Gunn pushed open the door and yelled into the lobby. "Hey -- who wants tacos? Buenos, not Bernie's." They'd figured there was an eighty percent chance Angel wouldn't even have managed to get Wesley dressed to go out, by the time they got back from running errands, so they'd stopped for fast food, just in case. There was no answer to his shout, though.

He looked at Cordelia, who shrugged, and walked past him, carrying her own fast food bags. Angel's car was still parked out front, but that didn't mean anything, if Angel had actually succeeded in getting Wesley dressed, and they'd taken off through the sewer tunnels as they'd been talking about.

Still, Wes preferred his tacos hot, not microwaved, so Gunn gave another shout on the off-chance that Wes and Angel were in hearing distance, and just deeply involved in some game or other. Knowing Wesley, it would be something they'd want to take embarrassing photos of Angel doing. "Wes?"

"I'm here." The voice was very quiet, and Gunn had to look around for a moment, before he saw Wesley sitting on a large chair that had been pulled up behind the front desk. His head barely reached over the top.

"Hey, what's up? We brought tacos." Gunn held up the bag in his hand.

Wesley barely glanced up. When he did so, Gunn caught sight of something. "What happened to your neck?" There was a bandage there, taped in place with first aid tape. Right where you'd expect.... Gunn shook his head. "Where's Angel?" Probably off getting Wesley some placate-him junk food, or a book to read.

"He startled me," Wesley said quietly.

"Huh?" Cordelia sat her own sack of food on the desk, and leaned against it. "Eew, how'd the office get so filthy?"

Gunn looked at the floor, then back up at Wesley. "English?" he asked slowly.

Wide, horror-struck eyes looked up at him. "We were playing. He was going to turn me so I could be Spike's uncle and order him around. But...he startled me." Wesley held up the object he'd been holding in his hand.

A pencil.

Cordelia gasped, and pointed at the pile of dust on the floor. "Oh my god...."

At which point Wesley burst out laughing.

Gunn stared at him, not sure what to think. Angel couldn't possibly have turned him into a little miniature evil Wesley before... Then Wesley looked up at him, and Gunn saw his eyes. "You have no *idea* how dead you are, do you?" Gunn asked the giggling child.

"Oh, but you should..." Wesley succumbed to another fit of laughter, then continued. "Should've seen your faces... Especially Cordelia..."

Cordelia was walking towards Wesley with a disturbing look on her face. "Wesley? Where's Angel?"

"Hi. Somebody bellowed?"

Gunn swung his head around and saw Angel standing at the top of the basement stairs, a basket of laundry in his arms. Wes was off on another giggle-fit, so Gunn took a step towards Angel. He looked as clueless as usual -- but then again... "Tell me you had nothing to do with this?"

"Nothing to do with what?" Angel looked from Gunn, to Cordelia, to Wesley, who was giggling obliviously to his impending oblivion. "I didn't make him laugh," Angel said in a doubtful tone.

Gunn could tell that what little ability Angel had at subtlety was *not* being put into play, here. He really had no idea what Wesley had done. Gunn nodded. "Good. Then you can help us hide the body."

Angel blinked. "What body?"

"That body." Cordelia pointed at Wesley. Angel set down the basket of clothes, and headed towards Wesley. No questions asked. Gunn wondered what kind of morning Angel had had.

"Hey!" Wesley suddenly noticed them advancing on him, and he leapt up and dove for the floor beneath the desk.

"Can't hide from us, Wes," Gunn told him. "We outnumber you, we're bigger than you, and we can grab you without looking at your eyes!" He leaned over the top of the desk and fished around underneath it.

"You'll never take me alive!" Wesley shouted, and Gunn felt something rap his knuckles.

"Ow! Dammit, Wes, I'm gonna--"

"You're gonna what? Wanker!"

"Yeah, you oughtta know." Gunn smirked. Then he got stern, again. "Give up, Wes. Angel and Cordelia have you boxed in. There's no way out." There was no reply. Gunn didn't want to reach in again -- maybe he could get Angel to do it. "Wesley? You surrender?" he asked. There was still no reply. Then, very softly, he heard a sniff. "Wes?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't *mean* to scare you. It was just... Angel left me all alone up here... and I was bored, and I couldn't find the Persivous text, and Tex Avery isn't on until five, and... when you looked at my band-aid like that... I just couldn't help myself. Please don't be mad at me."

The small, high voice *sounded* sincere, but Gunn wasn't buying it -- not so soon after being called a wanker. No matter how true the accusation might be, considering that he didn't have any other options these days. Still, Gunn didn't have to let *Wes* know he wasn't taken in.

"I'm not mad at you, Wesley," he said, sighing deeply. "Come on out of there, and have some tacos."

"I don't believe you."

"Really. Fresh tacos. No lettuce. Extra cinnamon crisps."

There was a pause. Then, "I don't believe you." The tone was hesitant, though, if still dripping with poor pitiful me.

"Really, Wes. I won't do anything," Gunn promised. "It was just a joke -- pretty good one, at that." His appreciation of the joke wasn't entirely faked -- it *was* a good joke. If it hadn't been for the heart attacks he and Cordelia had suffered.

"Really?" came the still-pathetic voice.

"Would I lie to you?" He made it sound as serious and intimate as he could. As though the fate of the world rested on Wesley believing him. He was rewarded by Wesley's head poking out from under the desk. Wesley looked up at him, with his eyes extra-big and 'please mister, may I have more gruel' begging. Gunn grabbed onto his arm and helped him up. Then he tightened his grip. "Didn't say nothing about *Cordelia* not doing anything, though."

Cordelia smiled, and folded her arms. "You know, Wesley, I don't believe in spanking children." She smiled even more brightly, and Gunn shivered.

"Really?" Wesley perked up. "That's wonde-- I mean, very enlightened of you. Shall I mention I'm not *really* a child? I'm merely under the geas of a spell although I can't actually be held responsible for my actions, despite my actual status as a non-child...."

Cordelia just kept smiling.

Wesley stared at her for a moment, then he looked up at Gunn. "I'd rather you took revenge, please?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't break a promise to you."

Cordelia was gently tugging Wesley's arm out of Gunn's grasp. "Of course I don't believe in spanking children. I think only adults should spank." She began hauling Wesley out of the lobby and towards the little parlor that they'd turned into a TV room.

"Angel! Gunn! Help me!"

"What's that? I can't hear you. I'm too busy being a wanker," Gunn responded as they disappeared out of sight.

"And I'm too busy cleaning myself up off the lobby floor," Angel said, grabbing a broom, and setting to work doing just that.

After a minute, Wesley's general cries of "No!" and "Help me!" gave way to louder ones. "Cordelia! Please! I'll be good! I'll never ever do anything terrible or evil, ever ever again! You can't *do* this to meeeee!"

Gunn gave Angel a worried look. After all, he *knew* what Cordelia was capable of. She was the one who had masterminded Operation Paint Gunn's Truck Day-Glo Green, for one thing.

Angel was merely smiling. Then, as the screams went on, he began to actually laugh. Hard. Then harder. Then he was almost choking, and it took Gunn a second to remember that Angel *couldn't* choke, and he didn't have to try the Heimlich maneuver on the vampire, even though he *had* been eating a taco when he'd started laughing.

It was beyond eerie, and didn't help Gunn get over his fears for Wesley's safety in Cordelia's hands. "Hey, could you please stop that, man? It's freaky."

Angel nodded, but didn't seem to be able to stop, for a few seconds. Then the laughter gradually died down, with a few fits and spurts, every time he seemed to be about ready to talk. Finally, the vampire was silent, and took a deep breath. "Heh... sorry. She's... ha... she's making him watch QVC. The Jewelry and Fashion Hour. She's telling him she wants to call in."

Gunn stared at him in disbelief. Shaking his head, he just said, "Man, she must be pissed. That's just *mean*."

"You could go rescue him," Angel suggested, with a still-damn-freaky grin on his face.

"Are you kidding? No *way* am I going in there! The little rugrat can fend for himself." Gunn caught sight of the bag of food from Taco Bueno. It was gonna get cold before Cordelia let Wesley go. But taking his burrito and crisps to him *now*.... Hell, he'd just go buy more, when Cordy was through with him.

******************

Rupert was entertaining himself by thinking of training schedules and routines. Not because Buffy needed to sharpen her skills. He wasn't even thinking of the usual, present-day training handbooks. He was amusing himself by thinking of what had been in some of the older books. What he'd read in the USMC training manuals. Because as *soon* as he was grown up again, and could make Buffy do as he said, he was going to get her.

She was still laughing, though at least now she was trying to hide it.

He raised his hand, intending to wave it at her and at least *sound* somewhat threatening. Unfortunately, it was the hand holding the scrap of underwear they'd spelled to attempt to locate Ethan. The one she'd been laughing about in the first place. Again.

She stopped trying to hide her laughter. "Oh god-- get away from me with the dreaded Ethan-butt!" She slid a hand into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a cross, quicker that Quick Draw McGraw, whom Rupert had been watching on telly this afternoon while he ate his tea and cookies. "Back, foul Ethan-butt demon!"

Rupert tried very hard not to stamp his foot. "Stop that! These are perfectly clean underwear."

"I didn't say they weren't. That was 'foul' as in foul fiend of hell -- not foul as in Dawn hasn't washed her socks in a week again."

Rupert sniffed. "And it could be worse -- we could have drawn the short straw and gotten the part that Spike and Xander are holding."

They'd come up with the bright idea, this time, to cut the underwear up into three pieces and triangulate Ethan's position, keeping in touch with each other via walkie-talkie. Xander had somehow managed a straight face when he'd made the suggestion. Rupert had somehow managed not to throw a tantrum when he'd realized that, utterly perverted or not, it was actually a good idea. Anya, Dawn, and the little witches had gotten the elastic waistband. Buffy and Rupert and gotten the back, leaving Spike and Xander with the obvious remnant. Rupert shivered. Buffy, of course, just wrinkled her nose.

"You think we should get them something?" she asked as they walked down the well-lit sidewalk.

"Spike and Xander? Why ever would I want to buy something for them?"

"No, all three of them. Some kind of no-wedding present. What do you get for today's trendy menage a trois to celebrate them being officially not legally married to the dead member?"

"Involuntary commitment papers? By the way, vampire to your left."

"Thanks." Stake at the ready, Buffy hauled the skinny female vamp out of the shadows and dusted her with a minimum of inane chatter. Rupert was impressed. Of course, then she turned back to him. "No, really, though. Something they could use -- "

"I stand by my suggestion of commitment papers.'

"I was thinking of a copy of 'What to Expect When You're Expecting...' " Buffy said, jogging a few steps ahead so he couldn't jump up and threaten her with the dreaded underwear, in retaliation.

Rupert settled for glaring at her. "While I admit that thought provides some amusement, it also provides much more of something I can't properly put into English. I shall simply say 'ergk kgick ugic ig' and be glad my mum isn't here to wash my mouth out with soap. Besides, you're wrong."

"I'm wrong?" Buffy looked down at him with her best little girl look -- which, truly, had nothing on the four-year-old's version. Rupert wasn't impressed.

"They *are* legally married to Spike, now. Not in the human court of law, of course. But legal all the same." He glanced around, wondering where in God's name Ethan was hiding. He wanted to vent some frustration, and kicking Ethan in the shins should do nicely.

"But I thought Angel forged Spike's signature?"

"Doesn't matter. As Spike's Grand Sire, Angel is allowed to...er...marry Spike off to whomever or whatever he wishes. One wonders why he didn't do it years ago, marry him off to a nice toadstool and get him out of his hair."

He felt Buffy whap him on the head, lightly. "Be nice," she admonished.

"Whatever *for*? Since when are they nice to *me*?"

"Who bought you the biotechnic Lego robots?"

"They demolished my Lego castle -- again. As *adults*. It was only fair."

"Uh-huh. And the Batman shoes?"

"Xander bought them for himself, and they didn't fit."

"He thought he could squeeze his Sasquatch-feet into size threes? I don't think so, somehow."

"Oh, well, Xander, fine. But Spike? Since when wouldn't you want Spike married off to the nearest convenient lamp-post, and out of *your* hair?"

She stopped, and looked down at him. "Um. Well. " Rupert waited patiently. At last, she muttered, "He's... ahem... kinda-cute-now-that-he's-with-Xander-and-Anya-and-isn't-always-bothering-me..."

Rupert slipped his finger onto the 'talk' button of the walkie-talkie in his hand. "Excuse me? Did you just say Spike is *cute*?"

"I said *kinda* cute," Buffy corrected. Then her eyes narrowed. "Giles, that walkie-talkie had better not be--" Her eyes widened and she lunged. Laughing, Rupert sped away from her. He knew he'd never be able to run faster than she, but if he angled towards the vampire stalking the next alley, she'd get distracted long enough for him to remind her why they were out here -- reasons which had nothing to do with tickling one's Watcher.

He pointed as he ran by, shouting, "Vampire!" and only stopped when he heard Buffy stop and chastise the poor undead creature for interrupting her pursuit. He looked back to see Buffy standing near a large poof of dust. She turned to *him*, then, and took a step towards him.

Rupert smiled and took a step backwards, raising the scrap of underwear. "Now, Buffy, we oughtn't get distracted from locating Ethan."

"Oh, I'm not distracted. Not distracted at *all*." She took another step towards him. "I'm just thinking...maybe we need bait!"

"Er...bait? Buffy, I'm not sure what you're planning , but may I remind you that you promised you'd take care of me, if I went into this affair voluntarily, this time?"

She smiled brightly and twirled her stake in one hand. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

Rupert blindly thumbed the microphone button on the walkie-talkie and shouted, "Anya! Xander, Spike, anyone, help!" It hit him as the words left his mouth, how ridiculous they were. As if those three would be willing to help *him* against--

"What's wrong? Where are you?" Spike's voice came over the speaker instantly.

Followed by a crackle of static, and Dawn cutting in. "Giles? What's wrong? Where's Buffy? Are you okay?"

"Just tell us where you are -- we're on our way." That was Xander's voice, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a zipper being zipped.

Rupert stared at the little yellow walkie-talkie, wondering if perhaps it had been possessed by unseen spirits. Then it hit him even harder -- they thought he was serious. "Er... well... that is..."

Tara's voice cut in as soon as he lifted the button and played with the 'squelch' feature in order to procure some stalling-time. "Did you find Ethan?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Where *are* you?" Dawn asked, and Rupert sighed, guiltily. He took note that Buffy was doing an excellent job of stifling her laughter so she couldn't be heard over the walkie-talkie. He appreciated her lack of support, and was determined to remember it.

"It's all right. I just...panicked."

"You what?" Anya asked. Then, in a stage-whisper that was nonetheless amplified by the walkie-talkie, she asked, "Is he there now?"

"No, he isn't. It was just...Buffy. She was threatening to hold me upside-down." He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to see Buffy's face turning red as she tried to whoop silently with laughter and breathe at the same time.

There was no immediate response over the walkie-talkie. Rupert thought perhaps if he dropped it down the sewer, he could at least delay hearing what they'd have to say....

"I missed having my orgasm, for *that*?" came Spike's growl.

Four girlish "eeeeews" followed the comment. Then Willow snapped, "You two are *supposed* to be looking for Ethan!"

"We were! Er, are! We're searching every alleyway between here and North Avenue!" Spike countered.

"Spike, Xander, get your butts out onto the sidewalk and look for Ethan!" It was frightening how motherly even a four-year old Willow could sound. No one could do 'mad' like a mother. "And they'd better not be naked butts!" she added, and Rupert could hear Tara giggling in the background.

"In *this* neighborhood?" Xander was saying, but Spike cut him off, speaking over him, apparently directly into the microphone, since his voice was quite loud.

"Was that you coughing, Tara? Damn, I knew we shouldn't have let you come along. You're still delicate -- you should be home on the sofa with a nice hot cuppa."

"Spike, I'm fine. It's been two *days*. I'm not even a bit stuffy," came Tara's reply.

"Are you sure? Anya, feel her forehead..."

Rupert had the insanity to hope, for a moment, that their continuing diversion into the state of Tara's no-longer-existent illness would distract them from their sadly justified unhappiness with *him*. No such luck.

"I wanna know how come Giles gets to play with the walkie-talkies, and nobody's yelling at him -- you all yelled at *us* when we were playing suburban commando," Xander said over Spike's continued kvetching.

"Because I'm four," Rupert said blithely -- then realized he'd had his thumb on the 'talk' button. He moved his thumb and looked up at Buffy. "Please, I think I need to be put down for a nap."

She shook her head, though she didn't appear to be completely unsympathetic. "You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out. You're a highly trained Watcher -- you can deal with anything."

"Yes, I deal with most things by saying 'Buffy, kill it, please.' I'm not sure that will work in this case."

She thought for a moment, then said, "Well, we could always find Ethan. That will make everyone pretty much forget the numbskull things you're doing -- he does much more numbskully stuff, like sending us the statue in the first place."

He wasn't sure if Buffy were complimenting him, or not. He could never really tell, when she said things like this. However, she *was* right. "Very well. Let's continue looking -- and no using me for bait."

"You're no fun."

"I'm a great deal of fun. I just happen to be -- oo! Look!" He ran over to a store window and peered in.

Train sets. Gloriously huge sets, with tracks running the entire length of the window, around and back along one wall. The train was running now though the shop was closed; the proprietor was still inside.

The train was running through a mock-up of South London, as it had been over a century ago. Rupert noticed he had his nose plastered against the glass when Buffy asked, "Do you want me to hold you up?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "Well... only right-side-up."

There was an evil glint in her eye for a moment, but she merely picked him up and settled him on her hip, so he could see more clearly into the lighted display window. "Look -- right there, where the caboose is passing through? I used to live around there. I had a little bedsitter there, when I was in college."

"In the 1860's?" Buffy asked straightfaced, as she looked at the little card that gave the background information for the setting.

He blew a raspberry at her. "No, in the 1970's, Miss Smarty Pants."

"Back when you were seriously hanging out with Ethan and the rest of the acid kool-aid crowd?"

Rupert nodded. "Yes. You... you might have actually liked him, then."

"Why? Was he less annoying?"

"No, but he was cuter." Rupert slapped his hands over his mouth, but it was a bit too late, as Buffy looked down at him and laughed. He sighed again. "I'm going to be glad to be old, again." He looked harder at the model. Whoever had built it, must have lived in London -- or spent a great deal of time studying accurate photographs.

"Aww, but I *like* you this age. You're cuter, too."

Rupert gave Buffy a dirty look. She just grinned at him. "We should go look for Ethan," he reminded her, as if it hadn't been his fault they'd got derailed. As it were.

"All right, come on." Buffy walked away from the shop. Rupert looked back at the display. Where on earth would he put one? The training room in the back of the Magic Box? His living room? The rec room at Spike, Xander, and Anya's apartment? Spike would be a useful consultant on the mock-up....

"Er, Buffy, you can put me down, now." They were halfway down the sidewalk, just getting out of sight of the shop. He suddenly realized he hadn't even looked at the store name, to come back later.

"Are you sure? You said you were needing a nap. If you're tired, I can--"

"Buffy, go back." She stopped, probably due to his tone, but she gave him the 'what are you talking about *now*' look. "There was a black curtain in the window of the bedsit. With a red pattern on it."

"Um, yeah? You wanna know where he got it?"

"It's exactly like the one I had hanging in my window. Ethan used to say they were the ugliest curtains he'd ever seen, especially upon wak--"

He really needed to learn how to shut up sooner.

But Buffy was blinking at him, then looking over their heads at the marquee sign with the store's name on it. "The Rainy Day Toy Shoppe. His originality never ceases to amaze me. I suppose he could've just named it 'Ethan's,' like the costume shop." Then she looked down at Rupert's left hand. "But how come the undies haven't gone off? Or, um... what is it they're actually supposed to do again?"

"Turn pink." He looked down at them as well, then held them up in the light. "Rather like this."

"Pink." Buffy bit her lip for a moment, then gave in to her laughter. "Sorry. It's just... have you noticed that we're just a little bit silly?"

"It never entered my mind."

Just then, the radio crackled, and Xander's voice came over the speaker. "Um... you guys didn't set these underwear to change color in the presence of people who were just harmlessly stopping for ice cream, right?"

"Again?!!!" Willow's voice echoed out of the walkie-talkie, sounding like a cross between Donna Reed, Roseanne Arnold, and the little girl from 'The Bad Seed.'

Rupert wondered what was so wrong with them stopping off for ice cream, aside from the general dereliction of duty thing, but he didn't have a chance to ask, as Anya took the walkie-talkie from Willow, and said clearly, "No. We set them to turn pink in the presence of annoying chaos worshippers."

"Well, they fill at least half of the specs," Dawn said cheerfully. "Hey, wait, our underwear is pink too! I mean, our piece of Ethan's undies."

"As a matter of fact, my underwear *is* pink," Anya volunteered for no earthly reason that Rupert could think of except to give him one more thing to add to his list of 'must never think about, ever' things.

"The pink satin ones, or the pink ones with little yellow flowers?" Spike asked.

"Anya, if you answer that question I shall send Spike to Burma on an errand which will take him two weeks to complete, and Xander on another errand to Beijing." Rupert ignored the look Buffy was giving him -- presumably because he'd grabbed her by the wrist, as she was still holding the walkie-talkie. "We've found Ethan," he added.

And he knew they had -- not just found his front of operations -- because Ethan was sitting at the counter, now, watching them through the shop's front window. He gave Rupert a cheery wave. Rupert waved back. "Let's go in. I want to look at the train while you beat him up."

"Are you sure I should be beating him up? Maybe we can ask him, first, what he's up to?"

Rupert pouted at her, one of his very absolute best pouts. "I want you to kick him."

She peered doubtfully through the window. "Well... Much as I'd like to, I don't think --"

"No, you're right. You hold him still. *I'll* kick him."

"Giles..."

"Band candy," he said clearly, looking up at her.

"I'll let Spike hold him still, and we'll both kick him, okay?"

"I don't think that's remotely fair," Spike said as he walked up behind them, flanked by Xander. "Couldn't he be just a *little* bit not-human, so I can kick 'im too? I mean, he tried to take our girls-- that deserves a right round of killing, in my book."

"I'll kick him for you," Xander said in a tone that normally was used to tell a spouse you loved him and would always and forever do romantic things for him. Which, Rupert realized, Xander was.

"We can all kick him," Anya said, and she went to the front door and pulled it open. Ethan just stayed in his seat and watched them, as they filed in one at a time. Rupert pushed his way to the front, intending on being the first one to kick him. Right in the shins.

"Oh my god, is this Rupert? Little Ripper?" Ethan got off his seat and crouched down. "I don't believe it. It is!"

Rupert scowled. "Stand up so I can kick you properly."

"You've turned into a four-year-old. And you have a lisp -- it's too precious for words. Tell me, can you remember everything? Or do you think you're truly four? The manual said it was just a physical change, but it wasn't entirely clear that it meant only body size would change."

"I mean it, stand up-- manual?"

"Manual?" Buffy echoed.

"Yes, the manual. Came with the statue -- well, when I got it. Forgot to ship it, didn't I? Oh, dear." Ethan shook his head.

To hell with the bad angle. Rupert kicked him.

*****