Notes/Disclaimer: This story takes place between "Ted" and "Bad Eggs", prior to "Surprise/Innocence": Angel is still good, and Xander/Cordelia are involved but still a secret. Several episodes are referred to, including The Pack, Teacher's Pet, Inca Mummy Girl, and Invisible Girl, and there's subtle foreshadowing of Surprise/Innocence.
The story is rated PG, possibly PG-13 for a couple of bits: assorted sexual innuendo, with things implied but generally not explicitly stated, and low on violence.
All characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, WB, FOX, etc., or other appropriate copyright holders (except for those original characters I made up myself). No infringement is intended.
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"Buffy," Joyce Summers said as she checked her luggage, "I hope I'm doing the right thing, leaving you alone here. I have to go to this conference, for the gallery, but I'm worried..."
"No need to worry, Mom; I can take care of myself," Buffy interrupted.
"That's not exactly what I'm worried about. Buffy, the way you've been getting into trouble lately... While I'm away, I don't want you doing anything, well..."
"Fine, no playing air guitar in my underwear, or making money by filling the house with prostitutes and inviting my classmates over, got it."
"More along the lines of, no parties, and things like that."
"Sure, no parties, just a quiet couple of days. I'll try to do some studying, maybe catch up on my history," Buffy said, thinking to herself *Angel's two hundred years old, that's history, right?*
"Okay, well, I'll call you when I can, and I'll be back on..."
"Right, Mom, I know, you gave me your whole schedule already, which flights you'll be on, the hotel phone number, the number for the conference, I've got it all. So go, enjoy yourself, go learn about hot new trends in the world of ancient art."
After a couple of more tries, Buffy finally got her mother out the door and on the way to the airport. "Clingy, much," Buffy commented after Joyce had finally left. "I mean, I'm not gonna burn the house down or anything, probably."
Eventually, Buffy went out herself, and over to the Bronze, where she found Willow and Xander as usual.
"Hi, guys," Buffy said, "anything unusual happening here?"
"No vampires, no demons, everybody's still alive," Xander replied. "For Sunnydale, that qualifies as unusual, right?"
"Well, I'll just do the basic vampire check here, then swing by the cemetery. There's a potential vampire who's expecting his wake-up call, and I've got to be there to punch his 'snooze' button. Permanently." Buffy checked out the Bronze, and stiffened. "Trouble coming," she muttered to the others.
"Vampire?" Willow asked.
"Worse," Buffy replied, "Cordelia's coming over to us."
Cordelia walked up to the trio. In her arms, she was carrying a small, fuzzy, white dog.
"So, are fuzzy white purses the latest in Paris fashion?" Xander asked her.
"This happens to be my mother's dog, Napoleon; she's making me take care of him tonight," Cordelia answered.
"The little fuzzball is named Napoleon?" Buffy asked unbelievingly. She reached over to pet the dog, but pulled her hand back after he nipped her finger. "Hey, he bit me!" she said indignantly.
"Well, you shouldn't provoke him," Cordelia replied. "He's a pure-bred pedigreed bichon frise, with papers going back for generations. This dog is an aristocrat, not some common street mutt you can just pet whenever you want."
"Fine, next time I'll make an appointment with his social secretary," Buffy retorted. Looking at her finger, she added "He broke the skin, and everything."
"You should be used to that," Cordelia replied. "You're the big vampire slayer; don't you get bitten once a week or so?"
"Actually," Willow said, "Buffy's supposed to avoid getting bitten by the vampires. It's, um, not a good thing."
"She could probably avoid it better if she didn't spend so much time pressing face with one particular vampire," Xander said.
"Hey," Cordelia interrupted, "I don't have all night here. If we can get to the point, I was thinking that one of you would watch Napoleon for a while. He's a drag while dancing, and since all of you spend a lot of time sitting around not having anyone to dance with, I thought..."
"Way to ask a favor," Xander interrupted. "Insulting people always makes them eager to help."
"Well, fine, next time you ask ME for a favor, like helping you with something at school, in the utility closet," Cordelia said, looking at Xander meaningfully, "see how helpful I am."
"Well, that's a cryptic threat," Buffy said, puzzled.
"Totally cryptic, meaningless, in fact," Xander said hurriedly. "Cordelia doesn't help anybody else out, right, particularly with things involving utility closets, which are used to hold cleaning supplies and things, and that's ALL they're used for, right, Cordelia?"
"Right, of course, cleaning supplies," Cordelia agreed. "The kind of thing that's not me, not at all, I'd have to be having some kind of emotional breakdown, some total psychotic episode, before I'd be spending my time in a utility closet with cleaning supplies," she said, with a definite tone of disgust in the phrase 'cleaning supplies.'
"Well, I bet those 'cleaning supplies' can get along just fine without you," Xander retorted. "There are probably loads of other girls who'd love to, um, clean with them."
"I haven't noticed a lot of cleaning going on, at least not with THOSE cleaning supplies," Cordelia replied. "Lucky if once a year someone does a little dusting, from what I've seen."
"Hey, there's been lots of cleaning. Very good cleaning, too," Xander said.
"Xander," Buffy interrupted, "this is about more than cleaning supplies, isn't it? Don't tell me you have a thing for ..." Xander began to protest, but Buffy finished "... that Mrs. Aya, Eeya, whatever her name is?"
Xander's denials turned into confusion. "Who?"
"The woman who just started working at the school, cleaning up after class is over. The way you're talking about the cleaning supplies, and the utility closet at school... you don't have another crush, do you?"
"No, of course not," Xander answered. "Really. Honestly. I definitely do NOT have a crush on a middle-aged Greek-immigrant cleaning woman."
"Well, good, then," Buffy said.
While this was going on, Willow had been making friends with Napoleon, and now she spoke up. "Cordelia, I'll watch the dog for you."
"Well, okay, then." Cordelia replied.
"You might possibly be looking for the phrase 'Thank you, Willow'," Buffy offered.
"Since she hasn't actually done anything yet," Cordelia replied, "but once I get the dog back, and if he's all right and all, then..."
"Um, you're welcome, Cordelia," Willow interrupted.
"Uh, yes," Cordelia said, and left the trio.
"Will, why'd you do a favor for her?" Buffy asked.
"Actually, I'm doing a favor for the dog," Willow replied. "He just looked so, well, like he could use some time away from Cordelia."
"I guess," Buffy said. "He's a what, a bichon frise, but Cordelia's the real bichon."
"But not that frise, sometimes," Xander mused out loud, but when Buffy looked at him questioningly, he quickly said, "Oh, sorry, just thinking out loud, just a random thought, nothing at all, you know, I think I'll just go get a soda or something, excuse me," and he left.
"And Xander Harris makes another sharp turn into the Twilight Zone," Buffy commented. "I've really gotta get that Xander/English dictionary sometime. Well, enough of this witty banter, I've got graveyards to visit, and vampires to slay. Enjoy the dog-sitting, Will."
"And, um, enjoy your slaying," Willow replied, and Buffy left.
When she arrived at the cemetery, Buffy followed the rows of tombstones to a freshly-dug grave, and sat down to wait. "Well, no Angel around, so I guess I'd better use the time for something." From her bag, she pulled out a text book and a flashlight. "Okay, now I can honestly tell Mom I was studying history, leaving out of course the 'being in the cemetery at the time' bit." She opened the book, and glanced at the contents. "No chance that I'll find this so engrossing that I miss the vampire, although falling asleep from boredom is a definite possibility."
Stake ready by her side, Buffy began struggling through the history text. Eventually, though, she was interrupted by a sound from the grave, as first an arm, and then the whole vampire emerged from the earth. Buffy grabbed her stake, stood up, and said "Thank goodness, I can stop reading that history book now; I REALLY couldn't concentrate on it. How can they possibly make whole wars, with blood and death and everything, so DULL?"
Buffy looked at the newly-risen vampire, then sniffed. "Sheesh, VERY smelly vampire. Yes, I know, being dead and buried and all isn't the key to springtime freshness, and I'm used to the way vampires smell when they first, um, wake up or whatever you call it, but you're abusing the privilege."
The vampire wasn't particularly interested in personal hygiene tips; he just growled and charged. The fight ended fast; a quick staking, with the final score Slayer 1, vampire 0.
"So much for tonight's appointments," Buffy said to herself. "Some general patrolling?" She rubbed her head. "No, I bagged my vampire quota for the night, and I'm feeling distinctly bleeah. Probably from smelling Stinky, here. Go home and get some sleep, that's the idea."
Buffy got home, and changed for bed. "Bed looks kind of lumpy." She walked around her bed a couple of times, patting it down, then climbed in, and was soon fast asleep.
In the morning, Buffy woke up still feeling lousy. Her head felt fuzzy, she had trouble focusing her eyes, sounds seemed too loud, and her room smelled like a gym locker whose contents were WAY overdue for washing.
*I wish I'd been drinking last night*, Buffy thought, *then I'd know what not to do so I wouldn't feel this way in the morning. Maybe I've got a virus or something.*
She managed to roll out of bed, and landed on all fours next to it. She pulled herself up to her dresser, focused her eyes on her reflection in the mirror, and yelled, or at least tried to yell. It came out more like a yip, only confirming what she'd seen in the mirror. Sometime during the night, Buffy Summers had been transformed into a golden retriever.
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