Thankfully, the house was empty as Tara steered Buffy toward the stairs. She paused at the bottom, unsure where to go. Buffy, however, didn't seem confused. She lifted her foot and began the upward journey, leaving Tara scrambling to maintain their physical contact.
At the top of the stairs, Tara realized Faith had unwittingly left clues for her to follow. The sound of running water led her and Buffy straight down the hall to a small bathroom. The door was open, and water drops splattered on the floor through the partially opened shower curtain.
That was exactly where Tara needed Buffy – in the shower. How, though? Buffy wasn't in any condition to bathe herself. And…Tara risked a look at Buffy. No. Tara cleared her throat and blinked rapidly. She wasn't going to help Buffy. No, that was a very bad idea. "B-Buffy?" she started softly. Tara remembered Buffy's reaction to her voice in the kitchen. "Sweetie, c-can you g-get in the shower?"
"Shower?" Buffy shook her head and peered around the small room. Her right hand rose and pointed at the tub. "Shower."
The vocabulary lesson was a success. Now for the more important part of this learning session. "Get in the shower, B-Buffy." Tara applied more pressure to Buffy's shoulders. "You st-still have soap all over." Tara blithely ignored her own damp clothing and soap-smeared arms and face. Her efforts with Buffy were working. Holding back a cheer, Tara waited while Buffy stepped into the bathtub and moved under the spray.
She wasn't ready for Buffy's unhappy cry. "Cold!" Buffy jumped back out, feet slipping and sliding on the tiles. "Bad shower!" Lip thrust out in a clear pout, Buffy wrapped her arms around herself and glared at Tara.
Giving up on the shower, Tara sighed and leaned around Buffy to turn off the water. "I'm s-sorry, Buffy. I d-didn't think about that." In an echo of Buffy's speech pattern, she mumbled, "Bad Tara."
One of Buffy's hands shot out and covered Tara's mouth. "Not bad. Tara good." Leaning closer, Buffy peered into Tara's eyes. "Buffy like Tara."
Unexpected tears burned Tara's eyes at the simple statement. No, Buffy didn't like her. The spell must have altered her memories. "Th-thank you, sweetie," she said anyway. Stepping away, she reached for a washcloth lying on the vanity. "Come on. If the bad shower won't help with the soap, w-we'll do it another way." Tara made sure the water flowing from the tap was nice and warm before she wet the cotton washcloth.
Buffy hovered uncertainly in the middle of the bathroom. "Tara?"
"It's fine, B-Buffy. I promise." Smiling brightly, Tara reached for Buffy's right hand. She could feel Buffy's muscles tense at her touch, but Buffy didn't pull away. Sliding the washcloth up Buffy's arm, she cleaned off the light film of soap.
"Good," Buffy told Tara. She was relaxed again, free arm hanging loosely at her side.
Tara, however, looked longingly at the shower. Maybe she could leave Buffy where she was and take a cold shower herself. She was only human, and the close contact with Buffy had her distinctly on edge. Shoring up her self control, Tara rinsed the cloth and started on Buffy's chest and neck areas. This wouldn't take long; she could do this, Tara assured herself.
Her inner pep talk stumbled to a halt when Buffy began purring again.
The sound cut through the otherwise silent bathroom and proceeded to jangle Tara's already vibrating nerves. "Goddess," Tara said imploringly. What had she done to deserve this? Trying not to think too hard or pay too much attention to the rumble emanating from Buffy, Tara repeated her rinse, wet, wipe actions until she had cleaned off most of Buffy's front.
Making only minimal contact with the two breasts pointing in her direction, Tara gripped Buffy's shoulders and turned her to face the shower. Now Tara gave up on slow and steady and settled on speed. She had to get out of the bathroom and get Buffy into some clothes. A few more swipes of the cloth, and Tara mentally declared Buffy clean enough. She didn't acknowledge the tangled mass of Buffy's hair as she yanked the towel off the bar on the far wall, wrapping it around Buffy's body. "All done," she announced in relief.
"Done!" Buffy echoed. She spun and stared at Tara.
Tara blushed under the curious regard. Buffy's eyes were still oddly colored, and her nostrils flared with every breath. "Now…" What was she supposed to now? Tara struggled to pull her thoughts together. "Clothes!" Goddess, how could she have forgotten that? She needed to get Buffy into some clothes. "Come on, sweetie." Flashing another bright smile (it was beginning to feel painted on), Tara took Buffy's hand and began to lead them out of the bathroom.
***
Tara's hand felt good in Buffy's. It was smooth. Following Tara out of the tiny room, Buffy curiously stroked her thumb over the back of the hand holding hers. "Nice," she announced. Then she raised her free hand and examined her own fingers. They weren't smooth like Tara's. Frowning, she peered at her fingers, seeing the rough patches on her palms and fingertips.
"Buffy?" Tara's voice broke her concentration. "Sweetie, I don't know which room is yours."
If it had been anyone other than Tara, Buffy would have growled. She didn't understand the funny sounds. Trying to cooperate, though, she obligingly repeated, "Yours." That must not have been what Tara wanted. Tara frowned, and Buffy immediately felt bad. "Buffy yours," she tried again.
Heat suddenly radiated from Tara's face, and Buffy raised their joined hands to feel it. Tara stepped away from the caress. "No. No, Buffy. That's not what I meant."
A rumble came from Tara's throat, and Buffy bowed her head to show how sorry she was for angering Tara.
"That's OK. W-We'll just find it together." Buffy's head came up as Tara continued to make the incomprehensible sounds. "Let's try this room. Is this Buffy's room?" Opening the door, Tara pulled Buffy across the hall and they both looked inside.
A faint odor tickled Buffy's nose. She smiled at the familiar scent. It reminded her of… Frowning, Buffy tried to remember. It was right there. She drew in a deeper breath. "Mom." The smell and the word went together.
Her comments pleased Tara. A happy smile crossed Tara's face. "Your mom's room. Good, Buffy. Are you remembering things?" She stepped back and closed the door. "Come on. Let's try the next room."
Buffy trotted next to Tara. "Buffy good." That was good. Buffy didn't want to make Tara unhappy. When they entered the next room, though, she paused at the doorway. Now Tara's earlier words made sense. "Buffy's room." Her scent was everywhere. Breathing deeply, Buffy slowly left the threshold and wandered toward the desk. Reaching out, she brushed a finger over the sparkling, knife-edged blades at the bottom of the shoes slung over the back of a chair. "Skates."
An image formed in her mind. The skates and being cold and a sharp, cutting sound as she went round and round. Trying to recapture that memory further, Buffy threw out her arms and began to spin in circles. "Schwwwwww," she intoned in attempt to imitate the sound in her head.
***
At first, Tara was too busy searching through Buffy's dresser drawers to notice the activity going on behind her. A new sound, however, snapped her head in Buffy's direction. Towel-less, with arms held away from her body, Buffy spun madly in place. Her mouth was open and she made sounds like a television whose channel was off the air. "Dear Goddess." Tara's eyes flew shut. This couldn't be happening. Where was the quiet, happy, and nearly docile Buffy from only minutes ago?
There were no answers behind her eyelids. Tara forced them open and paced slowly toward Buffy – making sure to pick up the discarded towel along the way. "Buffy!" she tried to interrupt the performance with no results. Wanting to give in to her own urge to growl (in frustration), Tara tossed the towel at Buffy and stalked to the closet. There had to be shirts and pants there. She ripped the first pair of jeans and the first blouse she found off their hangers.
It wasn't until she turned back to Buffy that Tara realized her problems were far from over. Spinning Buffy had given way to Slumping Buffy. "Dear Goddess," Tara repeated. Then, seeing the confused and hurt expression in Buffy's downcast face, Tara softened. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Um…Bad Tara. Tara sorry." With a much more genuine smile than before, Tara patted Buffy's shoulder. Wryly acknowledging their drastically altered roles, she muttered, "By the time you're back to normal, I'll be owing you an apology, won't I?"
Buffy merely gripped her hand and resumed stroking it.
"Do you think you can get into the clothes by yourself?" Tara asked without much expectation of success. She held the clothes out to Buffy and prayed.
For an instant, success seemed possible. Buffy took the clothes with a smile – right before sniffing them and dropping them to the floor with a grunt.
Mentally gearing up for battle, Tara bent and retrieved the top-most item. "Shirt, Buffy," she said and moved closer. Her intention had been to simply slip the button-up top on Buffy. Buffy, unfortunately, didn't seem to like simple. Tara found herself dressing empty air.
"No!" Buffy said emphatically. Clutching the towel around her shoulders, she shook her head and stood pressed against the side of the bed.
"Buffy…" Tara took a deep breath when she realized her teeth were clenched. "Sweetie, please." Her mother had always said politeness got results. Once again, Tara sent a silent thank you to her mother. Buffy responded to the tone and sidled a few steps nearer. "Good Buffy." Tara smoothly closed the remaining gap and inserted Buffy's right arm into the shirt.
Trembling like a filly under the saddle for the first time, Buffy stood poised to flee.
Tara resorted to stroking Buffy's shoulder again, and Buffy slowly calmed. Keeping alert for adverse reactions, Tara managed to get Buffy's other arm into the shirt and began buttoning the front. By the time it was completely closed, she was bathed in sweat and exhausted. Now, though, Tara had a system. When she picked up Buffy's foot in preparation for sliding it into the jeans, Tara kept up a steady stream of soft words and caresses.
Buffy grimaced and plucked at the shirt as Tara drew up the jeans and fastened the snap.
"Clothes good," Tara quickly assured her. They were far better than the alternative. Tara breathed a sigh of relief when Buffy stopped fussing. She took Buffy's arm. It was time to retrieve Joyce and company from their exile. They needed to figure out how to get Buffy back to normal. With her limited capacity for understanding and her violent reactions to surprises, Buffy was a child with Slayer strength. If she got out of control… Tara cut that thought off sharply. It wasn't going to happen. "Come on, sweetie. Your mom is downstairs. Let's go see if she has any good news for us."
Buffy tilted her head in consideration before following Tara out of her bedroom and down the stairs. She hung at the very end of Tara's grasp, sniffing the air.
Seeing Buffy's actions, Tara hesitated. Was something wrong? Buffy didn't appear frightened or angry. With some trepidation, Tara opened the front door.