Continuation

[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 name tag 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 Tea House 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 tobegin 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 trouble makers, 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 teams psychiatrist suggested.

"Except Sunnydale, California has 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 coffee cake. 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 tea cup. There were, it appeared, things about women that he understood better than Mr. Giles, 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 door bell rang long and hard, saving him from this discussion. This was followed by rapid pounding on the door.