"Are there really that many people who this Ethan could t-team up with?" Tara understood Buffy and Faith, as Slayers, faced vampires and demons. Neither of those groups was known for organization and long-range plans, though, let alone an affinity for magic. Would normal humans even know that Slayers existed? And...Her mind ran in circles, trying to make sense of the situation.
Rupert nodded. "There always seems to be a new crop of enemies. We've discovered that the Hellmouth draws more than simply the usual types of evil creatures. I am not aware of any one in particular, at the moment, however." Falling silent, he stared intently at Buffy. "Ethan is very fond of power, my dear. For him to ally with anyone – or anything – he would have to believe he would receive some reward or increase in stature. And that kind of entity…Well, I would have thought we would have had a hint of their arrival in town."
When he fell silent again, Tara had nothing to contribute. His comments hadn't really cleared up her confusion. She'd lived in Sunnydale for more than a year without encountering anything remotely like what Rupert had described. Of course, she acknowledged to herself, she'd spent all of her time in virtual hiding. She'd even avoided the local covens; Tara's connections to anything magical resided solely in her spell books. Maybe it was time to change that. "H-have you thought of…"
"Willow thinks she has something." Tara jerked in surprise when Mrs. Summers abruptly interrupted her suggestion. Hovering in the hallway, she continued. "I just got off the phone. It looks like we have our first clue."
Standing, Rupert turned in Mrs. Summers' direction. "Excellent. What did she find?"
Tara absently stroked a hand up and down Buffy's back and listened to the conversation. The repetitive motion was soothing, as was the soft sound of Buffy's breathing as she slept.
"A large shipment of beer arrived at Jack's two days ago," Mrs. Summers explained. "Willow's still working on where the shipment originated; however, all but two kegs were then delivered to three of the largest fraternities on campus. The same fraternities reporting 'strange' behavior from their members."
"If you're r-right," Tara said quietly, "why did the tr-trouble start tonight?" She refused to look away when both Rupert and Mrs. Summers glanced in her direction. "If the beer was m-meant for Halloween, why t-tonight? Did something go wrong? And…why was E-Ethan at the bar and not on Greek Row?"
Neither adult responded.
Feeling herself flush, Tara tried to get them to understand. "The b-bar wasn't crowded. Why go there? The fr-fraternities would give h-him more ch-chances to cause trouble. M-Maybe he r-really was after Buffy."
"A very good question, Tara. Perhaps we should look more closely at the patrons of the bar. I still do not believe Buffy was, in any way, Ethan's intended victim. However, one of the others very well may have been." Rupert strode toward the hallway. "I will join Willow and Faith and see if we can discover more about the shipment."
Mrs. Summers started to follow him and then stopped. "I…" Frowning, she glanced at Buffy in apparent indecision. "You'll have to keep us in the loop, Rupert." She sounded frustrated as she continued. "I don't want to leave Tara alone with Buffy."
Buffy wasn't a threat. Tara started to protest the bodyguard. The stern look Mrs. Summers gave her changed her mind. She wasn't tangling with a clearly protective mother.
Without another word, Rupert hurried out of the house. The soft snick of the closing door was loud in the otherwise silent living room.
"Can I get you anything, honey?" Appearing restless, Mrs. Summers plumped the pillows on the couch and rearranged the knickknacks on the end table before striding to the mantle to peruse and align the photos there.
"No, thank you," Tara murmured. She watched the other woman, wondering what was causing her frenetic energy. "Mrs. Summers? Is ev-everything alright?" Had Willow found something else? Something Mrs. Summers hadn't told them? The hand stroking Buffy's back grew more firm as Tara vowed to derail whatever plan Willow and Faith had uncovered.
With a soft chuckle, Mrs. Summers resumed her seat on the couch. "Nothing's really wrong, Tara. Well…nothing that hasn't been wrong all night." She stopped and gazed at Buffy before seeming to make a decision. When she spoke again, her voice was determined. "I didn't know anything about you - or Buffy's stellar behavior at Hemery - until yesterday."
It was the last thing Tara wanted to hear – or talk about. Shrinking back in the chair and pulling Buffy tighter to her chest, she started to protest. "Mrs. Summers…"
"I won't offer excuses, honey. There aren't any." Mrs. Summers spoke over Tara's objection. "Buffy was the perfect product of her upbringing." A bitter smile twisted her lips. "A young, up and coming lawyer and his young, bored, and completely self-absorbed housewife. There should be a test for prospective parents, you know," Mrs. Summers continued conversationally. "The first question should be: are you mature enough to raise a child."
Squirming was out of the question, thanks to Buffy's weight in her lap. That didn't mean Tara wasn't twisting and wiggling uncomfortably mentally. This was too personal. Too obviously painful for Mrs. Summers.
Before she could find a way to change the subject, though, Mrs. Summers raised her eyes. They were dark with memories. "I'm sorry you met the product of my and Hank's incompetence as parents."
The soft, blunt apology took Tara by surprise. "You d-didn't do anything," Tara said. Buffy had been the one making decisions. She'd been old enough to know, no matter what her home life, what her actions would do. "Pl-please, don't w-worry about it." Tension snaked through her, and Tara dropped her eyes, staring blankly at the top of Buffy's head.
"I'm a mother, honey. Worry is what we do," Mrs. Summers said wryly. The comment drew Tara's reluctant gaze, and she couldn't help returning the self-mocking smile Mrs. Summers wore. "You've been here for Buffy, even though I'm sure you'd rather be anywhere else. When she's back to normal – or what passes for that since Buffy became the Slayer – I know she'll thank you herself. All I'm asking is that you give her a chance, Tara. She really isn't the same girl you knew. Sometimes, even I don't recognize her." Standing slowly, Mrs. Summers pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over Buffy's shoulders. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
Frozen by indecision, Tara didn't reply as Mrs. Summers left the room. The conversation hadn't been the stern scolding Willow and Faith had received. However, Tara ruefully acknowledged that the result had been similar. She deeply regretted the way she'd reacted to meeting Buffy in their shared dorm room – and there was no way she'd be able to turn away if Buffy wanted talk once the spell had lifted. "That's a mom thing, too, isn't it?" she asked the empty room and her sleeping companion. "Guilt…Mama was good at that."
Buffy didn't respond. Her soft breaths filled the silence, though. And Tara found herself matching the deep, slow pattern of inhales and exhales. Without conscious thought, she slipped into a light trance.
***
Buffy rubbed her face on the pillow under her cheek and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The slight movement hurt. Tiny men with large hammers went to work in her head, and it pounded accordingly. She needed aspirin. An entire bottle. "I'm never drinking again," she mumbled and cracked one eye open.
It was dark. That was good. Buffy had a feeling light – of any kind – would be very, very bad. Trying not to move too quickly, she searched for a clock. What time was it?
"Holy shit!" Snapping her eye closed again, Buffy prayed. This was a dream. That was all. Just a dream. Counting to ten, she repeated that over and over. Just a dream. At ten, she opened both eyes.
The view hadn't changed. There was not clock. No familiar dorm room. Just Tara's face, hovering mere inches away.
The pounding in Buffy's head was suddenly eclipsed by memory. Snippets of conversation – all of it in Tara's voice – and odd flashes of scenes.
Faith, poised for a fight, in front of Jack's bar as Tara stood protectively in between them. "The magic on the door wasn't the only spell. I think Buffy's under a spell, too."
More Faith – this time chasing her down the stairs and then into the kitchen.
Buffy moaned again. This time from an emotion far more damaging than pain. Embarrassment curled in her stomach and chest, making her writhe inside and a sending a blush over her neck and face. She could actually feel Tara under her, see her wide-eyed look of shock and fear as Buffy straddled her. The blush got brighter and hotter.
Straddled Tara naked.
The images advanced. They didn't let Buffy off the hook, though. Huddling into herself she remembered the shower she'd shared with Tara. The way Tara had dried and dressed her.
"By the time you're back to normal, I'll be owing you an apology, won't I?"
No, Buffy told the phantom Tara. She would never owe Buffy an apology. Shaking from the onslaught of emotion and memory, Buffy managed to get a hand free of the blanket and rubbed her temple. God, things with Tara had gone from terrible to… She couldn't even find a word to describe how much worse she'd made the situation.
A sob burned her throat, and she fought it back. Crying wasn't going to help. It never had before. It was time to make this right – if that were even possible. In a voice rough with unshed tears, Buffy whispered, "Tara? Tara, wake up."
Almost immediately, Tara's eyes fluttered open and focused intently on Buffy. "Sw-sweetie?" Buffy could see the way Tara watched her for a reaction and feel the way the other girl's hands began to stroke her back under the blanket. "It's OK. Go back to sleep. You need to rest."
The offered out was tempting. So very tempting. Buffy resisted the lure, however. Lying about her condition wouldn't help fix this. "I'm not tired anymore," she said softly.
"I bet your mom…" Tara's response was automatic. Then she broke off and the gentle massage stopped. "Buffy?" The color in Tara's cheeks disappeared with alarming speed.
With a twisted excuse for a reassuring smile, Buffy responded to Tara's unspoken question. "Yeah, it's really me. No more cave girl." She shifted out of Tara's limp embrace and scooted off Tara's lap. "You were right. The sleep seems to have gotten rid of the spell." Keeping her voice level with effort, Buffy avoided the truly serious topics and stuck strictly to business. "Did Mom come back with more information from Giles and the gang yet?"
The gang. Buffy choked on the phrase and cleared her throat. She wanted to huddle on the floor under the weight on her shoulders. She owed more than just Tara a heartfelt apology.
"N-no." Tara shrank back into the chair, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Th-they h-haven't called b-back."
The staccato stutter stabbed at Buffy. It hadn't been so bad when Tara had been taking care of her. Buffy remembered Tara smiling and speaking almost flawlessly as she promised to keep Buffy safe. "I'm sorry," she blurted in response to that memory. "I'm so sorry."