Chapter Seven

 

----====Wesley====----

"And what did she say to that?" Lilah asked, curling her fingers in my hair. We were lying on top of the bed in our room, chatting, having a small time of respite from the tensions that seemed to lurk in every room downstairs.

"She didn't, she was speechless with horror," I reported dryly.

Lilah all but cooed with delight. "Her cowed little boy taking charge of her, I'm not surprised. Wish I could've seen this, Wes."

"Yes, well, there were several very good reasons why I ensured you could not."

"Taking charge of *me* now?" she laughed.

I turned onto my side to face her and smiled. "I'm the man of the house, my love. I have to assert my authority over all rambunctious women. Don't you know they run roughshod over you if you let them?"

She rolled also to her side and drew the tip of a long nailed finger down the centre of my face, stopping at my lips where I licked it cheekily. She asked with a big grin, "Now who's the big boss and main wage earner of this relationship? Who, in fact, largely finances your little do-gooding habit?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes in exasperation. "What you *finance* is your own desire to see me in designer clothes and expensive premises. I am perfectly capable of running a self-sufficient 'do-gooding' *business*, thank you."

Her fingertip moved down to my neck and lightly caressed my scar. A shiver ran through me. "Love you, Wes," she purred.

My irritation melted away. "I love you too."

"So what else did you say to the old bitch?" Lilah asked. I took in a breath to protest her phrasing, but she interrupted. "Hey, remember that to people like Anya and me, 'bitch' is an accolade."

I snorted, but let her get away with it. Sighing heavily, I told her, "It was a far from pleasant conversation, my love, and I'd really like to be able to forget it now. I rather lost my temper, I'm afraid."

"Gave her what was coming to her?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure how much of my anger she deserves. How much she knew about what went on."

Lilah rolled back onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "A decent mother, a mother that cared, would have known that something was."

"She is as much a product of her upbringing as I am, Lilah. As *he* was." I stroked her cheek soothingly.

"You think that's all you are? All I am? What our fucked up parents made us?" She seemed upset and I understood why. "You think if we had a kid, you'd lock him in a cupboard for days? You think I'd let you beat me again and again?"

I cringed at her words. "Don't. Please."

"Show it to me."

"W... what?"

"Show me the damn cupboard. I want to see where the bastard put you." She sat up and her eyes were fierce

I was appalled. "Why, for God's sake?" I sat up beside her.

She took my face in her hands and made me look into her eyes. "Because I think you need to show me," she said.

I had no answer to that.

I took her down the servants' staircase, long unused, to the basement. Mutely, I pointed at a door under the stairs. There was a padlock on it.

"Get a key or break it open," she instructed.

"Lilah, please. Don't," I begged, but she was resolute. When she began to kick at it herself, I gave in to the inevitable and broke open the door with a single well placed kick. Had I only been able to do that then... not that it would have made any difference. I still could not have left before he gave permission. I wouldn't have dared.

It was dark inside. Lilah bent over and stuck her head in. "I can't see," she complained.

"Yes, that was rather the point, actually. Well, one of them." My voice sounded hollow, reedy.

I realised with a shock that Lilah was trying to crawl into the empty cupboard, in her extremely expensive outfit, as well. "No, don't! Get out!" I said urgently.

"Shh," her muffled voice replied. "It can't hurt me." I hugged my arms tightly around myself, and she settled down inside the cupboard. "There's quite a bit of space in here, sitting. Come in and join me, Wes."

"NO!" It took everything in my power not to turn and run.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, you've faced hell-lords and won. I won't let you be cowed by a goddamn closet. Come in here with me." Her voice is firm.

"Lilah, I can't," I was crying, this was bloody humiliating. I just wanted to get away from the place, go to the Folly, hide in the safety of stone, the soft noises of the lake comforting me.

Lilah leant forward through the darkness. "Do you love me, Wes? Do you trust me not to hurt you?" Her beautiful face in that terrible dark place was calm and unscathed. I wanted to pull her out, rescue her from it. But instead I crawled inside and let her hold me while I trembled.

She kept up a stream of distracting banter while I tried to calm down, and eventually I was able to simply sit there, my legs curled up to my chin due to lack of space, and converse relatively normally about wedding trivia and gossip concerning our various guests. I felt huge in this tiny space, and I felt silly, but I no longer felt frightened.

"Thank you, my love," I said softly.

"Always best to face the tiger, Wes," she said, equally softly.

"One day you'll tell me about when you faced your own."

"One day," she agreed amiably.

After a while, we crawled out of the dank hole and brushed each other down. Her stockings were laddered, and there were smudges on the fine linen of her skirt, but I thought she was the most beautiful that I'd ever seen her. We nearly jumped out of our respective skins when a voice from the shadows said,

"This the place, Wes?"

Angel loomed up out of the darkness of the basement. I put my face in my hands. "Is this *what* place?"

"Where your Dad put you," he answered implacably.

"And you know about that *how*?" I sounded prissy, even to myself.

"Hmm," he considered. "That ethros demon in the little boy."

"Oh." I remembered the event, but I hadn't realised he had heard. So, he had known all this time. Great. Just Great.

Angel hunkered down and looked into the cupboard. I supposed, with his vampire sight, he might be able to see the marks I had carved into the walls as a small child, using a sharp stone I'd brought in from the grounds to use as a weapon against the rats. I never did kill a rat, but I had utilised it to draw in a form of self-created Braille upon the walls.

Lilah held my hand tightly, and I leant into her, needing her support. The vampire's arm suddenly reached inside the cupboard and drew out something - it was the piece of flint I had used to etch with. I stared at it in his large hands. It seemed a ridiculously small thing.

He said simply and sincerely, "I'm sorry, Wes," and handed me the flint. He sloped off up the stairs. I got the impression that the apology had been for many things.

"Is it just me, or is he getting weirder?" Lilah asked with a laugh.

"At this moment, I seem to have broken my weirdness quota, so couldn't possibly judge," I replied, only slightly hysterically, turning the stone over and over in my free hand.

***

A little while later, Lilah and I were in the parlour with Lorne, going through our vows once again around the card table. Lorne, a fully qualified wedding-broker under American law, was going to act as our minister for the big occasion. And then, as obliged to by British law, we had an appointment at the registrar's office for after the ceremony, to make the binding official.

"So, are we all going to get through this alive?" Lilah asked him bluntly, while sipping on a martini that he had made for her and pushing the vows aside for now.

Lorne smiled. "Are you offering to sing for me, sugar lips?"

"Only if you have a lyric sheet to hand."

"The wedding itself will go splendidly. I'm sure of it," he reassured her, patting her hand.

I couldn't help but ask, "Is that precognition or blind hope?"

"Wesley, my little teacake, just enjoy your day when it comes. You'll never have another like it."

"You really can be profoundly unhelpful when you want to be," I said, grinning.

"I'm waiting for your wife to be to ask the question she *really* wants the answer to," he confided to me behind his hand, but in a voice completely audible to her. He took a sip of his own drink and twinkled at my fiancée.

She narrowed her eyes at him. After a pause, she inhaled and asked, "Well then, should I?"

I looked at her curiously.

Lorne, clearly understanding better than I what she was referring to, said, "Sing me a bar or two?"

Lilah snorted and shook her head. "I told you before, I don't remember lyrics. They're a waste of brain space."

"Hum then, doll. La-la me one of those classical tunes you prefer." And so Lilah hummed a refrain I recognised as being Bach, but not from which symphony, and Lorne nodded slowly and then touched her hand with his when he'd heard enough. "There's no right answer," he began.

"Why am I not surprised?" Lilah rolled her eyes.

The Pylean laughed. "Let me finish, mummy long-legs. There will come a time, soon in fact, when you have to be very clear about where your loyalties lie. You'll no longer be able to play Marie Antoinette."

"But there's no right answer?"

"The paths diverge, but both are sound," Lorne said, sounding more like Imogen than himself for a few moments.

"Do you know what I will choose?"

"I do, but only because *you* already know, little mermaid."

"Heh. I hope you mean the Disney version," she complained. The pair looked at each other for several long seconds while I tried to stop my brain analysing their conversation and worrying about what it concerned. Then Lilah raised her glass to him in a silent toast, which he met with his.

She finished her drink and put the glass down on the table with a little clink. Gathering together the notes on the vows, she then took my hand and led me from the room.

Outside in the hall, she gently pushed me against the wall and began to kiss me. I happily joined in with this plan for a short while, but then pushed her away long enough to ask, "What's going on?"

She raised an eyebrow. "We're kissing?"

"*Lilah.*" I reprimanded with a smile.

She sighed. "I'm kissing you because, after talking to Lorne, I want you close."

I tightened my hold on her and nuzzled into her neck, nibbling lightly. "What was all that encrypted chatter about then?"

"It doesn't matter, Wes. Remember one of my vows is that I'll never deliberately cause you non-physical pain. I'll keep all my vows. That's all you need worry about." Her free hand was under my casual shirt and vest-top alike and was caressing my back sensually.

"They're not very romantic, are they?" I said, considering the eccentric collection of mutually agreed promises we will make tomorrow. The wording had already been suffering somewhat from legalese, and Anya and Lilah had reworked them together since getting here. They now sounded more like a prenuptial agreement than wedding vows.

Lilah used the hand holding the papers to lift my head so that she could look into my eyes. "They're romantic because we mean them. Unlike most couples who just choose what will sound good to the guests, or what fulfils some stupid idealistic fantasy, we're making real promises."

Lord, she was wonderful. "I love you," I said happily, and returned to kissing her, this time with an increasingly fierce passion.

As the kiss deepened, our tongues taking turns to invade the other's mouth, our hands started to move about our bodies and under clothing. We pressed our need into each other, our breath becoming loud and demanding. I couldn't get near enough, no matter how tightly I held her to me, no matter how closely she pressed. I used my fingers to inch her short skirt up her leg, and then slid my hand underneath it, raising it high so I could squeeze a lovely handful of her gorgeous arse. She moaned into my mouth and rubbed against me needily.

With my other hand, I began to open her blouse. Meanwhile her free hand was sliding down between us, over my belly...

"Wesley!" It was Rupert's voice, and I broke the kiss to see him standing by the parlour door with Anya. He looked scandalised - not so much at Lilah and myself, but at something beyond us. I turned the other way to see my mother standing there, clearly having just come in from her morning ride. She was glaring at my hand on Lilah's bottom, which was clothed only in sheer lace and the straps of her suspender belt. I hurriedly let my hand fall, straightening my fiancée's skirt.

Lilah seemed more amused than embarrassed.

I turned to my friend. "Rupert, I'm sorry..."

He interrupted, "I'm most certainly not the one to whom you should apologise, Wesley. Don't you think?"

His mouth tight, he nodded to my mother, then turning and opening the parlour door. He walked in without another word. Anya mouthed 'oops' to us with a look of pained sympathy and followed him in, shutting the door behind her.

I turned to Mother, who seemed to have thankfully lost Dawn somewhere, while Lilah made a big show of doing up her buttons. "Mum, I'm sorry. We got carried away and forgot where we were. It..."

She held up her hand imperiously. "No, don't apologise, Wesley. This is *your* house, as you made abundantly clear this morning, and you may commit vulgar display wherever you wish. And I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be allowed to remain here to witness it. I suspect you consider I deserve the unpleasantness of it all."

Lilah drew herself up. "You deserve a lot more than that. What you allowed to take place in this house should fucking shame you!"

"Lilah!" I was so shocked that she had sworn at my mother that the rest of her words didn't filter through immediately.

Mum blanched. In a voice that spoke of her increasing years, she said, "I really don't know what you think I should have done. A lady does not gainsay her husband."

"I don't know what *ladies* do," Lilah snarled. "But any woman worth her gender will do whatever's necessary to stop an abuser from hurting the ones she loves. Whatever. Is. Necessary." She made her point with a jabbing finger towards Mother's face.

"Lilah, stop it!" I ordered. "I will not have you fighting my battles for me." She actually seemed prepared to back down, but unfortunately my mother did not.

"You! How dare you lecture me? I know what you are, the things you've done. You've aided and abetted murderers and paedophiles and all the scum of the demon world that lives parasitically upon ours. You have no right to tell me how I should have brought up my own son."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm an evil bitch. Lay it on me. But at least I didn't let the bastard in *my* family home get away with it!"

That was it, I'd had enough. "Both of you, SHUT UP!"

And, amazingly, they did. Rupert, Anya and Lorne came scurrying out of the parlour to see what was going on.

I said, "Anya, could I prevail upon you to help Lilah practice the revised vows somewhere quiet?" She nodded, but I felt Lilah stiffen beside me, ready to protest. I continued quickly, "Mother, may I suggest that now would be a good time to take a nice nap after your long ride?" I stared at her, willing to become firmer, but she merely nodded and went off up the stairs without another word.

I turned to the woman who would tomorrow be my wife and gave her a look that made my feelings clear. She gave me a look in turn that promised plenty of pain and trouble for me later, but for now, thankfully, she stalked off down the corridor with Anya. No doubt they would discuss my awfulness and probably decide that it was genetic or gender based, possibly both.

I turned to Rupert. "May we talk?" I asked. He nodded dourly, clearly none too pleased with me still.

Lorne said, "Don't mind me, sweeties. I was just going to my room anyway. My cycles still haven't caught up with my rhythms and I'm all dis-syncopated." He toasted us both with his glass and headed upstairs.

I followed Rupert back into parlour and poured myself a glass of whisky, offering the decanter silently towards him.

"No, thank you," he declined in a clipped fashion. "Six hours of drinking yesterday wasn't enough for you, apparently. Rather surprised you managed to make it to breakfast at all."

I sighed and admitted, "Lilah and I do seem to have a rather high level of alcohol consumption generally."

Rupert was looking and sounding very much like the stiff and critical man I had first met in Sunnydale, which was undoubtedly preferable to him releasing Ripper, but it was still making me very uncomfortable. He said, "Don't you think you need to cut down?" It might have been phrased as a question, but it was clearly an instruction. He was standing near the fire with his arms folded.

"Yes." I accepted that I did, but, "Not wanting to sound like the classic addict, but after the wedding, please?"

"If drunkenness was behind that display just now, I would suggest *before* would be more appropriate." The fire flared a little at his words; I wanted to believe it was coincidence. But I didn't.

"This is my first drink today," I told him, and leant wearily against the wall near the drinks table. "Rupert, I'm sorry. It's been one hell of a morning, I get married tomorrow, I'm not quite..." I trailed off, shrugging.

His expression softened and in a more sympathetic voice, he said, "I know. You're under a great deal of strain. Did you apologise to Dorothy?"

"Yes, but she wasn't in the mood to accept. We, er, had... that is to say... I confronted her this morning. -- about numerous things. I said things that would maybe have been better left unsaid."

Rupert was instantly concerned and came over to me, putting a caring hand on my shoulder. "About your childhood?" he asked.

"That was the worst of it, yes."

"I wish you'd told me you were going to do that, I would have accompanied you."

"To hold my hand, Dad?" I raised an amused eyebrow.

He snorted slightly and then smiled, punching me lightly on the arm. "Ok, git, maybe it was best you were on your own."

"Indeed," I smiled warmly back, and then frowned as thoughts came to me. "Rupert, there's something I've been wanting to say to you, but haven't been able to think of a way to do so that won't embarrass us both. But it needs saying. Can you grit your teeth for a few moments?"

"You make it sound like a nasty inoculation."

"Yes, well, hopefully a little nicer than that. It's two things really."

"Go on," he nodded.

I looked at my drink and placed it on the table untasted. "Well, first, I want to try to express just how much what you said last night means to me. I can't express it really. But... oh Lord, this is difficult." I smiled at him hopelessly. He was doing his very best not to look horrified. I sighed and continued softly, "There is no one I can think of that I'd rather have as both a father and a friend."

His green eyes twinkled with something, but he kept his face largely expressionless as he said in a serious tone, "I meant every word. And the second thing?"

"I've been worried about the strain you may be under concerning what you had to do... to dispose of your hydra. I wanted to make sure you realised that I hold no resentment," I grasp his shoulder and squeezed for emphasis of my point. "None. For what you had to do. I hold only admiration and affection for you, Rupert."

I backed away, the embarrassing emotions dealt with, and wondered what to say to get the conversation to return to a more comfortable intimacy level. Rupert hesitated, as if contemplating saying something important, but then simply told me, "I am inordinately glad to hear that." Then he smiled and said in a very cheeky tone, "You're such a *good* son, Wesley."

I didn't know whether to hit or hug him for that. So instead I reclaimed my drink and raised it to him in a droll toast. "I owe my father everything."

***

"Is it bad that I like the lake?" Connor asked.

I was showing him around the estate as I had promised. There was a light drizzle but no wind, and the Barbour jacket I had bought him seemed to be keeping him both dry and warm enough. He was very pleased with it, due to its practicality and many pockets and the fact that, in surroundings such as these, it acted like camouflage.

I answered his question. "Of course not. Why would that be bad?"

"Because of what I did to Dad."

"Oh." I stopped us walking and looked carefully at him. "Do you and he ever talk about it?"

"Some. He has told me a little about what it was like for him."

"And how did that make you feel?" I sounded like a therapist, Lord help me.

He looked glumly out at the water. "I thought what I was doing was right. Revenge was what Fa... Captain Holtz had taught me to do. And I thought Angelus had killed him..." He stopped and glanced over at me. "It made me feel unhappy."

I rested my hand on his shoulder. "There are always reasons for the bad things we do. Sometimes the reasons can seem very clear and right."

"But they are not."

"Indeed." We watched the red deer gambol about on the distant shore for a few moments.

Then he said. "Like when you took me from Dad?"

I nodded seriously. "Exactly like that, yes. I was convinced I was right. I would never have done anything so terrible without conviction. But I was wrong."

He touched my arm. "You thought you were saving me."

"Yes, and Angel from himself." Suddenly, my mood was bleak once again.

Connor frowned and seemed concerned for me. "Wesley, I'm glad you took me. I loved the man I called 'father', and he was a good father to me. I grew strong and became a powerful warrior thanks to him and to you. I don't regret my time in the Quortoth." It was a noble and very mature speech, but then he added in a tone more typical of a mopey adolescent boy, "Well, not normally anyway."

"You do sometimes?" I inquired.

He scuffed the mud with his boots restlessly. "When people call me a freak, yes."

I allowed myself a small smile. "People like Dawn Summers, for instance?"

"Yes, like her," he agreed readily. "She thinks I'm a weirdo."

A moorhen swum past us, an early brood of chicks tagging along behind her. "Dawn's not exactly normal herself, you know," I told Connor.

"Yes, Dad told me. She wasn't a person at all once. But she acts as if she were normal."

"Difficult attitudes run in her family; it is probably best to try to stay away from her," I advised.

"Do you think I'll ever have a girlfriend?"

I put my arm around his shoulder and started us walking once again. "Of course you will. It happens to everyone eventually." I grinned and added, "Even me."

We left the lake area as I led us uphill towards a wooded expanse that I had spent a great deal of time in as a youngster during the school holidays. While I had never been one of those sturdy outdoors kind of children, I had loved the estate and all the wonderful British countryside it contained. The soft deep shades of green and brown, muted by the overcast sky brought on a powerful nostalgia within me.

These woods, my childhood self had imagined, were home to the gruff but kindly Badger of Kenneth Grahame's classic novel, and therefore they had become a haven for me. A place where the 'good father' could be imagined when the 'bad father' was all too real.

I chuckled quietly to myself, realising that now all I had was the good father and comparing Rupert to Mr Badger. They were not dissimilar, I thought. Spike was, of course, the irrepressible Ratty who had dragged my Moleish self out of my depressing hole and into the metaphoric sunshine of friendship and adventure.

I began to name trees and plants for Connor, relating their properties when I knew them. The bluebells were in bloom amongst the trunks, giving the place a carpet of dark lilac. We saw a squirrel and Connor asked if they made good hunting, which I doubted.

We stopped to sit on the trunk of a long fallen tree. Connor offered me a chunk from a bar of Cadbury's chocolate which he had had secreted within one of his coat pockets. I enjoyed the smooth coating of creamy cocoa that then covered the inside of my mouth, while relaxing in our silent companionship. I watched a beetle scuttle over the rotting bark of the log.

Eventually, Connor said, "I really like it here. I feel like this is where I belong."

I looked at him in surprise. "You do? Perhaps Holtz described England so vividly that it took on mythic qualities for you."

He nodded. "Maybe. I just know I feel right here. Like I'm not a freak."

"You are *not* a freak," I said, perhaps a little too forcefully. I thought about it and added, "If you make friends with my mother, I can provide you with regular vacations here."

"With you? She doesn't like Dad much."

I raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps with me, but she doesn't like me much either currently. You're not a freak, Connor, or if you are, a freak is a good thing. You're a unique individual like Buffy, like Angel and Spike -- warriors for good, champions of humanity."

"Like you then, too."

"I have no special powers," I reminded the lad.

"You've got a magic ring," he said cheekily, grinning. "Like the hobbit in the book you gave me."

I laughed, and turned the blue banded ring around my finger. "I'm not anticipating having to throw this into a hellmouth anytime soon."

"But you're a ring-bearer, that makes you special."

I stood up; it was time to make our way in for afternoon tea. As we left the trees and started the hike back to the house, I said,

"It's what the ring meant that made me special. I'm one of the Three. Or I was, when there were three needed." I smiled fondly at the boy. "Friendship is what the ring stands for."

And having friends was what made me special now.

 

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