A/N: I really wanted to be working on Clash, but I've just hit a wall with it. So you get this madness instead. :)

Episode: None

Rating: K

Warnings: Lack of plot. Not really meant to be taken seriously.

Inspiration: ...I don't actually remember. I just found the idea in my thoughts turned prompts document for all my weird little fic ideas, and immediately decided to write it.

If you have a minute, I'd love reviews. I'm going to go give Clash another try now, so wish me luck. And make someone smile today. :)

Kaz wouldn't look at Oliver. His best friend's sad eyes reproached him, but he wasn't paying attention. Nope. Not at all.

Everything had gone wrong, as it always seemed to for their group. No one even blinked an eye anymore. Horace usually just rolled his eyes, and let them work it out, unless it was something particularly dangerous. This didn't count, it seemed, because he'd left Kaz to take care of it.

Speaking of Kaz, many would probably assume that whatever had happened, it was Kaz's fault. And usually, they would probably be right, but this time, Kaz hadn't had anything to do with it. No, he'd been left in Oliver's role of containing damage, and waiting for the effects to wear off.

"Oliver."

Wide eyes met Kaz's from across the room, slightly guiltily.

"Stop that. You don't actually want to eat it."

Oliver tilted his head, as though wondering exactly how far he could push his friend, but must have sensed Kaz's fraying patience. He huffed a sigh, and did as he was told.

Kaz slumped, and wondered how Oliver did it. How did he manage to be so calm and patient when Kaz got himself in the weirdest situations? Kaz had no idea. It had only been a couple of hours, too. Oliver had stayed with him for nearly a day after Kaz had accidently hit himself with a ZipFlip ray that had turned him into a hyper, extraordinarily flexible and agile, overly cheerful version of himself. And Oliver had only shouted at him twice...

Oliver nudged him, breaking into his reflections. Kaz glowered, and slid over. Oliver followed.

"Stop."

Oliver did nothing of the sort, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I'm serious." He moved. Oliver followed.

"Stop!" But his own sense of humor was working against him, and even as his insistence grew, so did his smile.

"You're even more annoying like this, you know that?"

Oliver didn't answer, but he didn't need to. He simply radiated smugness.

Kaz sat down, coming down to his level. He sighed, and looked his best friend in the eyes. Eyes above a long, soft nose, and below even softer floppy ears.

Oliver was a puppy. And Kaz wasn't amused.

"I'm never letting you go into the equipment room alone again, you know," he murmured, as Oliver the puppy frisked around him, tongue and ears flopping joyfully as he played. Oliver was a handsome puppy, it had to be admitted. He was a golden retriever, less orange than most, a dark burnished honey. He was really quite dapper.

Seeing his friend's melancholy, Oliver settled, observing Kaz, head cocked to one side. Then he trotted over, and sat in front of Kaz, looking up with oddly intelligent eyes. He yipped, pawing at Kaz's jean clad leg.

"Hey!" Kaz's protest was half hearted at best, and the puppy was entirely unaffected. It kept prodding him until he stood up, then raced around him before streaking off across the room. Kaz just watched, really not sure what his friend had in mind. He only understood when Oliver bounced back, dropping a frisbee as his feet, and looking up with a look that said everything his current form wouldn't let him vocalize.

I know it's not ideal. But let's just enjoy it anyway.

Next time Horace came to check on them, Kaz was throwing the frisbee for an ecstatic pup to chase, and laughing more freely than Horace had heard in a long time.