Mrs. Summers and an unknown man stood side by side on the front porch. Both ignored Tara, peering worriedly at Buffy. "Ah…I see Buffy has returned to herself," the man enunciated in a clipped British accent.
His pleased smile faltered when Buffy pressed against Tara's back and growled softly.
"Not exactly," Tara mumbled. She wasn't sure how to respond to Buffy's actions. The other girl was plastered against her, and her arms had snaked around Tara's middle. "I g-got her dr-dressed, though." Blushing brightly at the inane comment and the stutter, Tara fought to move herself and Buffy out of the doorway. "I th-think it's safe to come ins-inside, though." Despite the rumble that vibrated through her, Tara didn't feel Buffy tensing for battle.
Neither of the two adults on the porch moved.
"Pl-please. Come in." Tara tried to keep the words polite through her frustration. Fixing Buffy had been the big project earlier. Why did she seem to be the only one still working on that? In fact… Leaning toward the open door, Tara looked around Mrs. Summers and her companion. "Where are Wi-Willow and Faith?" They weren't anywhere in sight.
Finally stepping inside, Mrs. Summers patted Tara's shoulder, keeping a careful eye on Buffy. "I sent them home. Buffy didn't seem to want them here." Tara saw her pained frown. "Willow is planning to do some research on her computer and call if she finds anything."
Not sure how to respond, Tara simply nodded. "Are w-we going to do re-research here, too?" Buffy was still glued to her back, and now she was stroking Tara's stomach with warm fingers. The caresses were making it hard for Tara to stay focused. She tried, though. It was important to find a way to get Buffy back to normal. "I th-think I know how this happened."
Her words spurred the man with Mrs. Summers into a flood of questions. "You do? How? Was it aimed at Buffy? Is there a way to reverse the spell?" He resembled Willow in both enthusiasm and speed.
"Rupert!" Mrs. Summers shoved him gently toward the living room. "Sit down and give Tara a chance to explain," she remonstrated with amused affection.
Tara's eyebrows shot into her hairline. This was the Rupert that Mrs. Summers had been sure could help? He was bright red and stammering worse than Tara herself normally did. Biting her lip against a giggle, Tara inched away from Buffy. At least…that was her intention. The arms around her disagreed. They tightened slightly, and Tara stopped moving.
"No go," Buffy announced firmly.
This might be a problem. Tara flashed a reassuring smile at Rupert and Mrs. Summers. "It's OK, sweetie. We're going to get comfortable in the other room. You can go with me." She knew, even as she spoke, that Buffy's limited vocabulary wouldn't stand up to the long explanation.
Sure enough, Buffy merely grunted. "No go."
Feeling her smile slip slightly, Tara considered her options. Forcing Buffy into the other room? She slid a foot forward – and did some grunting of her own when Buffy gripped her even tighter. Screaming in frustration had merit suddenly. "Buffy…" Tara didn't know how to phrase her request. She abandoned tact altogether. "Buffy go now!"
Buffy's grip loosened – in shock, probably.
Tara used the withdrawal to her advantage. Surging forward, she moved out of Buffy grasp and turned to face the other girl. "Now!" she repeated. For added measure, Tara pointed into the living room and stared stonily into wide copper eyes.
It worked. With plodding steps and outthrust lower lip, Buffy did as ordered.
Maintaining her stern visage in case Buffy glanced back, Tara walked into the living room a few steps behind Buffy. A conspicuously quiet Rupert and Mrs. Summers slipped in at her side and took seats on the couch.
That left the chair on the far side of the large room. Tara headed in that direction, watching as Buffy hesitated in front of the nearby fireplace, tilting her head slightly. "Buffy?" Not really wanting to startle or anger Buffy, Tara spoke softly.
She wasn't prepared for Buffy's beaming smile and the picture Buffy thrust in her direction. "Scoobies," Buffy said clearly.
The picture hovering in front of Tara's face contained a trio of happy teenagers. She recognized Willow and Buffy. The dark haired young man, though, was new. "Scoobies." Tara repeated the word and removed the silver frame from Buffy's hand. "Come on, sweetie. You can tell me about the Scoobies later." Still holding the picture, Tara tugged gently on Buffy's arm until they were standing in front of the chair. "Buffy sit. Please."
For once, Buffy didn't protest. She dropped into the chair.
An explosion of sound to their right startled a squeal out of Tara. Buffy instantly jumped out of the chair and pulled Tara protectively behind her. A low, threatening growl emanated from her throat as Buffy apparently warned whoever (or whatever) had made the noise to go away.
Heart pounding, Tara buried her head in Buffy's shoulder. The sounds continued unabated from the television in the far corner of the room.
Buffy, though, didn't understand what was going on. She vibrated against Tara, body tense and fists clenched. Frowning fiercely, she scanned the room for the threat.
"Sweetie, I'm fine." Tara sought to soothe her. "Sit down."
Before Tara could maneuver Buffy back into the chair, the flicker of frenetic movement from the cartoon on the television caught Buffy's attention. "Little people!" she crowed. Her vigilant stance disappeared and she grinned widely. Completely enthralled, Buffy left Tara to fend for herself and crept closer to the television...
"Well, I was going to suggest the use of magic to restrain Buffy, if necessary." Rupert grimaced and pulled his glasses off his nose. Rubbing at the pressure indentations with his right hand, he went on. "This is far worse than I had feared. Buffy is too powerful to remain completely unrestrained in her current condition. She could easily do harm to an innocent without meaning to do so."
Really? Tara barely held back the sarcastic question. "Yes, I had the s-same thought." Staring at a grinning and clapping Buffy poised in front of the television, Tara no longer felt the same anxiety. However, she knew that Buffy's currently child-like state was temporary. One loud noise or anything threatening, and Buffy would go back to her former violent bent.
"Joyce tells me that you are a witch, my dear." Leaning forward, Rupert peered shortsightedly at Tara. "Perhaps you could do…something to get Buffy into a more relaxed state of mind? Put her to sleep?"
"No, sir. I'm sorry." The politeness drilled into Tara prevented her from using Rupert's first name – and it almost kept her next words from sounding mocking. "H-Have you ever used magic?"
Shifting uncomfortably, Rupert replaced his glasses. "Yes, many years ago. I only dabble now and then these days."
"Oh." That explained his lack of knowledge. "Um…It isn't as eas-easy as people think." Tara could see from his impatient frown that he didn't understand her point and that he wasn't going to wait long for more. "We d-don't know what spell was used to make Buffy and the others like th-this. If I c-cast a counterspell or just put her to sl-sleep, the results might be bad." Disastrous, actually. Tara didn't want to delve too deeply into the possible consequences. They needed to focus on finding answers instead.
"Bloody hell!" Rupert's frustrated exposition earned a growl from Buffy.
Glaring at him, Buffy ordered angrily, "Buffy like little people. No talk!" She pointed at him to emphasize her words.
Looking less than chastened - and quite annoyed - Rupert settled back against the couch and didn't say anything.
"Good." Buffy went back to the cartoon.
The situation was bad. Tara weighed their options. "I d-don't know what spell made Buffy like this; I th-think I know who does, though." The warlock at the bar. "There was a man at the bar. He was ke-keeping people inside the building. With m-magic," Tara tacked on to make sure Rupert and Mrs. Summers understood.
"Oh, Rupert. You don't think someone was after Buffy, do you?" Joyce joined the conversation finally. Her attention remained mostly on Buffy as she spoke. "I thought, with both of the girls here…"
"It wouldn't be an unlikely occurrence." Rupert's glasses came off again, and he fished a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket. Methodically cleaning each lens, he continued. "However, it strikes me as odd that anyone focusing on Buffy would choose that particular moment to attack. It would have been too hard to predict her being there. And Buffy is far too skilled not to notice that she was being followed – especially during the day." Turning his head, Rupert glanced at Tara. "Did you get a good look at this person, Tara?"
If only she had. Tara picked up the remote Buffy had inadvertently sat on and then dropped into the chair. Stared at the photo still clutched in her hands, she said softly, "No. W-Willow and I tried." And they'd been so close, right at the edges of the warlock's shields. "He saw us, though." She raised her eyes. "Whoever he is, he's very powerful. His attack nearly got through my shields."
Rupert might not have been an expert in the arcane; however, he seemed to understand the gravity of that last statement. "Were you hurt, Tara?" He shoved his glasses back on and leaned toward her in concern. "I have some contacts in the local covens…"
Blushing, Tara shook her head. "No, sir. I'm fine. Just a headache."
A warm hand patted Tara's knee. "You will, of course, let us know if your headache worsens." Rupert's voice was soft – and it did nothing to disguise the firm command.
"Yes, sir," Tara answered quickly. Wanting desperately to deflect attention from herself, she changed the subject. "If B-Buffy wasn't the target, why c-cast the spell on the people in the bar?"
***
The voices behind Buffy were annoying; although, not so annoying that she stopped trying to find the little people running back and forth in the box. Hands pressed to the surface, she grunted and chuckled as one of the little people fell down. Buffy liked the big stars that appeared and floated in a circle around the little man's head.
Then she heard something she recognized. Tara's soft voice said, "bar."
Spinning around, Buffy forgot all about the people in the box. "Bar!" she echoed. She'd liked the bar…before the fire, anyway. The bar had beer. Maybe Tara could help her get more beer. Buffy stood regarded Tara closely. "Tara drink beer?"
She didn't understand the look Tara gave her, but Buffy liked the faint tide of pink that rushed up Tara's face. "No, Buffy. I don't drink," Tara said quietly. "And you shouldn't, either."
"No beer?" Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. "Beer good. Buffy like beer."
"Buffy's never been much of a drinker," Mom said. Holding out a hand to Buffy, she continued, "Honey, is that why the man was able to put you under a spell? You were drunk?"
The bad feeling was back. Buffy's arms slid from her chest to her stomach as it roiled and cramped at Mom's words. She stared at the older woman in confusion, wishing the sounds coming from the other woman's mouth made sense. What had she done now? There was only one conclusion she could draw. "Buffy bad," Buffy said sadly. "Make Mom mad."
The hand reaching out to her retreated until it rested over Mom's mouth. The tears glistening in Mom's eyes didn't make Buffy feel any better.
"No, sweetie. Your mom isn't mad." Tara stood up slowly and walked toward Buffy. "She's just worried." As if sensing Buffy didn't understand the words, she stopped talking and smiled. "Buffy not bad."
Buffy didn't believe Tara until Tara's hand touched her shoulder. The solid, warm contact flushed away some of the fluttering in her stomach. Straightening a little, Buffy tried to put everything together. It was hard. The sounds… the words Tara, Mom, and the man said still didn't make sense most of the time. "If not Buffy, beer bad?" Was that why Mom had been mad? Because the beer had been bad?