Part Six

"Would you like another scotch Sir?"

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce turned back toward the barkeeper. "Ah.. no. No thank you, not right now." As the man went back to the other end of the bar Wesley looked at his watch for the hundredth time in as many minutes. He exhaled loudly and stared at the door. "One-fourteen... where are you Uncle Douglas?" With a shift in his seat he smoothed his tie and softly went over his speech.

"First thing will be pleasantries: Good afternoon! You are looking well. Oh, yes I am fine. Would you like a drink?" Wesley took a tiny sip of his drink and nodded to himself. "Then I will add a hearty laugh and go onto the business at hand. There has been a horrible murder, no... there has been an 'incident'. A man was murdered in Sunnydale; a man who had ties to the Slayer and the Council through the former Watcher, Mr. Giles. So dear Uncle Douglas, I need your assistance in divining whether or not this might have any..."

"My God lad! Never sit at the end of the rail rattling to yourself! Do you want the other patrons and staff to think you are a total nutter?!"

Wesley stumbled off his stool. ""Yes Sir... no... I mean no I don't...would not want that." With a blink and a gulp he scrambled to regain his composure and accepted his Uncle's handshake. "Are you.. ah, you are looking well Uncle Douglas and I am fine. Good afternoon would you like a drink?"

"Drink?! That's the first sensible word you have uttered!" Douglas smacked his hand on the bar and motioned for the bartender. He pointed at Wesley's half empty shot. "Two doubles! And then if it's decent enough, two more of the same!"

"Ahem... thank you Uncle Douglas, but that is already my second and..."

"What?! Are you saying that you cannot hold your liquor?!" Douglas made a snorting noise. "It's in your genes boy, your father drank like a fish!"

"I would rather not go into that Sir..."

"Not that I blame you! I'll never understand what my sister was thinking when she married him! But that is water under the bridge!"

Wesley fiddled with his glasses and felt the heat rise on his cheeks. His Uncle had always been bombastic but now it was at a decibel level that was causing the other customers to glance over at them in a cross between annoyance and amusement. He reached over and downed the remnants of his second scotch.

Ignoring his nephew's discomfort, Douglas slapped him on the shoulder and motioned toward an empty table in the corner. "First I want to relax for a moment! The traffic was bloody awful and that sodding taxi driver was a moron! So how is your mother and your sisters?!"

"They are well. Mum has resumed her charity work and Beatrice..."

Douglas settled into a chair and snatched up a bar menu. "Very good! Now what shall we have?!" He acknowledged the bartender with a wave as the man brought the drinks. "Thank you... now bring us two, no.. three orders of the prawn and pork potstickers and two orders of the red pepper pesto crab cakes!" As the bartender slipped away Douglas raised his glass to Wesley. "It's good to see you lad! Did you have any difficulty finding this place?!"

"No Sir." Wesley mumbled deciding at that point he was thankful for the double scotch at his elbow.

"Drink up lad!" Douglas said loudly enough for his voice to carry to all corners of the bar. He toasted his nephew, drained his glass then sat there eyeing Wesley who had barely wetted his lips. His voice dropped to an edgy whisper. "Go ahead, steady yourself and tell me what is so important that you break protocol to contact me instead of the Council."

Wyndam-Pryce froze as he considered the implications. "Oh Lord... this 'was' a break in protocol, a disregard of the proper chain of command." The double went down in a gulp.

"Well Wesley, what is it?" Douglas prodded.

"Sir... Uncle Douglas, may I be assured of your consideration of my situation in regard to this conversation?"

Douglas leaned forward. "Your situation? You are The Watcher for God's sake. A plum assignment to say the least and you sit here as if you were a condemned man."

"In a way I am 'condemned' or just simply damned." Wesley ran his hand back through his hair and squinted for a second as the alcohol hit his brain. "It's not common knowledge but the Slayer has... resigned."

"Resigned?! How? It is a calling, a birthright... one cannot... oh my God." With the best performance this side of Broadway Conrad-Chaney allowed his voice to fade out in feigned shock over the news. He reached over and laid his hand on Wesley's forearm. "What happened? Does the Council know?"

"Yes Sir. Her resignation came about over the Council's refusal to help a vampire. She has always been headstrong but controllable - after a fashion. But this was, in her foolish opinion the straw that broke the camel's back." Wesley went silent as the barkeep arrived with another round.

Conrad-Chaney pushed both glasses toward Wesley and nodded at him. "You need them more than I do Wesley." He glanced out of the corner of his eye to make sure the barkeeper was moving out of earshot before adding. "What did the Council do?"

"They told me to stay and keep in close contact with her and slowly bring her back into the fold." Wesley bowed his head. "I have failed on both counts, but in a way I feel that is why I was sent in the first place."

"Rubbish."

Wesley took another healthy sip and halfway raised his head. Douglas had again leaned forward in his seat and was sitting there twisting one end of his mustache between his fingers. "Uncle Douglas, I replaced a man who almost twenty years my senior. A man who's downfall was due to his lax discipline from the onset, which set the wheels of this tragedy in motion. I believe that I was chosen because my youth, inexperience and attention to detail and standards would not sit well with a Slayer who has always been given free rein." He straightened up and looked his Uncle in the eye. "So I fail, as planned... and a new Watcher is assigned, one who's temperament lies halfway between Mr. Giles' and my own. This one the Slayer will accept because he or she is not me, and in the same token is also not the one who replaced her beloved Mr. Giles."

"Rubbish!" Conrad-Chaney repeated.

"Sir I have given this a lot of tho..." Douglas silenced his nephew with a wave of his hand. "Again lad, I say... rubbish. You were chosen because you are what this Slayer needs and I might add, that is not chapter and verse of the regulations read to her." He mumbled something under his breath and stared out the window for a moment. "Wesley, you were chosen because of your youth and inexperience. Because you are a young man and she is a young woman."

"I'm not following this line of reasoning." Wesley said as he allowed himself a nervous sip of scotch.

"It's their own fault. They should have told you how to approach the situation." Douglas raised an eyebrow. "It was assumed that you would be sleeping with her within a fortnight of your arrival."

Wesley choked. "Wha-what d-d-did you... say?"

"You heard me. The reasoning was that she would fall for your 'charm'."

"That's... ridiculous." Wyndam-Pryce said with a nervous laugh. "She barely tolerates my presence in Sunnydale, refuses to listen, will not abide by my judgments. Really Uncle Douglas, that is the most asinine theory I have ever heard."

"Shouldn't be. Lord! Look at you! Young, strong, handsome, intelligent - you should have swept her off her feet." Conrad-Chaney "hurrumped" and rolled his eyes upward as if asking deliverance. "When I was your age I had half your looks and twice your girth and I still had any lady I desired at my beck and call."

Wesley finished the first drink and reached out to the second. "My only instruction was: 'remedy the situation'."

"Well now you know what the intended prescription was, so what is standing in your way?"

"It's not that shimple, there are other 'forces' involved." Wesley's hand trembled a bit in a combination of apprehension and lightheadedness as he held the third double in five minutes to his lips and drained it. "You see sir and this is not for, for.." His brow furrowed as his mind went looking for the proper word. "...not for you to tell anyone, but Mr. Giles is shtill in the picture."

"What?" The question came as a growl.

"Shtill in Sunnydale, he is shtill there."

Douglas rubbed his hand across his chin and took an exaggerated glance around. "Is this why you have contacted me?"

"Yes sir, the murder I shpoke of yesterday? Mr. Giles..."

"Who did he kill this time?"

The empty shot glass fell from Wesley's fingers. "This time? That sheems quite... plural."

"Of course it's plural!" Douglas' face twisted up as the waiter approached with a heaping tray of appetizers. He grumbled and gave the man a 'hurry up and go' motion as the food was placed onto the table. Wesley raised a finger and requested "One more pleash."

"Not until you eat something." Douglas countered as he dismissed the waiter with a wave of the hand. The barest touch of a smile crossed his lips as he considered his next move. He composed himself into the picture of concern and tapped the table to get Wesley's full attention. "Have you ever read that bugger's file?"

Wesley shook his head 'no'. "I'm not authsure.. authsur... rized. Oh hell - allowed to she those. I was told shumethings, but..." He took a deep breath and pulled a crab cake over onto his plate. "I should eat shumpthing."

"Splendid idea lad. You eat and listen to me. Rupert Giles is a devil..."

"He does sheem to have a temper, but not a.."

Douglas' voice took on a hiss of conspiracy. "Shut up and listen! He has neither conscience, nor the first glimmer of morals. A loose cannon who barely got the assignment due to the fact that Merrick, due to some premonition, posted a letter saying that he though Giles would be a perfect choice for this Slayer if and when he should die in the near future." He paused and mumbled loudly to himself. "Why didn't those fools make sure that sodding butcher was gone before sending a...."

The clatter of Wesley's fork on the floor told him the comment had been noted. Douglas got up and moved to the seat beside Wesley. He put a hand on his nephew's shoulder and steadied him. "Listen to me Wesley, first we are going to eat; then we are going back to my hotel where you can sober up. We need to put two clear heads together to decide what is going on here."

The next forty minutes was a blur for Wyndam-Pryce. He managed to get the better part of a crab cake down and what seemed like a gallon of coffee. Every time he tried to question his Uncle he was silenced with a hard look. "Who did he kill this time?" That question bounced back and forth through his brain. "This time!" Wesley shuddered. He had heard whisperings about Giles' past. Something about a wild youth involving black sorcery and he knew the story about his illegitimate son. "I should have pried deeper, should have known that something else was there."

"Shall we go?" Douglas asked while replacing his wallet into his jacket pocket and eyeing the empty plates for a crumb he might have missed.

"Yes... but first a diversion to the facilities." Wesley mumbled as he stood up. "Oh God..." The room wobbled in tandem with his knees as he concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. Douglas put his arm around him and helped guide him out of the bar. He positioned his nephew in front of the men's room door and pushed him through. "Chuck if you have to. I'd rather it be here than in your vehicle where the sour smell would be overwhelming."

"I wish you would not have said..." Wesley groaned as he went through the door, his face turning a peculiar shade of pale green.

Douglas' lip curled up in a half smile as his hand went to his pocket and he pulled out Wesley's lifted wallet. "Let's see here... do you still have that annoying habit of writing little notes to yourself? He rummaged through the wallet, humming to himself as he pulled out a small piece of paper. "Cancel Vermont booking." Conrad-Chaney arched an eyebrow. "So he's changed his mind about attending." He grunted over this information, stuffed the paper back in its place and waited on the retching noises to cease issuing from the other side of the door. He was almost ready to go in and check when Wesley reappeared, his previous light green complexion replaced by an odd gray tone, but at least he was walking a bit straighter.

Without a word Wesley dropped his keys into Douglas' outstretched palm and again accepted a steadying hand as they continued out into the parking lot, never noticing the wallet being slipped back onto his person. The trip back to Fisherman's Wharf was made in silence as Wesley tried to fight off a sick headache. Why did he do this to himself? The question shot through his brain sending the scotch born goblins trilling behind his eyes. "May we stop at the chemist's? I would like something for my head."

"I take it you really are not a drinker?"

"No Sir... I rarely drink... to excess or otherwise."

Douglas pulled up in front of the hotel. "I can see why. There is a small shop off the lobby that sells all variations of remedies, go on in and I will meet you there."

"Wonderful." Wesley murmured as he got out of the van. He entered the hotel and found his way to the sundries shop and purchased the first bottle with the words "extra strength" on the label.

"Well, let's go on up, get some more coffee in you and see if we can figure this one out."

Wesley nodded and followed his Uncle up to his room his first stop being the bathroom where he filled a water glass and downed two then a third capsule. He washed his face and hands and calmed himself before joining his Uncle at the small table in the corner of the hotel room. "Uncle Douglas..." He began as a blush began to redden his cheeks. "...I must apologize for my embarrassing behavior."

"Forget about it, as if I have never been pissed as a fart!" Douglas countered as he motioned for Wesley to sit. "I have called room service for some tea and dry toast. It will work wonders." He folded his hands and rested them on the table. "Now lad, since we are away from prying eyes and ears, tell me what has happened beginning with the Slayer's alleged resignation."

"It goes back before that Sir. As I said before, even though this Mr. Giles has been sacked he still remains the Slayer's mentor. Buffy only pretends to listen to me and even then it is exclusively with Mr. Giles' stamp of approval." Wesley paused and waited for a response but his Uncle only nodded for him to continue.

"Consequently he has me by the short and curlies. To remain in contact with the Slayer I must tolerate his presence and hope he sees fit to inform me of her activities. To stay on his good side I have stored the lion's share of his library in my flat and I try not be pushy. This has been the scenario since June... oh damn, I should be honest, this has been the situation in one form or the other since I arrived."

"She will not contact you at all?"

"Yes and no. I look her up at least once a week to let her know that I am still there and waiting for her to return to her senses. It does not go over well." Wesley sighed loudly. "But last Thursday she did call me regarding this murder. It seemed that she and her roommate had been targeted by what could be called a 'stalker' who put a device into their computer. When the authorities checked into it they found this man murdered in a broken down rental outside of town. His name was Ethan Rayne and he was at one time a close friend of Mr. Giles. The Slayer called me from the morgue where she had been taken to identify the corpse."

"Ethan Rayne." Douglas' brow furrowed. "Why does that ring a bell?"

Wesley took off his glasses and began to clean them. "Well Sir, there was more than one mention in Mr. Giles' section of the Watcher's Diary about a certain 'E. R.' causing adventures. I confronted Mr. Giles and he confirmed that this was the same man. So there is a connection... and that is why I (ahem) contacted you."

"What are you alluding to?"

The tone of the question made Wesley flinch. "Was Ethan Rayne connected with the Council in any way?"

"Have you gone stark raving mad?" Douglas barked. "Are you asking me if the Council sent a operative! Where in the.." His fist hit the table, nearly tipping it over. "... HELL DID YOU.."

"Sir! I didn't.." Wesley pushed his chair back away from the table and rapidly reapplied his glasses.

Conrad-Chaney suddenly drove his fist into his palm. "Giles! This is his idea is it not? What other lies and fantasies has he put in your head as you allow him to lead you around by the balls?!" He heaved out of the chair and began to pace. "If anything this is his own black hearted doings coming back to bite him in the arse."

Wesley's voice cracked as he asked. "What do you mean by that? And by what you said earlier?"

"You have been honest with me, so I will be honest with you. Rupert Giles is a scheming criminal. I know of three instances where the Council of Watchers had to come in and make a body disappear. His original position in the organization was not that of Watcher, it was the same as mine."

"Information Intelligence." Wesley whispered.

"Yes, now I confess I have done things which I am not proud of. But they had to be done for there was facts we had to know, but I have never stooped to his level." Douglas laid a hand on Wesley's shoulder. "There was one incident in Morocco, he used an informant... held the poor bastard until he was a dry husk then..." He walked away shaking his head.

"Then what? Tell me!"

"Officially, the man was killed by outside sources." Douglas answered as he turned back toward his nephew. "But the truth is that Giles contracted the killing, used local scum with which he had dealings with. He didn't pull the trigger, but the blood is still on his hands."

Wesley felt a cold chill run up his spine. "How was that discerned?"

Douglas gave a gallows smile. "Mercenaries don't carve a mark of subordination onto their victims so they sit there waiting to get their brains blown out."

"Jesus God!" Wesley went paler than he already was. "That is what happened, that man was marked."

"Steady lad! Are you sure?!"

A knock on the door caused Wyndam-Pryce to almost jump out of his skin. Douglas waved his hand in a 'settle down' motion. "It's only room service." Wesley took off his glasses and rubbed his face as his mind tried to make sense out of everything. "So Giles is behind this." He whispered, uncertain if he was making a statement or asking a question.

Douglas rolled the cart up to the table and poured Wesley a cup of tea. "Tell me, do you know any of his associates? Do you know who he deals with? God! I wish I could remember where I had heard that name before."

"Mr. Rayne was a figure from his youth, sorcery was involved but I do not know the details. As for associates, besides for the small circle in Sunnydale and his..." Wesley tugged on his shirt collar. "...his son. I can't think of any.."

"Son?" Douglas interrupted.

"Yes Sir, he has a son. He is in his early twenties, American."

"I don't recall anything about him having any children." Douglas grunted while scratching his chin. "American you say? What does he do?"

Wesley stared downward into his tea cup.

"I asked you a question."

"Matthew is a hunter." Wesley mumbled still not daring to raise his head.

Douglas reseated himself across the table and pulled his tea cup over to himself. He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Please... please, don't tell me you mean vampire hunter. Please don't tell me that this boy is with the Alliance."

Wesley raised his head, nodded and waited for the explosion, but his Uncle merely rested his forehead in a cupped palm and groaned.

"P-p-perhaps we... we should call the Council." Wesley stammered.

"No... not until we know for sure what is going on, not until we are sure of the players." Douglas said softly as he raised his head. "I will call my overseer and tell him... tell him. Oh hell if I know." He bit his lip and looked away as if deep in thought. "I will tell him this Ethan had put a bid in on the manuscript which I was here to purchase and ask... ah... mmmm."

"Ask for additional funding." Wesley interjected. "And also bring up the fact you have heard the name before and are curious as to who this other bidder might represent!"

"Very good lad.. I like that." Douglas grabbed a pen and pad and wrote down Ethan's name. "Now tell me more about this computer thing."

"Well it seemed to collect the messages sent by the Slayer and a Miss Rosenberg."

"Who is that?"

"Willow, Willow Rosenberg. The Slayer's best friend and confidant."

"Best friend?" Douglas suddenly looked like he had been struck. "That could be it."

"What? What could be it?"

Douglas tapped the pen onto the table. "Let's say that this Willow is in danger, what would the Slayer do?"

Wesley found himself with a growl in his voice. "Anything, she would do anything... take my word for it."

"Even leave with her 'mentor'?"

"Leave?" Wesley's eyes shot open wide as he confirmed. "She has done itbefore. You don't think that he is planning on taking the Slayer away?"

"It's the only plausible scenario lad. What better poke in the eye to the Council than taking away their Chosen One? Especially if she goes willingly to save her friend." Douglas smacked his knuckles into his palm. "That is it... and this late Mr. Rayne was a merely an unfortunate pawn." He hissed out an exhale. "We must find the evidence of this, we must! But with him around, it will be dangerous."

Wesley's mind was reeling over the information. Small things suddenly began to make sense. The hard-edged confrontation with Balthazar; the overt disregard to all proper procedure which was so uncharacteristic of a true Watcher; his taking Buffy's side in every instance which purposely drew her closer to him.

"If only we could get him out of the picture for a few days."

Douglas' comment registered. "We can! Uncle Douglas, he is leaving in...in a little over two weeks for his son's wedding!"

"Alone?" Douglas asked hopefully.

"Ah... no. Willow is going, but Buffy has declined the invitation and this caused me to also decline."

"You were invited? Why? How involved are you? Is there something you haven't told me?"

The look which accompanied the barrage of questions made Wesley wish for the safety of the Hellmouth. "Aah... you see... ah.."

"SPEAK UP!"

"Yes Sir... the Alliance had an 'incident' in Sunnydale, they lost two of their own and it became a joint operation. I met his son during this and we slightly hit it off... somewhat."

Conrad-Chaney flung his hands upward and snorted. Wesley's voice became a squeak. "There is not a friendship... I am sure that I was merely invited as a courtesy to his father."

"That is neither here nor there, but I would have hoped for more common sense out of you than to get involved with the sodding Alliance. The important thing is that the Slayer and yourself are together in Sunnydale while this bastard is out of town." Douglas poured himself another cup of tea as if to steady his nerves. "Now, I am going to ask you to do something that I hope I never regret."

"What is it Sir?"

"If you feel up to the challenge, I want you to go back to your station and... and play his deadly game of cat and mouse."

Wesley nervously tapped his fingers on the side of his tea cup. "In what way?"

"First, do not tell a soul about this conversation...lie out your arse if anyone inquires. Then keep an eye on this man and find out his itinerary and all other pertinent details of his daily activities. For God's sake do not allow the Slayer to go off with him." He wrote a number on the bottom of the pad. "As of tomorrow I will be staying with an old friend North of here. Keep in contact with me using pay phones. For my part I will ask around concerning his victim and any other information I can dredge up."

With a nod Wyndam-Pryce accepted the assignment.

Douglas waved his hand toward the bed. "Now, I want you to rest until you are in a condition to drive. I'm going to go downstairs and make some calls.... leave you with some peace and quiet for a few hours."

"Thank you Uncle Douglas."

Conrad-Chaney stood and made his way to the door, pausing there with his hand on the knob he turned back toward his nephew. "You do realize the danger involved?"

"Yes... but it is my duty." Wesley said as he pushed his chair back and stood. Douglas gave a grim smile. "Very well lad, get some rest." With this he left the room softly closing the door behind him. As he lumbered down the hall his smile morphed into a twisted sneer. "What a fuckwit!"