"Thank you." Xander nodded. Then he looked back at Giles. "So, enjoying your stay?"

Rupert looked at the ceiling. "I'm in hell. Except I'm drinking Batham's, so I can't be in hell. Is there a level of hell where you get good beer, and yet have to deal with a Wesley and Xander?"

"OO!" Xander's hand shot into the air. "I know this one!"

He stared at Xander, who was now waving his hand around as if he'd just been given a chance to appear on 'Who Wants to Be a Very Drunk Multi-Millionaire.' Which he was, almost. "You do?"

"Uh-huh. Third level, right after the people who take 13 items into the 12-items-or-less line, and right before the place where they show only Three's Company repeats. In Spanish."

Xander appeared to be completely serious, and Rupert wondered what exactly was in the stuff Xander was drinking. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, which contained good old Batham's, but said 'Rolling Rock' on the outside. Hops. Yeast. Water. No psychedelic fungi listed, or mystical herbs.

"Is that your final answer?" he asked, not really thinking about what he was saying -- so unusual for him, tonight, and raised an eyebrow at Wesley. Just because the label indicated nothing had been added, didn't mean there hadn't been. On the other hand, it was possible that, given that he was drinking grain-flavoured water, Xander was completely sober. Which meant everything he'd said, he'd meant to say. Which meant he'd been living with Spike far too long.

"Xander? Perhaps I'd better perform that divination one more time, to verify whether or not you've been cursed." A thought occurred. It was happening with alarming frequency. "Perhaps *I've* been cursed. This might not be my dimension." He looked around, feeling rather more cheerful.

Xander cocked his head. "Did you or did you not tell me when I was eighteen that you once slept with Twiggy?"

Rupert goggled at him. "I certainly did not."

"Okay. Did you or did you not tell me when I was nineteen that you were gonna garrote Spike with the e-string to your guitar if he ever made you drop it again?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

Xander nodded. "Did you or did you not tell me that you would judge the spanking contest and then back out of it by threatening some vague crap about oranges that I don't believe for a minute?"

"Yes. No. Wait, was there a point to this?"

Xander lifted his beer in a toast. "Sorry, G-Man. You're in the right dimension."

"Damn." Rupert took another drink of his beer. "Damn." Wesley very slowly raised a finger. "Yes, Wesley?"

"Could you check for me? After all, I have to live in the same building as they, unlike some rather spineless people who are only visiting for a few days and obviously can't take it." He blinked. "Of course, if I weren't drunk, I'm sure I wouldn't have said 'spineless'."

"Oh, yeah?" Xander challenged. "And what if you *are* in the wrong dimension? You wanna get sent home?"

Looking rather surprised, Wesley regarded him for a moment before turning to Rupert. "Couldn't there be a dimension where I'm sleeping with Angel and Gunn, and yet Spike and Xander are in Zimbabwe?"

"Yes, but unfortunately there is no Batham's there."

"Damn." Wesley looked at his beer. Looked at Xander, who grinned brightly. Looked at his beer again. "Would there be any other good beer?"

Rupert considered. There was the World Without Shrimp. That one had Guinness, at least. It also had about four hundred shrimp-lovers who'd been sent there by the woman he was currently sort-of seeing, to live in eternal prawnless torment.

"I think there's one where you're sleeping with Cordelia," he finally said with a pointed stare. "Would you like me to send you there?"

Wesley opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Er. No."

"You could send him to...um... Xanth. There's no Spike or Xander there." Xander's eyes were practically dancing with evil. Had Spike turned him without telling anyone?

"Oh, yes. That sounds good. Just send Angel and Gunn along with me, and I'll be perfectly happy," Wesley bubbled. Which meant he was *very* drunk.

Rupert shook his head. "Xanth. Where the carbonated beverage of choice is Boot Rear. Where they keep a large statue of the arse-end of a cat in the Great Hall of the palace."

Wesley blinked confusedly.

Xander helped him out. "Catastrophe."

Wesley covered his ears, and sank down behind his beer. "No! No! Send me to the bloody land without lube, but don't send me to Pundania."

Xander started laughing, and made Rupert fear he was going to fall off his chair. Then he realized if Xander fell off his chair, he'd only be getting what he deserved, so he relaxed. Then Wesley raised his head. He was smiling. He looked like Angelus. Rupert found himself wondering if Wesley hadn't lived here too long, as well.

"What?" Xander demanded.

"I've thought of something useful you could do," Wesley said.

"Oh, yeah?" Xander sounded suspicious. Rupert inched back a bit, to get out of the line of fire.

"You could get us more beer."

Xander looked as confused as Rupert felt. "Get more beer? It's behind the counter."

Wesley shook his head. "At the corner shop, near my cousin's flat." He raised his hand.

Xander dove under the table. Rupert started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Wesley joined him. Rupert took another drink, and almost choked on it, because he'd fallen into that slap-happy sort of laughter where you don't really remember what was funny anymore, but you still can't breathe. Then he stopped. Dead still. In the silence, he cold almost swear he heard his digital watch ticking.

Xander was still under the table.

"Xander?" Rupert said slowly. Carefully. "What are you doing down there?"

"Shh! He'll find me!" Xander hissed back.

Rupert looked at Wesley, who shrugged. Rupert leaned over, and looked down at the young man crouching beneath the table. "Don't you want to get us more beer?" he asked cheerfully.

Xander glared. "You *do* remember the whole 'didn't get the beer once while drunk' story we told you?"

"Yes, I remember it. But you're not beer. I'm sure Wesley wouldn't...um...leave any bits behind."

Xander reached over and whapped him on the shin. Hard.

"Bloody hell!"

Xander snickered. "Yeah, that's what Spike says, too."

Rupert reached down and dragged Xander out from under the table by his elbow. "Well, I am *not* Spike, and you don't have license to beat on me every time I say something you don't like." He pushed Xander firmly back into his own chair, and Xander stuck out his tongue. "Yes, and that's another thing. I've half a mind to take you up on your request and treat you like my wayward adopted son who doesn't know anything about death and taxes and orgies, and turn you over my bloody knee." Wait, what was he saying? Was he suddenly possessed by the spirit of his father? Rupert watched Xander's eyes widen. And narrow. And a grin spread across Xander's face. "No, no, wait," he began, but Xander was already getting out of his chair again. Stepping *towards* him. "Now, wait a minute!"

"But you said! You did! Wesley, you're my witness!"

Wesley nodded. "I'm afraid so." He frowned slightly. "Unless you'd rather I send him for Batham's, first." Xander gave Wesley a look of fear, and dove behind Rupert.

Rupert stood up. "There will be no sending anyone anywhe...." He'd tried to be firm and fatherly, really he had. But the standing up thing... It had made the room start to shimmer and sway. Like Anya in that silver flapper costume she'd tried on last week. Right before he'd not so soberly told her that she didn't have the figure to pull off the flapper look. It was meant to be a compliment, but... By the time he'd stumbled over to the PC, switched it to you-speak-to-me-I-type-at-you mode, e-mailed Willow for the counterspell, waited until she'd stopped laughing, and gotten his head back *out* of his arse... Anya had flounced off to wherever she was stewing now.

He sat back down abruptly.

"G-Man?"

"Yes?"

"Are you...supposed to be doing that? Quite so fast?"

Rupert looked over at Xander, and found the young man staring at him from *far* too close up. There was no way he could spank him at this distance.

There was a cheer, and he suddenly found himself being pulled back from the table. "What the..." And then Xander draped himself over Rupert's lap. Christ, he'd said it aloud. "Now look here..."

Wesley nodded brightly. "Yes, I'm looking." Rupert covered his face with one hand. Absolutely sure, suddenly, that his eyebrows were crawling off, and he had to catch them before they got away. Dammit, there went the left one! "Rupert, you're not looking. I think *you* have to look. Otherwise you might miss, and hit him on the head."

He didn't take his hand away from his face. "At this point I'm not sure I could tell the difference if I *were* looking. Xander, get up."

"Uh-uh. Nope," came from his lap. "I heard you. You said."

"That wasn't me, it was the spirit of my long-dead father."

Wesley blinked owlishly at him. "Rupert, your father's alive and well and living in Droitwich."

"Yes, and when I tell him what's happened, it will kill him. Xander, get *up*. I shan't tell you again."

Xander wriggled, quite disconcertingly. "If I don't, ya gonna punish me?"

"Oh, for god's sake. Wesley, send him for more beer."

Xander raised a finger at Wesley. "If you send me to England, I'll tell Angel and Gunn I saw you in your swimsuit again."

Wesley blanched. "No, don't do..." Then he shook his head. "No, you didn't! I don't even know what they've done with it."

Xander grinned evilly, and Rupert wondered if he and Spike hadn't switched bodies for the night. Faith had managed it, why not these two? It would explain so much... "They don't know that. And who're they gonna believe?"

That one was probably a toss-up, actually, Rupert decided. Then decided that 'toss-up' was not the proper phrase to have running through one's mind when the world was spinning round and one's dinner was threatening to make an unexpected re-appearance. He looked down, to avoid the sight of the bar-lights circling each other like glowing tadpoles in a frenzied mating dance. Looking down was also a mistake.

"I mean, you *know* they're totally insane on the subject of anybody but them drooling over you..." Xander continued to tease Wesley, and Rupert continued to attempt to pry his eyes away from the sight of Xander's upturned jeans-clad backside. There. In his lap. And the world continued to not stay still.

"Xander, I should move, if I were you," he said as calmly as he could.

"Yeah?" Xander craned his head around, peering at him. Not actually moving out of Rupert's lap.

"Do you remember what we had for dinner?"

"Yeah, we had--" Xander's eyes went wide, and he rolled sideways off Rupert's lap. Landed on the floor and scooted backwards, much too quickly for Rupert to watch. He closed his eyes.

He heard a soft chanting, then suddenly his stomach settled. After a few moments, when the sensation of not being about to throw up remained, he risked opening his eyes again. "Been awhile, has it?" Wesley asked.

He scowled at Wesley. "No, it has *not* been a while, you..." His stomach gave a tiny rumble, and he shut up. "Sorry. Maybe a little while. Since I've had quite this much *real* beer."

Wesley nodded good-naturedly. "Yes. It does sneak up on one. Rather like..." And Rupert put out a hand to stop Xander from throwing himself across Rupert's lap again.

"Now just stop that. I'm not going to spank you."

Xander threw himself back in his chair with a sulky look. "Said you would. I heard you."

"I was drunk."

"You're still drunk."

The boy had a point. But still one didn't spank one's completely grown-up --well, physically, at any rate-- adopted son who'd just gotten engaged. He couldn't begin to count the number of ways it was just completely inappropritae. Inapropiote. Inpriapitate. Wrong. Totally wrong. Nor was it appriap... proper, for Xander to know how bloody close he'd been to doing it.

There was possibly only one thing to be done about it. Other than actually spanking him, which he shouldn't be doing in front of witnesses, at any rate. He stood up, noticed with appreciation that the world was no longer swaying, and walked over to Xander. Xander's scowl cleared, and he looked like a child who'd just been promised a trip to Disneyland. It helped Rupert's resolve. Four-year-olds do not deserve to be spanked.

Well, actually, they do. But not the way Rupert *wanted* -- except that he *didn't* want. Most assuredly did not. Wouldn't, even if he did. He reached out and grabbed Xander's shirt, and pulled; Xander stood willingly. "Where do you-- hey!" And Rupert was slinging Xander over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"What are you doing?" Wesley stood unsteadily, and Rupert thought deeply about whether he could balance both of them, and finally decided that he could only manage his *own* wayward child. Angel and Gunn would have to take care of theirs.

"Go up to your suite, Wesley. It's time for bed."

"Oh, are you and Xander coming as well?" Wesley managed to sound just innocent enough that Rupert couldn't be sure whether it was a double-entendre or not, so he gave Wesley the benefit of the doubt, and shook his head.

"No, but you might tell your...er...boytoys, that you've had quite too much to drink and have been getting right up my nose." Wesley walked closer to him, and began looking suspiciously at his nose. "Wesley! It was an expression! Go!" His fellow former Watcher yelped at the stridency of his tone, and disappeared out the door, only weaving a tiny bit on the way.

With a sigh, and a reminder to himself to not do this again -- combining Batham's with Xander and Wesley -- Rupert started for the door, as well. Xander was humming happily. Luckily for all concerned, the lift was in working order. Rupert managed not to stumble as he exited on the correct floor, and found himself only staggering a little, as he reached the doorway. He pounded on the door.

"Don't you have a key to your room?" Xander asked.

"I do."

Xander giggled. "Nope. Sorry. Can't. I'm marrying Spike."

"I do have a key to my room, but this isn't my room. It's yours."

Xander was silent for a moment. Then, "Ooo! You're gonna spank me in mine and Spike's place? Cool! There's a hairbrush on the dresser, and a Ping-Pong paddle in the drawer next to the computer, and if you really wanna..."

Rupert pounded louder on the door.

"It's not locked. We never lock it. They're all afraid to come in."

Sighing, Rupert reached out to turn the knob with his free hand, and found it opening by itself. He looked up to find Spike standing there, looking amused. "Problem, Watcher?"

"I have something that belongs to you." He set Xander down, tried to keep him on his feet, and found the prospect made much more difficult by the fact that the hallway kept slipping sideways. Spike reached out and grabbed onto Xander, though, performing perhaps his only useful act in Rupert's experience. Rupert stepped back, and wondered if he should tell Spike that Xander had been annoying him. No, he realized, that would only make Spike happy. Possibly lead to things he didn't want to think about.

Xander was pouting. Spike leaned over and bit Xander's lip. Yes, Rupert realized, it was past time to go find his own room. Upstairs, far far away. He took a step away, heard Xander giggle, and stopped. Turned, found Xander facing away from him. Rupert reached over and walloped Xander on the arse as hard as he could.

Xander squeaked loudly. It sounded disturbingly happy.

Rupert shot a look at Spike, and held both hands up. "Just the once. He was *really* asking for it." No need to tell Spike how literally he'd been asking for it. Xander was, after all, completely intoxicated, no matter what he said. He wasn't responsible for his behavior, and shouldn't be blamed by Spike for doing things behind his back. Or... not doing them, but hinting very broadly that he'd like them done to him. Alright, stating outright that he'd like them done to him.

Spike blinked at him, as if he wasn't quite 'with the program,' as Buffy would say. Perhaps he'd been sleeping. "Oh. Yeah. Grrr. Mine. Keep your 'ands off 'im, wanker."

Rupert nodded. "Yes. Quite. Good night, then." Spike blinked at him again, nodded, and turned to guide Xander through the door.

"Here, have you been annoying Rupert, luv?" Spike said to a swaying Xander.

"No! I was good as cold. Good as gold. I din't do nothin'." Xander said it with such sincerity that Rupert almost felt his dinner rising up again.

He couldn't help himself. "He's a cheeky little psychopath, and he did his best to drive me out of my skull!"

Spike looked back at Rupert. "Really? I s'pose I'll have to teach him a lesson, then. Would you care to stay and watch?"

Rupert covered his eyes again, reflexively. "No, I would not. Shut the door and go away, and don't tell me about it tomorrow. If indeed I wake up tomorrow."

Spike pushed Xander the rest of the way through the door-- "Your loss, mate." -- and shut it behind them.

Rupert leaned against the wall and wondered what he'd done a past life. He must have been a tax collector. A televangelist. The wall was nice. Cool. Relaxing. He should go back to his room. Really he should. But it was so cool. He knew it was dangerous. Knew he was still within hearing distance. Suspected Spike had hollowed out the walls to their suite so people could hear them at the other end of the hotel. But that wall was so...

He heard a happy cry. "He spanked me!" So exactly *not* where he wanted to be. He pushed himself away from the wall and strode away, quickly.

Only to stop, when he saw what was floating in the air, above him. He didn't want to know. He really didn't. Except it had a multi-coloured apple on the side of it. And it was floating of its own accord. "Whathe... hell're you?" It didn't answer him, just floated there, so he swatted at it like a fly. "Get off. Go home." At the word 'home,' the thing zoomed neatly away from him toward Xander and Spike's door, and then beeped. The door opened to admit it, and, of course, Rupert couldn't make his legs start to work fast enough not to hear far too much before it closed.

"So...nothin' ?" In Spike's voice.

"Well, he spanked me!" Happy Xander sounds.

"Yeah, but just the once? Nothin' recorded on Skippy, here?" No sound in reply. "Bugger," from Spike.

"Sorry. We tried. He just holds his liquor too well." Xander seemed apologetic. And suspiciously uninebiliated. Unebattoted. Not drunk.

Spike's voice said, softly, a little petulant, a little sympathetic, "Yeah. M' sorry too. Oh well. Wanna try again tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah! We can haul out the Goldschlager's! But... um..." Xander sounded like a four-year-old, again, as Rupert leaned back against the wall and tried to decide if he should just slide down and sleep there, or run for the stairs and hope he broke his neck. "But I didn't get much of a spanking."

Spike, then, and Rupert could see him eight years old and soaking wet, and he just didn't want to. Or perhaps he did. It was getting too late to tell. "Oh, I can fix that. C'mere!"

Then, thank god, there was no sound coming from behind their door. Not yet, he realized, and scrambled to his feet. Swayed a bit, and reminded himself that Wesley was on his list, as well. Headed towards the lift, to go to his room and sleep it off.

*Tomorrow* they were going to find out why Ethan actually *did* as Rupert told him. Eventually, even if he whined first. There were reasons he was the elder, wiser one. It had nothing to do with age, or education. It had everything to do with the fact that he'd had to listen to his father explain in great detail what would happen to him if he dropped out of school at age 13. When his alive-and-well-and living-in-Droitwich father had finished the catalogue of horrors that would befall him on the *first* day, he'd shuddered. And realized there was a reason his dad's drinking mates called him "Terror" and it had very little to do with his name being Terrence.

Rupert really always had been a good student.

Perhaps he could start with having them fetch him some sealed, uncontaminated Batham's. On foot. From Stoke-on-Trent. Then they could begin detailing his car. With their tongues. Or perhaps he could pretend he didn't remember any of this at all...and give them a tape tomorrow night, they'd never live down. After all, Wesley wasn't the only one who knew transmutation spells, and Rupert had long ago stopped thinking of the computer as that 'infernal machine'.

He slid easily down the wall of the lift, and leaned against the back corner. Planning. Just planning. And thinking. Then, possibly, when the lift reached his floor, snoring.

The End