. "You know, if you tell Lilah about the conflict, she’ll do everything in her power not to hurt you. And that means leaving Angel alone."

"That’s right. She would, and she will." Wes took another drink. "It doesn’t make it any easier, however."

"Oh, if you think that marriage is *easy* –" I scoffed.

Wes turned his head against the leather to look at me. His eyes were twinkling. "Do you mean to support my mother’s opinion, Rupert? What with your vast personal knowledge, of course -- do you also think that ‘marriage is very difficult’?" His imitation of his mother was spot-on.

Spike peered at me. "Yeah, you’re not very encouraging, old man. Why don’t you lie to the boy?"

"Yes, lie to me."

‘Lie to me’: I’d heard those words before from one of my children. I smiled to myself, then said in a story-telling voice, "Well then, let me tell you. When you get married, it’s perfect bliss. Your jobs never interfere with the real stuff of living together, your moods and needs never conflict, and you never ever fight. It’s all roses and champagne and country cottages trimmed in ivy. Because it’s happily ever after."

There was a second of silence, before Wes spluttered, "Oh dear, that sounds perfectly terrible."

"Really, Dad. If you’re going to lie, at least make it, you know, not bloody horrific," Spike added.

"As if I would ever take advice in lying from you, Spike," I said – and for no good reason we all burst into laughter. It was slightly hysterical, but it was honest. It was warming.

We hadn’t quite stopped when a cheery voice said from the doorway, "Now there’s a sight to gladden many a heart. Hello, handsomes, look who I found."

Lorne beamed at us, and then pulled a round, matronly woman into the room. It was Imogen.

We all jumped to our feet, and she said, "I just met Lorne in the hallway, which was clearly meant to be. We have so much to talk about, he and I!"

"And I can’t wait, my little tea-cosy," he said. Then he looked at the three of us. "But it’ll have to be after the ceremony. We’re beginning the final countdown, my boyos. The guests are arriving, the tension is rising, and the leader of the band needs to take his place. We’ll be ready for the big duet very soon."

Spike looked at his watch – since when did Spike wear a watch? – and said, "No worries, got the schedule memorised. We’ll be there."

"Good. Good." Lorne smiled again. "You know, no one even has to sing for me to know how this is going to turn out. And that is *good.*" He waved a green hand in our direction, then disappeared from the doorway.

"Regan, Frances, and Melisande have already taken their seats. But there was a bit of a vision yesterday, and I just wanted to pop in and say a little something before the wedding." Imogen’s eyes smiled. "Somehow, I knew that I’d find you three together."

"Is that your professional opinion?" I said. I meant it as a joke, but somehow the memory of caves and dragons, howling and blood, blotted out my sight for a second and caught at my throat.

Imogen tilted her head. "Oh, I’m so sorry, Giles. I didn’t think." She stepped forward, her hand catching mine. Blue sparks on my fingertips again. Her gaze met mine, and in her seer-voice she said, "You have suffered more than they know. But fear not. The memory will remain, but the pain will ease. Your great love and your children will sustain you."

I couldn’t breathe for a moment, but when I could, I said, "Thank you, Imogen."

Spike and Wes were looking at me, Spike with a strange understanding in his eyes. I had the sudden conviction that Anya had said something – but then Imogen drew their attention, and she put her hands on Wesley’s chest. To him spoke the seer-voice: "You discovered faith and learned the interlocking secrets, just as you were meant to. Your task now is to live with them, and with the woman who will test you but give you love and strength in return."

"I will, Imogen," Wesley said quietly. "Thank you."

She patted his coat, then moved onto Spike. He looked down at his feet for a moment, then faced her with a smile. She did not smile back. The seer-voice sounded: "You have found your balance, and your love has found you. You have done well. Yet do not look down, lest the wind catch you ill."

Spike’s lips moved, as if he was working out what to say. And then, in William’s voice: "I understand the metaphor, Imogen, and I’ll heed it. Thank you."

"A metaphor for a poet’s heart and soul," she said, and then turned to us all. "As I said, I had a vision yesterday. The end of the road was not shown to me, but I was given the portrait of the Three who walked together. You still walk together. Your paths will not diverge."

Each of us bowed his head for just a moment. She laughed delightedly, the seer dropping away to leave the ‘tea-cosy,’ in Lorne’s words. "And I have one more thing to tell you." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "We brought mead for the reception. Gift of the coven."

I could hear the repressed laughter in Wes’s voice when he said, "We will serve it with pride, Imogen." Right, I thought, I’d like to watch whoever told Lilah that her carefully planned and catered menu would include some home-brewed – and then Wes added, "Why don’t you mention it to my bride, Dad? I think she’d like to hear it from you."

"And I think you’ve just been cut out of the will, you little twerp," I said.

Imogen’s bright eyes flickered, and she sighed. "Somehow this sounds like something the Three should work out for themselves. I’ll see you all later." At our chorus of goodbyes, she floated out the door. We three remained, silent for a moment.

That couldn’t last, of course. "Mead. Sodding mead," Spike said. And then he snorted. "A drink for bloody epic heroes!"

"That’s absolutely correct," Wes said, grinning. "Those idiots."

"Pillocks," I said.

"Wankers," Spike finished.

And we shook hands on it, before we went out to cross yet another bridge. Together.

 

~~The End~~

 

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