"Buffy?" I ease myself into the room. "Are you okay? You don't usually come in here.."

She doesn't answer-not that I expected her to-and I step closer, speaking gently. "Tara's going to come over. I invited her for dinner. I made spaghetti. Do you want to come eat with us?"

I wait for a minute before going over to the bed and touching her hand. "Come on. We'll get you dressed up all pretty, and then you can come sit downstairs with us. Tara's going to come over." I take her hand and pull her into a sitting position. Some days she can do this herself, but less and less often recently. I squat down and pull a box of clothes out from under Mom's bed, rummaging through it.

"These are my old clothes. You have to wear them because your jeans don't fit anymore, okay?"

Buffy stares blankly at me and furrows her brows. Times like this.. I don't even know if she understands me. But I talk anyway. It makes me feel better, because treating her like this-like she's a little kid or something-it makes me feel weird. It would be less confusing, I think, if there weren't times when she acted normally.

It seems like sometimes she just.. forgets everything that happened, and she's like the old Buffy. The Buffy from even before Mom got sick. She'll get dressed and walk around, and she'll even try to go on patrol.. Usually I can convince her to stay home with me instead, but once Spike had to hold her down to keep her from leaving. It's not safe for her to go out, because as randomly as she turns into the old Buffy, she turns right back into this Buffy. Like she suddenly remembers, and climbs back inside whatever safe place she's made inside her head.

She looks at me at I slide sweatpants onto her, mildly confused. "Will Mom be home for dinner?" I pause and comb my fingers through her hair. She frowns and rests her head against my hip, closing her eyes. She asks about Mom a lot. Usually whether she's going to be somewhere at a certain time. "Not tonight. Remember, I told you that Tara was coming for dinner?"

She pulls back a little and glances at me. "I like Tara." She stands up and pulls the drawstring on her pants tightly and ties it, her hands shaking a little bit.

I smile and kiss her forehead. "I know. I like Tara, too."

"Tara likes Wi.." She looks at the floor for a moment, her eyes closed. A few tears drop down onto the carpet, and I sit next to her, sliding my arm across her shoulders.

"It's okay, Buffy. No crying, okay? You don't want to be all red-faced when Tara comes over, do you?"

A minute passes before she looks up, her face blank again, whatever memories had managed to resurface safely repressed once again. I wipe her cheeks and put a t-shirt and zip-up hoodie on her. She smiles at me, and I can't help smiling back, even though there's a rock in the pit of my stomach.

----

The bell rings as I settle Buffy into a seat at the table and put a small serving of spaghetti on her plate. She probably won't eat it anyway, but.. Maybe she'll surprise me. I go to the door and pull it open. Tara stands there, holding a Tupperware container.

"I brought sauce," she says simply, offering it to me.

I smile and kiss her cheek, taking the bowl and shutting the door behind her. "Thank you."

She gets that really concerned look on her face and glances towards the stairs. "How is she?"

"She's in the dining room, actually. I told her you were coming, and she let me get her dressed with no problem."

We walk into the dining room, where Buffy sits perfectly still, looking at her plate of spaghetti. Tara goes over and touches her hair. "Look at you, out and about."

Buffy looks up at her and I see another flicker in her eyes, but it's gone as fast as it appeared. She seems to think for a moment, and finally comes out with, "I'm wearing Dawn's clothes." She says it as if it's a secret she desperately needed to share.

Tara smiles warmly. "They look very nice on you."

She sits, and we eat quietly with Buffy watching us and chewing on her bottom lip.

"Buffy's birthday is next week," I say after awhile. "We should do something special."

Tara nods and looks to Buffy. "Twenty-six is an important one, right Buffy?"

Buffy doesn't react. Slayers never live past twenty-five, so it really is an important birthday. Though she hasn't been an active Slayer for a long time. Ever since..

Shut up, Dawn. Don't think about it.

I can't help it sometimes. I keep thinking, maybe if Willow were here, she could fix Buffy. Like she did last time. But.. she's not. In fact, she's the reason Buffy's like this now. And there's nothing anyone can do about that.

Tara's hand touches my cheek gently. "I miss her too." I sigh and lean my head against her hand, taking the comfort she offers. She pulls me into her lap like when I was a kid and holds me close, kissing my shoulder.

Buffy sets down the fork she'd been playing with and lays her head on the table. We sit like this for almost a half hour, until I realize that Buffy's fallen asleep. I glance back at Tara. "I should put her to bed."

Tara nods and lets me go. "Need help?"

I smile sadly. "No. Actually, I don't." I move over to Buffy and pick her up, cradling her in my arms, and carry her upstairs. She's a little more than half my weight and about seven inches shorter than me. She stirs as I lay her down and puts her arms around my neck.

"Is Mommy going to tuck me in?"

"I'm going to tuck you in tonight, okay?"

"Okay."

I kiss her forehead and pull the covers up around her.