One hand straightens wire-rimmed glasses, a calm and straight-backed reflection gazing coolly back at him from within the pane of the mirror. He pauses, straightens his tie with a hand that trembles.
"You look smashing." Sally looks him up and down appraisingly, smiles. Her arm around his waist, she leans under his arm, smooths his lapels with her fingers. "Best-looking Watcher on the Council."
"I'm not a Watcher yet." He reminds her quietly, running his fingers through her hair. Never will be. After all, if he could never please his father, how on earth is he meant to be of any use to the council? Will they beat him too, if he fails? Father was on the Council, was one of them. What if they were all like him?
"Don't worry so much, Wes." Sally's green eyes meet his, her arms tighten around him a little bit more. She knows what he is thinking. She can see it in his expression, the concealed fear, unease, the pain. "You'll be a great Watcher."
He tries not to snort in disbelief. He was useless as a child. Useless as a teenager. Useless in every sense of the word. Why would he be any good at the hallowed job of Watcher? He knows he can barely hold a conversation with a girl, let alone train one.
A quizzical brow arches.
"What?"
"You're doing it again, Wes." Her tone carries amusement, but a chastising note he has grown accustomed too.She never tells him what to do. Just what he shouldn't do. Like thinking about his father when he had something important to do.
He sighs, lays his cheek against her dark mane. "I can't help it, Sall." Always says the same, always tries to hide it. Always fails.
"I know, I know." She pats his stomach fondly. No longer a couple, she is his truest friend, knowing his weaknesses. "But how else can you prove the nasty bastard wrong? You go in there and be the best damn Watcher they have ever had."
"But what if..."
"Ah!" She raises a finger, silences him. "No more negativity, Wes. Remember. You promised you would be positive. It doesn't hurt. Not everything is bad."
He gives her a small smile. "Remind me why I live with an outdated hippie, Sall. I can't think of any good reasons."
"I am not a hippie, you cheeky bugger!" Slapping him lightly on the cheek, she pauses, looks down at her kalleidescopic clothing. Winces. "Well...maybe a little bit." She admits, gives him a sheepish look. "At least I don't smoke anything though..."
He chuckles. "That's true. You just try and play your guitar and proclaim that everything is happy and wonderful." He pauses, frowns. "Are you sure you haven't been smoking anything?"
"I happen to play the guitar very well." Indignantly tapping him on the chest, she narrows her eyes. "I practise a lot."
"Um...it sounds like it..."
"And what's that supposed to mean, my boy?" My boy. No. Not again. Its not father. It's Sall. Just Sall. Not father. "Wes?"
The twenty year old lifts his ashen face, swallows hard. "Sorry." He tries to say the single words, butchers it. Clears his throat. "I...I better go. It wouldn't do to be late for my first day in the Council headquarters."
He tries to pull away, feels Sally loosen her grip. "Good luck." He barely registers the words, blinking away the image of his father mockingly sneering at him. Late? You think late is all you have to worry about? I have friends there, my boy. Friends who are waiting for you.
Hand shakily touching the door handle, he freezes, can't move. See, my boy. Couldn't even get out the door. What kind of a man are you anyway? They'll enjoy showing you how to take your knocks like a man, see you blubbering like a girl.
"Wesley." His first lover's voice shatters the nightmarish vision in front of him. He glances back, sees her face tighten. She knows. Always knows. "You get your arse to that office and show your father just how wrong he was."
He forces a taut smile. "I can do that." Strange. His voice sounds like a whisper. Not a defiant shout like he hoped.
She crosses the floor swiftly, reaches up and touches her lips lightly to his. "You can do this, Wesley." Her words give him the reassurance, the nerve he needs. "Now, go, before I phone your mum and tell her you won't let me out."
"You're a frightful liar." He returns the light, hesitant kiss. Turns the door handle and pulls the door open. "I'll see you later...won't I?"
"Naturally, dear." One hand caresses his cheek gently. "I'll have your dinner on the table for you, when you get back. A fish supper from the chippie sound good to you?" He can't help but laugh. "I'll take that as a yes."
*
"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?" Taking the seat, the dark-haired young man swallows hard as the older Watcher's cool gaze sweeps over him. "Ah yes..." Looking down at the sheet of paper in front of him, the man nodded slowly. "I seem to recall your father..."
No.
Not yet. Not already.
Blue-grey eyes glance down at trembling, pin-stripe-covered legs. Hands rest on knees, knuckles whitening, flesh bruising. He raises his eyes again, forces a tight, agonising smile. "I think he was a Watcher, sir."
"Yes." The cold-looking man nodded gravely. "I didn't know him too well, as an associate, but never mind." The man rises, extands a hand to Wesley. "I'm Quentin Travers." His handshake is firm, tight. Wesley doesn't flinch. He's had worse. "You're starting this course a little late..."
Wesley nods, memory flicking through the carefully fabricated lies for the one he had selected in bed that morning. "We had some...family troubles." He replies guardedly, smiles his disarming and charming smile. "My mother was ill and I had the duty of taking care of my siblings, while she was indisposed."
Yes sir. That sounds so much better than the truth. Well, y'see, my father got out of jail on good behaviour, found out where we had moved to, battered the hell out of my mother and threatened my sister while I was at university and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.
"Nevertheless," Great, Wesley. Failing already. Looks like father was right about you, doesn't it, old boy? "The calling of the Watcher is an extremely selective one. Family crisis should not interfere with it." The man pauses. "However, since your grades and examination result were of such a high calibre, we will ignore one such slip."
"I understand, Sir." Wesley hides a smile. He has messed up once, but they are still keeping him where he is. Take that, father! "My mother is quite well now and I doubt I will be needed to aid them anymore."
Travers nods, pensive. He clearly deals with a lot of new arrivals. "In the future." He states, laying the sheet down. "I do not wish to hear about your family, your life or your past. You, young man, are a Watcher. Nothing but the Council matters now. You will respect our rules and restrictions and follow the Watcher's code to the word, unless you wish to find yourself...how can I put this? Unemployed. Are we at an understanding?"
Nodding hastily, Wesley stumbles over his words. "Yes, sir! I understand."
The room is immersed in silence, the older man replacing the younger's documents in a brown folder. Smiling coldly down at him. "Very well." He offers his hand to the younger again, gives him a tight handshake. "I'm sure you will prove adequate."
Adequate.
Well, its a big step up from useless.
Wesley smothers a smile, nods, turns and walks from the room. Closing the massive oaken doors behind him, he fights the urge to punch air and whoop with delight. He's going to be a Watcher and he's not useless anymore!
Out of Father's Shadow.