One of Andrew's greatest contributions to the Watcher's Council was his phenomenal organizational ability. At least, he considered it phenomenal, and Rupert Giles had, on more than one occasion, said in front of witnesses, "Andrew knows my schedule better than I do."

Really, though, organizing the logistics of a school for mystic warriors against the supernatural was simple for a man who had the major Klingon clans and their alliances by blood and marriage memorized, including the cross-ties that came from Worf marrying Jadzia Dax, who had inherited the various alliances arranged by Dax's previous host, Curzon.

It was the usual mid-month meeting to check progress and arrange the future. Andrew had his laptop set up on the edge of Giles' desk while Giles shoved bits of paper around, checked various notebooks, and consulted with Ethan, who was lounging on the sofa reading one of the Watchers' Diaries and snickering.

"And that takes us to the beginning of May," Giles said, pushing a pile of notes to one side. "What do we have scheduled?"

"The Quarterly Review on the 20th," Andrew said, consulting the calendar software.

"Blessed gods," Giles muttered.

"I'm planning to be out of town that week," Ethan said. "In case you were wondering."

"I just wish I could join you--don't start, you know I can't." Giles flipped a page on his notebook. "Oh, lovely. Sir Grenville will be coming in early, you'll need to pick him up at Heathrow the evening of the 16th, Andrew, and make sure he gets settled in."

Andrew stiffened. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to do this, but in his heart he'd known he'd have to face this test. "I can't do that, Rupert."

Giles blinked at him. "What?"

"I've already made plans for the 16th, I can't do anything else."

"What plans?"

"Plans, sir. I made them weeks ago, and I'd really rather not change them."

Giles sighed. "Sir Grenville does not like us much, Andrew. We need to make every effort to make sure he's in a good mood when he meets the others. All of us are going to have to do inconvenient things during the review."

Andrew took a deep breath and whispered a few calming mantras. "I understand that, sir, and I'll do whatever it takes the rest of the time. But not the 16th."

"What is so bloody important about the 16th? Do you have a date?"

"Of a sort. I've been planning it a long time."

Ethan chuckled. "Tell her that your boss is an unreasonable slave driver and you can't make it that night, then take her to a fancy restaurant on the Watcher's account."

"It's not that kind of date."

"Then what?" Giles asked impatiently.

When forced to the wall, claim the truth proudly, even in the face of ridicule. "Star Wars."

Giles stared at him for several moments. "You want to brush off an important member of the Council to go to a movie?"

Emotions were the enemy of logic, but Andrew had been pushed to the brink. "The theatre where I saw all the others is now at the bottom of a sinkhole, and I can't be in LA on the 12th, and I can't go to Cannes for the world premiere, but as God is my witness, you shall not make me miss the London premiere of Revenge of the Sith. Sir."

Giles blinked in disbelief. He was just taking a breath when Ethan interrupted. "Rupert. Led Zeppelin. Wembley."

Giles stared at Ethan, then smiled very faintly. "Indeed." He nodded, then looked at Andrew sternly. "I'm going to need you here on the 17th ready to work, which will include being polite to gits, all right?"

Andrew felt light headed. "Yes, sir. And Sir Grenville?"

"Make Spike do it," Ethan suggested.

"I'd rather not have to explain the exsanguinated corpse of a Scots Member of Parliament to the Prime Minister, thank you. I'll pick him up. The old bastard will enjoy that."

"Thank you, sir," Andrew said humbly.

Giles glared at him. "Stop calling me sir. Now, are there any prophecies due in May?"

Andrew clicked on one of the tabs in the calendar. "Just the migration of an eastern band of skelpie through Kent on the 12th. I've already sent an email to the local office."

"Excellent."