Author's Note: This has to be one of my favorite Doctor-Buffy stories ever. It completely cracks me up.

The Trio of Hell were still at large, and Buffy was a cavewoman.

Neither of which had anything to do with each other, except that Willow happened to be thinking them both right now. Somewhere out there, three demons more evil than anything Buffy or the Scoobies had faced before were feasting on human innards, while Buffy got drugged out on bewitched beer which had devolved her into a monosyllabic cave-woman.

Not that Buffy had been much help, anyways, even before the beer. No, every time they brought up the Trio of Hell — Buffy, the world's in danger and people are dying and you're the Slayer, why aren't you doing anything? — Buffy would go into serious defend-the-Doctor mode. Because, obviously, they should all be thanking the jerk who'd released the Trio of Hell onto the Earth.

Buffy, at the moment, wasn't really in a position to think about the Trio of Hell. She kept pounding the ground with her fist, then sniffing the rug of their dorm. Willow had no idea why Buffy was doing it, but she was pretty sure whoever was in the dorm downstairs was going to come up any minute now and shout at them.

"Okay, Buffy," said Willow, coming over and putting her hands on Buffy's shoulders. "I think it's time for bed."

Buffy stopped pounding the carpet. She wriggled out of Willow's grip, and looked up at her, saying nothing.

Then she caught sight of the cave paintings she'd drawn on the wall of her dorm room earlier that night. Buffy picked up a pencil from the desk beside her, lumbered over, crawling across her bed, then started in again, adding stick figures to the wall.

Willow stepped in and tried to get the pencil away from Buffy. "Buffy, I really don't think that's such a good—"

Buffy looked over her shoulder and growled at Willow. Willow stepped back, her arms raised in a sign of surrender. "Okay, fine, go ahead," said Willow. "Just don't blame me when you get the bill at the end of the year."

Buffy stopped drawing, all at once, her head snapping towards the window. She seemed mildly confused, but with a vague sense of excitement. "Fuzzy," she said.

Willow looked over to the window, but she had absolutely no clues as to what Buffy could possibly be referring to. "What's fuzzy, Buffy?"

"Head," said Buffy. She scratched her head. "Like it. Fuzzy."

"Your head feels fuzzy?"

"Warm fuzzy," said Buffy. "Feels good."

At least this particular feeling was a normal side effect of alcohol consumption. Willow thought that was a good sign. "Maybe you should go to bed," Willow recommended.

"No!" shouted Buffy. She leapt off her bed, and started towards the door. "More fuzzy."

Willow tried to pull her back. "No, Buffy, no more beer," said Willow. "Beer bad, remember?"

"No beer," said Buffy, shrugging Willow off as if she were a loose-fitting sweater. "Warm fuzzy."

Willow just barely got to her feet in time to see Buffy bolting out the door. Willow ran after her, down the hall. "Buffy, wait!"

But Buffy was already gone.

Willow went back into the dorm. The Trio of Hell was still out there, and if they found Buffy in this condition — yeah, that would be bad. Willow picked up the phone. She needed to get some help.