Title: Familial Glamours
Author: viciouswishes
Rating: R
Spoilers/Setting: Christmas Eve Post-“Not Fade Away.”
Summary: Wesley and Faith attend Christmas at the Wyndam-Pryce's.
Notes: Beta: shakegirl. For: bouncymonkey. Request: Faith/Wes and going to the Wyndam-Pryces for Christmas

Familial Glamours

Steadying himself with a cane, Wesley walked to the door of his parents’ estate with Faith’s arm linked through his. He’d gone to see her when he landed. She’d been working with the Slayers, specifically those with problems adjusting to their newfound powers like Dana. He was proud of her.

She’d taken him out to dinner that night, expressing her gratitude for his living through Angel’s battle. Even if he had to rely on a cane, at least he was alive. And he hadn’t realized how much he needed someone who knew the story as there was no trace of Illyria, Angel, or Spike. Gunn had been buried under the sycamores next to Cordelia.

At the end of the night, she’d invited him in and pushed him down on the couch, kissing him and telling him how ‘fucking’ mad she’d be if he’d died and not to scare her like that again. With some stumbling, they’d managed to make it to the bedroom, and she rode him until they were passed out in post-coital bliss.

“Hello, mum,” Wesley greeted Kathryn Wyndam-Pryce with a kiss on her cheek. “This is Faith.”

Faith smiled and slightly chatted with Kathryn, who seemed to accept the Slayer. Earlier, Wesley had handpicked Faith’s clothing: a blue turtleneck and the only pair of jeans in her closet without holes in them. Hopefully his father wouldn’t require them to attend midnight mass, but knowing his luck, they would.

As Roger walked into the hall, he raised an eyebrow when he saw Faith. Wesley had informed him that morning that he’d be bringing a guest with him, but not whom. “Wesley, Faith.” Roger only nodded his head.

A servant took their coats as they followed Wesley’s parents into the dinning room. The meal was laid out in exquisite course after course; no doubt Kathryn had lent a personal touch to the order and decorum of the meal. Much to Wesley’s relief, everyone managed to avoid uncomfortable subjects such as Angel, Sunnydale, or the restructuring of the Watchers Council.

As the meal ended, Roger wiped the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin and cleared his throat. “I assume you and Faith will be attending mass with us tonight.”

“Of course, father.” Wesley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Many of his parents’ close friends attended the same Anglican church, and with Faith’s clothing not being proper, it certainly could lead to scandal among the church ladies; not that he cared, but he knew it would be another notch of disappointment for his father.

“Faith,” Kathryn smiled, “since you don’t have enough time to run back home, why don’t we go upstairs and see if we can find something fitting, perhaps a skirt, that you could wear to mass.”

Wesley nodded his head at Faith, assuring Faith that yes, his mother was once again fixing his mistakes, covering them up in front of his father. At least, he could avoid the argument.

After the women had gone, Roger ushered his son into his study for a post-dinner brandy. He handed Wesley a glass with a slight frown on his face. “She’s not quite the lady I would’ve picked for you.”

“Yes,” Wesley took a sip from the glass, admiring how the liquor felt, “I’m not sure if she’s what I would have picked for myself. Or if indeed this is anything more.”

“Then obviously, you haven’t seen the way she looks at you.”

Wesley blinked in surprise – was his father actually encouraging Faith’s affections? “She’s simply glad that I’m here.”

“And not dead,” Roger added. “It was very foolish of you to go against such a renowned sorcerer without any backup. You should have at least taken the thing that Burkle woman turned into.”

“Illyria had other members of the Circle to destroy.” Wesley took another sip. He didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want to be in the same room as his father. He almost wished for cousins and aunts as a distraction. Even for his strong-willed Aunt Ruth to fight with his father every year over the politics of the Council and how Watcher children should be raised.

“I see.” Roger ran his finger over the cover of the book on his coffee table. A very rare anthology of spells that Wesley can’t help wonder if he took from the Council library. “You seem to have found a knack with that Slayer. A pity that you didn’t exploit this aspect to keep her in line during the Sunnydale incident.”

“I’m not exploiting her,” Wesley almost shouted. His glass clanked as he sat it down. “Besides, not only was Faith a minor in California, but she’s also not the same person she once was.”

“A Slayer and her Watcher are above the mortal law.”

“Are we, father? Isn’t that how Faith got herself into trouble the first time?” Both Wesley and his father turned their heads at the sharp knock on the study door.

“What do you think, Wes? Do I look acceptable?” Winking at him, Faith twirled slowly, showing off the fullness of the white wool skirt loaned to her by Kathryn.

“Went through a few of my old things,” Kathryn smiled, “it seems that once, a very long time ago, Faith and I were around the same size.”

“Once upon a time ago?” Faith scoffed. “You probably wore this last week.”

Kathryn chuckled in response to Faith’s remark. Wesley was surprised to find how understanding his mother was of Faith’s off-brand humor. He supposed that she was glad to have him home and in one piece.

“Look at the time,” Roger interrupted them. “Reverend Windsor isn’t the young man he once was and starts the service at 10 instead of the traditional midnight mass.”

“Roger, you barely stay up pass 11 yourself; we’re all getting old.” Kathryn walked toward Wesley who was now standing. She wrapped her arm around the opposite side from his cane. “Let’s get our coats.”

The church was almost exactly as Wesley remembered it from his childhood, only the parishioners seemed to age. Smells of incense and the evergreen Christmas tree filled the halls, and he glanced up at the stain glass portraying the miracles of Jesus. The light of candles illuminated the large hall.

Faith handed him a white candle with an upside plastic cup to guard against hot wax dripping on their hands. He almost preferred it when the wax did and always found it interesting that the church never sprung for something classier as protection. They filed into the pews with his parents.

The reverend gave the service mostly in Latin, only bothering with English for his message of faith, hope, and the holy child. Faith indeed. He smiled and looked to his left, taking Faith’s hand in his.

When the parishioners rose and lined up for communion, they followed in suit. He wanted to kiss her, to thank her for her generous behavior. But he knew that he would later, taking her into his bed. He tipped the communal cup, letting the wine pass through his lips.

Once they are seated again, he watched as she murmured the traditional holiday songs. A smile crossed his face when she tipped the plastic cup, letting the candle singe the edges of it, just enough for a ring of darkness.