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Xander nursed his cup of tea; at last he understood what Giles saw in it. When it came to settling his stomach and easing his headache and generally coping with the evening, tea did seem to do the business. He still felt a bit... a bit shaky and emotional, though.
“Did you really barf on Quentin Travers, Giles?”
“Yes,” said Giles shortly. Xander grinned.
“Cool. Why did you never share that with us? We’da thought a lot better of you.”
Giles smiled and relaxed. “Buffy certainly would. I, I suppose I’d blanked it from my mind. My own side of it wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on. I wish I could have seen Wesley taking on Rob Gorman, though; I remember him, he was built like a brick outhouse.” He looked across at his father. “I never heard: how did your Transition take you? I remember Gran saying that she cried more or less non-stop for three days, and Brydon who went through with me couldn’t stop talking or shaking. What did you do?”
Peter Giles looked a little shifty, with the same expression that Xander knew from when his own Giles didn’t want to talk about something. “Oh... well, we all go a bit over the top. It was a long time ago.”
Xander wouldn’t have let it drop had it been Giles; Giles didn’t let it drop now. “Go on, what did you do? You were quick enough to drop me in it with Xander. Revenge is sweet... What did you do?”
So that was where Giles got the twist of the shoulders and sharp dip of the head when he was trying to avoid something.
“Oh, it was nothing serious...”
“You’re dodging the question.” Giles was laughing now. “What did you do?”
Peter Giles sent him an exasperated look, so like Giles’ own that Xander laughed too. “I just... it was... It was before I met your mother, all right?”
Xander, for once, got there before Giles, and nearly spewed his tea; Giles’ expression was slowly metamorphosing from amusement to horror. “You... didn’t.”
“Apparently I propositioned another Watcher, who was old enough to be my mother, and two of the Council’s secretaries. After that Daniel Streeter who was my sponsor took me to a place in the West End and introduced me to a lovely girl called Angela. For heaven’s sake, Rupert, I was only seventeen; I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. Well, not until Angela had finished with me; after that I knew quite a lot.”
“Please stop,” said Giles faintly; Xander laughed aloud.
“Hey, G-Man, what happened to ‘you children seem to think you invented sex’? Sounds like your chickens coming home to roost.”
“Yes, well, I blame you for this.”
“Me? How can it be my fault?”
“Ever since I first went to Sunnydale, my life has involved more disturbing sex talk than enough. Either there was Buffy – and Willow and you as well – telling me that I had no business undoing so much as a button, or there was Anya undoing your buttons with full colour commentary. And then...” he waved vaguely in his father’s direction and Xander laughed again.
“Shoulda learned by now not to ask the question if you don’t really want the answer.”
“I’m reasonably certain that before I went to Sunnydale the problem didn’t arise. It’s your fault. And I’m the Senior Watcher which means you’re answerable to me now, and I shall blame you for everything.”
Xander shrugged. “Figures. But you’re the Council now, so I’m gonna whinge and complain and not do what you tell me. Because that’s what you taught me.”
“Quite right,” approved Peter. “What’s that phrase you Americans use? What goes around... More tea, Xander?”