Chapter Two

The Different Faces of Maturity

Things do not change; we change.

-          Henry David Thoreau

The house was just the right size – not too large, but not small, either. Cozy, that was the word Mum had used to describe it.  A few of the windows had been opened in the hopes that a breeze might pass by, letting thick bands of yellow light shine out into the night. Altogether, the house looked exactly as it should. It looked like a home.

For Dawn, it was painfully easy to pretend she still lived there. She could still remember it clearly, even though she never mentioned it to Buffy. She remembered her sister sitting up in her room for the few short days or weeks that she was home, scribbling wildly on bits of parchment. Sometimes Mum would convince her to watch Dawn, and they would play games together.

Best of all, late at night, she would crawl into Buffy’s bed and her sister would tell stories. Stories about giants and unicorns, monsters that were half-horse and half-eagle, people who could turn into animals, magic spells, flying carriages, and a school where you could learn magic. Looking back on it, Dawn knew that the stories couldn’t have been true – the “magic spells” were really nothing more than a jumble of made-up words and a strange bastardization of Latin. But back then, the stories had seemed incredibly real, and some small part of her still believed in them, although she didn’t know why.

Of course, even then, she would lose her sister to someone else. Now it was demons and vampires, the Council and the Scoobies, who claimed Buffy’s attention. Back then, it had been those strangely dressed people. Mr. Moody and Mr. Moony, she thought their names were. Sometimes, a family of redheads would come along to pick her up, too. She remembered there had been a lot of them. A set of grinning twins; a tall, freckled boy; an extremely good-looking man with long hair and a fang earring; and their father, with hair as red as any of them, even if he was balding.

Dawn let out a bitter laugh at those memories. It seemed that the monks had screwed up, after all. They should have given her to Faith, the Slayer no one wanted. It seemed like she would never get a chance to spend time with her sister. There was always something more important.

Face hard, she got back in the car and drove off before one of the neighbors could come out and ask her what she was doing there.  

Buffy had been in England for less then an hour, and already she wanted to leave.

She hated the whole country now. It was a place that held too much of her history, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite forget about…things.

The whole country made her sick with fear. Merely setting foot on British soil had been enough to set it off. What if someone she knew recognized her? She knew it was unlikely, but what if? What if she accidentally wandered into Wizarding London? It could happen; she was more familiar with Diagon Alley and its environs then she was with the whole rest of the city, for all that she had a flat in the heart of Chelsea. 

And then there were darker worries. What about Voldemort? Was he still active? Did he still attack Mug- the rest of the world? Would he know if she was back in England? Would he care?

She couldn’t stop thinking of him. Deep down, she just knew something bad was going to happen because she was here. She didn’t care if it sounded stupid or superstitious. She had a feeling.

And one thing Buffy had quickly learned was, when the Slayer has a feeling about something, people listen.

That was what she was hoping for, anyway, when she burst through the doors of the Watcher’s Council Headquarters. However, her impressive entrance was hampered by the fact that she had no idea where Giles’s office was. The last time she’d been in the building, they’d had barely twenty Watchers and two secretaries; half the building had been unused. Now, there were people everywhere – coming, going, and some choosing to just stop and stare at her.

How rude, she thought, channeling her inner Stephanie Tanner.

Where to go?

Just as she was wondering if she should ask one of the suit-clad Watchers where Giles’s office was, she spotted the sign by the front desk. Trying to look as if she knew exactly what she was doing, (she was their boss, after all), she sidled up oh-so-carefully to the large signpost.

DIRECTOR’S OFFICE….TOP FLOOR , she read. Well, that cleared things up. Now, where were the elevators?

After twenty minutes, and two “I am not the new secretary”s, Buffy arrived on Giles’s floor.

There was a young, pretty woman with sandy blonde hair sitting at the desk in front of his office door, and Buffy assumed that she must be the devious assistant Giles had been complaining to her about.

“Hi, Emily,” she said, stepping out of the elevator. “Can you tell Giles…uh, Mr. Giles, that I’d like to speak with him?”

“Miss Summers?” Emily confirmed.

“Uh huh. Oh, and tell him it’s important,” she added.

“I’ve been told that everything you say is important,” Emily said, smiling, and pressed the button on the phone that called Giles’s office.

Buffy smiled, but made no response as Emily had just started talking.

“Mr. Giles, Miss Summers would like to speak with you. She says it’s urgent.”

Buffy frowned. It wasn’t precisely what she’d said, but close enough. And knowing Giles, little slip-ups like that probably had him in conniptions. What was she thinking? There was no “probably” about it. She’d been forced to listen to his rants first hand.

“You may enter,” Emily said.

Buffy broke away from her thoughts with a blush.

“Thanks,” she murmured, walking into Giles’s office.

The moment she saw the look on his face, Buffy knew that she was right; something had gone wrong. His glasses had that too-shiny glare coming off them that meant he’d just cleaned them, and there was that something in his expression that immediately recalled the night he’d let Wood attack Spike. He was worried, and trying his best to hide it.

“What happened?” she asked at once.

He didn’t question how she knew that something bad had happened. He merely sighed and gestured to her to sit down.

“Dawn is missing,” he began.

“When did you last see her?” was the first thing out of the Slayer’s mouth.

His eyebrows went up at that. He’d expected her to start screaming, or at least swear a bit (he really wished Spike hadn’t taught her so many colorful words). However, she was calm. It was almost as if she’d expected something like this to happen. He shook off the idea, though; even Buffy had some limitations on what she could do, no matter how strong she’d become.

“Earlier this morning. No one thought anything of her being gone until she wouldn’t answer her phone.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to her?”

“None whatsoever, although one of the Council’s cars is missing.”

Buffy nodded to herself and looked away, seeming lost in thought.

“She might just be on a ride somewhere,” he felt it necessary to add. “She has been feeling rather restless lately.”

“We don’t know that,” she said sharply. “Anything could have happened to her. You know how dangerous the people looking for the Key are. And even if they didn’t know she was the Key, someone could be looking for a way to distract me from whatever this mysterious meeting is going to be about.”

He nodded gravely. There really was no arguing with that, although he was surprised at her reaction. Buffy had always been protective of her sister, but as Dawn had grown older, she’d relaxed quite a bit. There was something nagging him about the whole situation, though. Buffy was almost prepared for some catastrophe to occur.

“Giles, snap out of it,” Buffy said, recalling him from his thoughts. “We have to find Dawn.”

“Of course,” he said, getting back to business. “We already have people looking, of course, and we’ve alerted both the Coven in Devon and the Covens in County Clare and Fife.”

“That’s good,” she said. “What can I do?”

Giles hesitated. He couldn’t think of any way she could help. She hadn’t yet arrived when Dawn left, and she hated to research or investigate anything. Until they’d found where Dawn was, there really was…

“That’s a big fat nothing, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Well, it’s just that…” he trailed off.

“You’ve got everything covered?” she finished. “That’s great. Really.”

“Buffy, are you alright?” he began.

“No,” she snapped. “My sister is missing and I can’t do anything to find her. Would you be alright?”

“I know this isn’t helping, but we do have everything under control,” he tried to soothe her. “I’m sure she will turn up in no time.”

Buffy didn’t look convinced. If anything, she looked even more worried.

“Go home,” he urged her. “Get some rest. We’ll all be busy enough tomorrow.”

She nodded absently, and both of them stood up. Just as she turned to leave, she turned around and hugged him.

“It’s good to see you,” she murmured, before exiting the office.

Just as the door swung shut, Giles couldn’t help but think that it was good to have her back. Life just wasn’t the same without Buffy around, being…well, being Buffy. Then he wondered what Quentin Travers would have to say in response to that thought. 

Outside the office, Emily heard her employer suddenly break into a fit of laughter like no other she’d heard from him. Shaking her head, she went back to printing out his appointments for the next two weeks and stuffed them in her purse, before leaving for lunch.

Worrying about Dawn exhausted Buffy faster then any other activity. Unfortunately, it was also the only thing she could do at the moment.

She had been pacing around the flat for over two hours, occasionally throwing things when she felt particularly frustrated. So far she’d managed to break a clock, the coffee table, a chair, a few picture frames, and the television, with the end result being that the room looked like a hurricane had just hit. The neighbors would probably complain, she reflected, but she had once saved the building’s owner from a vampire, so she doubted they’d be evicted…assuming there was still a “they” to speak of, and Dawn hadn’t been kidnapped by Death Eaters.

She let out a little scream of rage and kicked the couch. Too preoccupied to control her strength, she stopped pacing long enough to watch it rise a few feet in the air and fly backwards, before landing on top of an end table with a deafening crash.

Oops.

She focused her hearing for a moment, and distinctly heard the sound of buttons being pressed in the flat across the hall.

“I’d like to report a disturbance,” the high, breathy voice of Angela Simkiss, a snooty Sloane with a penchant for nosiness, whispered into the phone.

“I’ve been hearing some funny noises in the flat across the hall. There’s all sorts of banging and screaming going on.” A pause, then – “No, I am sure no one is ‘having a kinky shag.’ Really, sir, how revolting.” Another pause. “The address is Number 8, 1408 Havington Way. The flat is on the top floor. I think you should have one of those SWAT team thingamees, too. I’m quite sure something extraordinary vio-.”

There was a faint click. The dispatcher had hung up.

Buffy smirked, but it faded immediately as she realized what her meddlesome neighbor had done. Stupid cow.

Shaking her head in disgust, she reached for the phone and prayed that Angela had phoned in more then her share of phony complaints.

“Hello, you have reached the Metropolitan Police Force,” the pre-recorded voice of a woman said.

A list of numbers to dial and their various functions followed. When the woman said, “Please press 3 to speak with a dispatcher,” Buffy obligingly dialed, and within seconds, she found herself speaking with someone.

They’re better then the Sunnydale Department, she thought.

“Hi,” she said, “Um, my name is Buffy Summers, and well…” Here, she affected a slightly embarrassed laugh. “My neighbor – her name’s Angela Simkiss – she, well…she’s a little nosy sometimes, and me and my boyfriend were - ” Cue another giggle. “Um, engaging in some extra-curricular activities, and we might have been a little noisy, and - ”   

The dispatcher cut her off.

“Miss Simkiss called our station asking for an entire squad of constables?” he finished.

“Yeah,” Buffy said, making sure she sounded appropriately embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, Miss Summers,” he said. “I’ll tell the bobbies to hold off. Lord knows we have enough “complaints”’ from that woman.”

“Thank you so much,” she said.

Although the dispatcher couldn’t see it, she frowned. Had that been too over the top?

He seemed to buy it though, because he said, “It’s nothing. Really, we’re quite used to her antics. She’s a bit of a joke around here, you know. Although, this is all off the record, of course,” he added hastily.

“Of course,” Buffy echoed.

The dispatcher prattled on a bit more. She mostly tuned him out, walking over to the front door. She opened it and slammed it shut quickly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “My boyfriend’s just come back. It was nice talking with you.”

She hung up quickly.

Making a mental note to talk to the landlord about Angela, she walked over to the displaced couch and collapsed on it, exhausted. Now that little problem was dealt with, she was right back to worrying about Dawn.

Come on, guys, she thought desperately. You owe me. I’ve saved the world – a lot. It was on my tombstone and everything. Can you just do me this one teeny little favor and make sure Dawn gets home alright?

She didn’t know if anyone had heard her, but after her little prayer, she was too tired to care. With one last silent plea for help, Buffy collapsed on the couch, fast asleep.

She didn’t wake up for several hours, and when she did, she was not happy.

Wobbling slightly, with her hair mussed and her shirt on backwards, Dawn Summers finally made her appearance in the flat.

Now fully awake, Buffy sat up and watched as her sister attempted to quietly close the door behind her. Unfortunately for her, she failed, and fell into it instead.

“Whoops,” Dawn giggled.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared, and she could smell the alcohol Dawn’s breath had let into the air. Still, she stayed silent, and let Dawn navigate the darkened room on her own, smirking maliciously as the teen gained several bumps and bruises from the scattered furniture.

She would not yell. Dawn was a grown woman now, as she kept reminding her sister. And if she wanted to be immature enough to have half the Council and every Wiccan in the British Isles out searching for her while she went and got herself sloshed, so be it. But her sister had better not expect any sympathy in the morning.