Subconscious Laundry

 
 AUTHOR: Taramisu
 WRITTEN: 2/23/03
 E-MAIL: taramisu1@yahoo.com
 SUMMARY: Buffy wages a war...against laziness
 RATING: PG
 

A cranky Slayer stomped through the kitchen (aka mess hall) and living room (aka barracks).  She slowly shook her head while glaring at the plethora of dirty clothing and dishes just strewn about the house.  Soiled underwear.  Bloody jeans.  Crusty plates.  Greasy glasses.  The mess was never-ending.

“Oof!”  Buffy tripped on a stray show, elevating her anger to defcon 5.

“That’s it!” she bellowed.  Everyone down here, NOW!”

The sound of her voice echoed over and over again throughout the house on Revello Drive.  Some say she could be heard all the way to L.A.

Over a dozen footsteps scurried toward the source of the roar.

“What?”

“Are you nuts?”

“What’s gotten up your skirt?”

“You woke me, you know.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“ENOUGH!”

The chattering immediately ceased.  One could have heard a pin drop.

Buffy surveyed her troops, making serious eye contact with each of them.  “You…are all…slobs.”

Thus began the overload of denials and attitude.

“But she…”

“I can’t help it!”

“The Nazi Slayer speaks.”

“Vi never…”

“ENOUGH!”

Once again, silence.

“I will not be playing the part of your mother anymore.  I am not here to take care of you.  I’m not here to change your diapers and wipe your snotty noses.  You are to take care of yourselves – do your own laundry, wash your own dishes, change the toilet paper roll for God’s sake!”

The core Scoobies stood in the wings, smirking with twinkles in their eyes.  That is, until she turned to them as well.

“And you guys too!  Wipe those smiles off your faces.  I resign.”

Xander, Willow and Dawn looked at each other questioningly.  Willow mouthed, “resign?”

But Buffy caught the gesture.  “Yeah.  I quit.  I’m not the waitress.  I’m not the dishwasher.  And I’m not washing any clothes unless they’re mine.  Got it?”

Noting the smoke coming out of her ears, they all nodded in unison.

“Good.”

Three days later:

“Kennedy?”  Amanda squeaked.  “You better, um, pick those up.”  She pointed at a smelly pile of clothes.  “You don’t want Buffy…”

“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy.  I’m not afraid of her.”  Kennedy’s words frightened the timid Potential.  “If you’re so worried about it, go wash them yourself!”

Amanda thought about it for a minute, then collected the clothing and headed downstairs.  In her estimation, a calm Buffy was a happy Buffy…and less prone to yelling fits, and locking them up in crypts with dangerous vampires.

With clothes threatening to fall out of her tenuous hold, Amanda struggled downstairs with her peace offering to the laundry gods.  While she had hoped to not run into that scary vampire, she had never expected to see the conundrum in front of her.  The Slayer…folding fresh laundry.  But held out in front of her was a pair of men’s jeans.  Black ones.  And in the folded pile, men’s underwear and black t-shirts.

Two days later:

“Where you goin’ with all these dishes, Dawnie?”

Dawn looked up at Xander with a knowing smile.  “Do you want to face the wrath of Buffy?”

“No.”  Xander just smiled as he watched her make her way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

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

Unfortunately, the sink was not free.  Her sister stood over it, washing something.  Dawn watched silently as she saw Buffy place a mug into the drying rack.  ‘Kiss the Librarian’, it read.  Spike’s mug.  The one no one dared touch, for fear of contracting vampire cooties or the like.  And Buffy, the person who just five days ago swore to not wash anyone else’s stuff was…well, washing it.  What the hell was she doing?

Just then, the microwave beeped.  Buffy lifted the mug out of the rack, then crossed to the microwave, opening the door.  She reached in, took out a container of blood, then poured it into the mug.

Dawn grinned knowingly, then snuck out of the room.  She didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the wrath of Denial!Buffy.

The End