Author's Note:This story has undergone a rewrite. The shortest chapters is around 5k words now and the longest chapter is around 17k words. There are also new scenes starting with Lover's Walk. Also this chapter was originally chapter 15. But due to the rewrite this chapter became chapter 16. I wound up having to split Zeppo and Bad Girls into two separate chapters with Bad Girl being the chapter that is around 17k. I may go back and trim it down a little, we'll see.

Chapter 16: Consequences

February 13, 1999 – Saturday

Summers Home

Dawn looked at Faith, who was sprawled out in front of the TV in the living room of the Summers Home, her body relaxed but her expression distant. The glow from the screen cast flickering shadows across Faith's features, highlighting the way her brows furrowed in thought, the tension in her jaw betraying the carefree facade she tried to maintain. Dawn sighed, feeling a familiar knot of worry form in her stomach as Hippolyta's words echoed relentlessly in her mind. "She might never fully trust you again," Hippolyta had said, her tone heavy with the weight of truth. "And perhaps worse… she might never trust herself in the way she once did."

Dawn's heart sank as she contemplated the implications of that statement. She wanted to believe that everything would return to normal, that the bond they had forged through countless battles and shared secrets would withstand this latest storm. But as she watched Faith's gaze drift vacantly across the screen, she wondered if the queen's insight might be more than just a mother's disappointment—it felt like a premonition, a dark shadow looming over their future.

The living room was filled with the sounds of action scenes playing on the TV, but the cacophony felt distant, muted, as if the walls themselves were absorbing the tension that crackled in the air between them. Dawn bit her lip, feeling an overwhelming urge to reach out, to break the silence that had settled like a thick fog, but uncertainty gripped her like a vice. What could she say? How could she even begin to address the chasm that had opened up between them?

Faith shifted slightly, her eyes flickering with a hint of emotion, but it quickly faded as she settled back into her passive demeanor. Dawn's heart ached at the sight; she knew that behind Faith's tough exterior lay a storm of confusion and hurt. The revelation of her truth—forced from her through the Lasso of Truth—had been a violation of trust, and Dawn couldn't help but wonder how deep those wounds ran.

Dawn walked into the room, the golden Lasso of Truth glimmering in her hands like a serpent ready to strike. With a swift flick of her wrist, she tossed it at Faith, the lasso coiling elegantly before settling on the floor like a fallen star. "Wrap it around me," she said, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability. "I'll answer truthfully anything you want to ask."

Faith blinked in surprise, her gaze darting between the gleaming lasso and Dawn's earnest expression. "Why?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she took a cautious step back. It was a question that held more weight than a mere inquiry; it was an invitation to delve into the tangled web of trust, hurt, and uncertainty that now lay between them.

Dawn took a deep breath, feeling the air around her thicken with the tension of unspoken words. "It's my way of saying I'm sorry for forcing you to tell me that you're gay," she explained, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. Each word felt like a confession, a piece of her heart laid bare in the hope that Faith might understand. "An attempt at earning your trust back."

She watched as Faith's expression shifted, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. There was a part of Dawn that wanted to reach out and comfort her, to assure her that everything would be okay. But the weight of her own actions loomed large, a shadow that clouded the space between them.

The room felt charged with electricity, a palpable energy that seemed to vibrate with their shared history. Dawn's heart raced as she anticipated Faith's response, her palms sweating slightly as she grasped the implications of what she was asking. She knew the power of the lasso—knew how it compelled truth, how it stripped away facades and forced one to confront their innermost thoughts and fears. It was a dangerous game she was playing, but one she felt compelled to initiate.

Dawn took a tentative step closer, her eyes locking onto Faith's, searching for a hint of understanding, of forgiveness. "I just want to be honest with you, Faith. No more secrets, no more manipulation. Just the truth." Her voice softened, filled with a sincerity that she hoped would break through the walls that had formed between them. "I need you to know how much you mean to me, how much I regret what I did."

Faith looked at the Lasso, its golden fibers shimmering in the soft light of the room, then picked it up with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. The weight of their shared history hung in the air, thickening the atmosphere as she moved over to Dawn, each step deliberate and charged with emotion. With a practiced grace, she wrapped the lasso around Dawn's waist, the warmth of the artifact a stark contrast to the uncertainty that filled the space between them. "I have just one question for you," she said, her voice steady but her heart racing. "Do you have feelings for me?"

Dawn felt the question settle like a feather, delicate yet heavy. She didn't need the Lasso compelling her to tell the truth; the answer surged up from within her, a confession long held in the depths of her heart. "Yes," she said, her voice clear and unwavering, the truth a radiant flame that illuminated her soul.

In that instant, Faith's heart skipped a beat, a wave of exhilaration crashing over her. Her pulse quickened, echoing the rush of emotions that coursed through her veins. Without another word, she leaned closer, closing the distance between them with a fierce intensity. Their lips met in a tender, lingering kiss, a connection that seemed to suspend time itself. The world around them faded into a beautiful blur, leaving only the two of them in that perfect, fleeting moment where everything else melted away. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises and the weight of longing, a shared understanding that transcended words.

"Ahem," came the voice of Joyce Summers, slicing through the intimate silence like a knife. She stood in the doorway, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her hands, her expression a curious blend of surprise and intrigue. The warmth of her presence contrasted sharply with the charged atmosphere, breaking the spell of the moment. "Something you want to tell me, Dawn?" she asked, one eyebrow raised in a playful yet probing manner, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Caught off guard, Dawn's cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she glanced down at the Lasso still wrapped around her. The realization of their predicament sent a jolt of awareness through her, grounding her in the present. She met her mom's gaze, and again, she didn't need the Lasso compelling her to speak the truth; it flowed out of her like a river bursting its banks. "I'm gay," she declared, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions roiling inside her.

Joyce looked at her daughter, her expression shifting from surprise to something softer, more understanding. The initial shock melted away, revealing a deep well of compassion in her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle, wrapping around Dawn like a warm embrace. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The words hung in the air, resonating with the love that had always existed between them, yet now shimmered with newfound clarity.

Dawn bit her lip, a familiar anxiety churning in her stomach as she turned to look at Faith, who had been a steadfast presence through it all. "Would you mind?" she said, gesturing toward the Lasso, which still lay coiled around Dawn's waist.

Faith nodded in understanding, sensing the weight of Dawn's unspoken desire. She carefully removed the Lasso from Dawn's waist, the golden strands slipping through her fingers before she set it down on the coffee table, leaving the room imbued with an air of honesty and sincerity.

Dawn turned back to her mother, her heart racing as the moment felt monumental. "I was scared," she admitted, her voice cracking slightly, each word weighed down by the gravity of her truth. "I didn't know how you'd react, especially after finding out I'm Wonder Girl." The vulnerability in her admission laid bare the fear that had lingered in her heart, the worry that her mother might see her differently, might judge her, or even pull away.

Joyce moved closer, her maternal instincts kicking in as she sat down on the couch next to Dawn, the cushion sinking slightly under her weight. She took Dawn's hand in hers, the touch warm and grounding. "Dawn, I love you," she said firmly, her eyes shining with sincerity, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through after a long storm. "Nothing will ever change that. I'm just glad you felt you could finally tell me." The weight of her words washed over Dawn like a comforting tide, reassuring and enveloping.

Joyce's gaze shifted to Faith, who watched the exchange with a mixture of hope and anxiety swirling in her chest. A small smile played on Joyce's lips, one filled with warmth and acceptance. "And Faith," she said, her tone warm and inclusive, "you make my daughter happy, and that's all that matters to me." The words hung between them like a promise, a reassurance that their bond as a family would only strengthen.

Faith nodded, feeling a rare moment of vulnerability surge through her. The acceptance she craved was finally within her grasp. "Thank you, Mrs. Summers," she said, her voice thick with emotion, the gratitude spilling out like a waterfall, unrestrained and pure.

Themyscira

Dawn led Faith into the grand hall, the echo of their footsteps resonating against the polished marble floors that gleamed like water under the soft glow of ornate chandeliers. The hall itself was a testament to the strength and beauty of Amazonian culture, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of legendary battles and heroic figures from their storied past. Tapestries depicting epic scenes of valor and honor hung majestically along the walls, each thread woven with tales of bravery and sacrifice.

In the center of the hall, Hippolyta stood conversing with Antiope, her regal presence commanding attention. Her posture was straight, exuding a blend of authority and grace, while Antiope, her sister and fierce warrior, matched her intensity with her own strong demeanor, a fierce protector with eyes that sparkled with wisdom and mischief alike. The air was thick with the sense of impending decisions and the weight of familial expectations.

"Mother," Dawn said, her voice cutting through the reverberating silence, slightly trembling but imbued with determination. "Aunt Antiope."

"Dawn," Antiope said, her tone warm yet inquisitive, as she turned her full attention to the young woman, her eyes flickering with curiosity.

"My daughter, what brings you here with a guest?" Hippolyta asked, her gaze shifting to Faith with an intensity that could slice through stone. The question held layers of unspoken scrutiny and concern, a mother's instinct to protect and a queen's duty to understand the implications of their presence.

Dawn took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her mother's expectations pressing down on her. "I listened to what you said, Mother," she said, her voice steadying as she spoke the truth she had wrestled with. The words felt like a key turning in a lock, opening a door to understanding and healing. "And in an act of trying to earn Faith's trust back, I let her put the Lasso on me." T

"Dawn," Hippolyta said with a heavy sigh, the weight of her disappointment palpable in the air, thickening it like an approaching storm. The disappointment in her voice was not just about the act itself; it was about the ripple effects of such decisions, choices that had consequences far beyond what was visible at the moment. The queen's eyes were pools of emotion, reflecting her fierce protectiveness over her daughter and her disapproval of what she perceived as a reckless gamble.

"This wasn't about her forcing the truth from me, Mother," Dawn interjected, her voice firm and resolute, cutting through the tension like a blade. The urgency in her tone revealed her determination to clarify her intentions, to reshape the narrative and assert the significance of her actions. "This was about reclaiming Faith's trust."

"Your Majesty, if I may speak," Faith said, stepping forward with a newfound conviction, her heart racing as she faced the Amazonian queen. The gravity of the moment was not lost on her; the gaze of the legendary warrior bore down upon her, but she felt compelled to express her truth.

"Very well," Hippolyta replied, granting Faith permission to continue, her voice a mixture of authority and caution. The air felt electric, charged with the tension of unspoken thoughts and emotions swirling around them.

"Did Dawn putting the Lasso on me two days ago hurt me? Yes, I will admit it did," Faith said, her voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, aware of the sensitive nature of the confession she was about to make. "But in letting me use the Lasso on her…" She paused, choosing her words with care, recognizing the significance of what they had shared. "It not only helped me regain the trust in Dawn and in myself," she continued, her heart swelling with the weight of her feelings, "it also helped me to realize a truth within myself. Something I've pushed down for the last month since I first saw Dawn."

As she spoke, her gaze shifted to Dawn, and in that fleeting moment, they shared a silent understanding, an unbreakable bond forged through struggles and triumphs. "That I am in love with her," Faith concluded, the confession hanging in the air like a fragile promise.

Hippolyta remained silent for a moment; her brow furrowed in contemplation as she absorbed Faith's heartfelt confession. The queen's mind raced, weighing the implications of what had just been revealed. The bond of love between the two young women stirred something deep within her—an echo of her own past, the sacrifices she had made, and the loves she had cherished and lost.

Finally, she let out a long, measured breath. "Love is a powerful force, one that can uplift or devastate," she said, her voice low and resonant, carrying the wisdom of ages. "But it must be nurtured with honesty, respect, and understanding. Trust is the foundation upon which all love is built." She turned her gaze to Dawn, her expression softening further. "You must ensure that your actions reflect the love you claim to hold for one another."

Dawn nodded earnestly, her heart swelling with gratitude for her mother's wisdom. "I understand, Mother. I promise to honor that trust. I want to be the partner Faith deserves." There was a spark of determination in her voice, an unwavering resolve to move forward with transparency and sincerity.

Faith, still feeling the weight of the moment, shifted her gaze between the two women. "I'll do the same," she added, her voice steady yet infused with emotion. "I know I have my own issues to work through, but I care about Dawn. I want to be better—for her and for myself." The weight of her own past hung heavy on her shoulders, but she felt invigorated by the possibility of a brighter future, one where love could thrive instead of being shackled by fear.

Antiope, who had been silently observing the exchange, stepped forward, a proud smile breaking through her stoic demeanor. "Then let this be the beginning of a new chapter for you both. Love is a journey, one that can lead you to unexpected places. Embrace it, cherish it, and protect it." Her words radiated warmth, reinforcing the bond of sisterhood that existed among them, and Dawn felt a sense of belonging swell within her.

"Thank you, Aunt Antiope," Dawn said, her voice soft yet strong. She looked back at Faith, her heart racing with possibilities as she met the depth of Faith's gaze. "We can do this together."

Hippolyta nodded, her fierce demeanor giving way to a sense of approval. "Then I will trust your judgment. But remember, my daughter, love is not without its challenges. There will be trials that test your commitment to one another. You must remain steadfast and confront them together."

"Together," Faith echoed, a grin spreading across her face.

February 14, 1999 – Sunday

Sunspot Motel

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce sat in his comfortable yet modest hotel room, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds of the town creating a sense of temporary calm. The light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating the carefully organized stacks of books on the small table beside him, but outside, a storm was brewing—both in the sky and within Wesley himself. A tempest of urgency and anxiety raged inside him as he dialed the phone with trembling fingers, the weight of his revelation pressing down on his chest like a physical burden.

"Yes, hello. I need Mr. Travers, Quentin Travers... Wesley Wyndam-Pryce calling," he said, his voice a mix of impatience and desperation, each word punctuated with a breathless urgency that betrayed the calm he attempted to project. "The code word? Monkey... M-O-N-K- Just put him on, would you? This is an emergency."

The seconds stretched out like hours, each tick of the clock amplifying the pounding of Wesley's heart, each minute a reminder of the gravity of the information he possessed. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer him a modicum of comfort or strength, but they remained silent witnesses to his inner turmoil. Finally, the line clicked, and the composed, slightly disdainful voice of Quentin Travers came through, a sound that always managed to evoke both respect and apprehension in Wesley.

"Yes?"

Wesley took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his revelation heavy on his shoulders. "I know the secret identity of Princess Diana of Themyscira," he stated, each word deliberate and charged with the gravity of his discovery. "It's Buffy Summers' twin sister, Dawn Summers."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, a silence filled with unspoken implications and the magnitude of what Wesley had just disclosed. It felt as if the world itself had paused, holding its breath, waiting with bated breath to see how Quentin Travers would respond to this earth-shattering revelation. The silence was thick, almost suffocating, and Wesley could feel his own pulse thrumming in his ears.

The silence was finally broken by Travers' voice, now sharp and laden with suspicion. "You are certain?" he asked, each word clipped and precise, carrying the weight of years of cautious decision-making and inherent distrust. Wesley could almost hear the gears turning in Travers' mind, the calculations unfolding like a complex chess game.

"Affirmative, sir," Wesley replied, his voice steady but underscored with a faint tremor of anxiety that he couldn't quite suppress. "She revealed her identity to me herself."

For a moment, Wesley could almost see Travers on the other end, his calculating mind working furiously to process this new piece of information. The sound of papers rustling filled the air, and Wesley imagined Travers sifting through files, scrutinizing the implications of what he'd just learned. "Then we have a way of killing two birds with one stone," Travers said, his tone shifting from suspicion to strategic delight. "Removal of a thorn in our side and leverage against Buffy Summers to ensure she once again falls in line. Wesley, I want you to kidnap Dawn Summers, strip her of everything the Amazons gave her, and then bring her to England."

"Understood, sir," Wesley replied, swallowing hard against a wave of unease. "I'll begin preparations immediately."

"Good. Remember, Wesley—this is not just about the mission; it's about the bigger picture. We cannot allow such power to roam freely, especially when it poses a threat to the Council. Proceed with caution."

February 15, 1999 – Monday

Streets of Sunnydale

Dawn soared above Sunnydale in her armor, the brilliant blend of fierce red and shimmering gold catching the moonlight as she flew. Her eyes keenly scanned the dark streets below for any signs of vampire activity, each flicker of movement piquing her interest.

As she flew over a dimly lit alley, a shadow flitted across her peripheral vision. Her sharp eyes narrowed, and she caught sight of a struggle below. A vampire was attacking a woman, desperation etched on the victim's face, and without a moment's hesitation, Dawn descended swiftly, her cape billowing behind her like the wings of a vengeful avenger. She landed gracefully between the terrified woman and the menacing vampire, her presence exuding confidence and power, a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness.

"Get away from her!" Dawn commanded, her voice ringing out strong and authoritative, echoing through the alley like a battle cry.

But as the figure before her straightened, her instincts screamed that something was wrong. The "vampire" wasn't a vampire at all; it was Wesley, his demeanor deceptively calm but with an edge of something darker lurking beneath. Her eyes widened in realization, confusion spiraling in her mind like a tempest, but before she could react or voice her alarm, the woman and a man she hadn't noticed earlier lunged at her from behind, swift as shadows in the night.

The woman seized Dawn's lasso, its golden length glinting ominously in the dim light, and skillfully used it to bind her, wrapping it tightly around her form. "By the order of the Watcher's Council of Britain," Wesley declared, his voice cold and authoritative, resonating with a weight that sent a chill down Dawn's spine. "I am exercising my authority and removing you to England, where you will be used to force your sister to accept Council directive."

Panic surged through her as Wesley stepped behind her, his movements calculated and unyielding, like a predator closing in on its prey. He swiftly removed her bracelets, those symbols of her power and freedom, producing a pair of heavy-duty handcuffs that gleamed menacingly in the sparse light. The cold metal bit into Dawn's wrists as he roughly bound them, the sensation igniting a flare of anger within her.

The woman uncoiled the lasso from around Dawn, the golden strands slipping away like a serpent retreating into the shadows, while the man hoisted her up into a fireman's carry, her struggles futile against his iron grip. Dawn's mind raced, formulating escape plans, but the weight of her bindings held her down more than just physically; it clouded her thoughts with disbelief and betrayal.

As they approached a dark, unmarked truck, its paint faded and grimy, a sense of dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. Wesley meticulously removed Dawn's boots, the cool air hitting her bare feet sending shivers up her spine. "Can't have you trying to fly away or break out of the handcuffs now, can we, Ms. Summers?" he said, his tone laced with a condescension that only fueled her fury.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

It was a boxy delivery truck, unassuming from the outside yet holding an oppressive atmosphere within. The interior was utilitarian, with bare metal walls and a cold, uninviting floor, and there was plenty of room in the back, but the only cargo it carried were Dawn, Wesley, and the hulking Council thug he'd brought with him. Dawn sat across from the two men, the space around her feeling suffocating, an invisible weight pressing down as they rolled along the bumpy road. The female operative sat up front, her hands gripping the steering wheel with grim determination, the engine rumbling like a beast awakening as the truck jolted forward.

"I'm sorry for the extreme measures," Wesley said, his tone oozing with his usual pompous self, a veneer of sophistication that only served to deepen Dawn's ire. "Unfortunately, this is a rather extreme circumstance." His eyes glinted with an unsettling mix of self-satisfaction and impatience, as if he relished the chaos he had orchestrated.

Dawn's eyes flashed with anger and defiance, the fire within her refusing to be extinguished. "You understand once Themyscira finds out, this will be considered an act of war," she warned, her voice rising with righteous fury, each word dripping with conviction and the weight of her lineage. "You're making a grave mistake." The words hung in the air like a challenge, and she drew herself up, refusing to cower before her captors.

Wesley met her gaze, his expression resolute, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smirk that fueled her anger. "Yes, we figured as much," he acknowledged, his voice steady but layered with a sinister undercurrent. "But we do have a bargaining chip. You." The implication hung in the air like a noose, tightening around her throat, and a chill raced down her spine as she understood the full extent of their plan.

Dawn had run her hands along the chains that restrained her, feeling the cold metal bite into her skin, and found that they were bolted to iron rings that jutted menacingly from the bench. Desperation surged within her as she gripped the rings, twisting and pulling, her heart racing with the hope of breaking free. She could feel the rough edges digging into her palms, each unsuccessful attempt only stoking the fire of her defiance.

"Ah, now, none of that," Wesley warned her, his tone shifting, a predator sensing the fear of its prey. He turned to the Council operative seated beside him, his voice low but commanding. "Tighten her restraints."

The operative rose, a hulking figure that seemed to absorb the dim light of the truck, his movements deliberate and heavy. He reached toward Dawn, and she recoiled instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. As he tightened the restraints, the cold metal bit into her skin, cutting off her freedom and amplifying her anger.

Summers Home

"Has anyone seen Dawn?" Buffy asked as she came down the stairs of her home, her voice tinged with worry that echoed in the quiet house. Each step she took felt heavier, a weight of dread settling in her stomach as she looked from her mother to Faith, hoping for good news that wasn't there.

"Not for a few hours," Joyce responded, her eyes lifting from the book she was reading, a half-finished novel that had slipped from her mind. The concern in her tone matched the tightening of her brow, casting shadows across her face.

"She said she was going to make an aerial sweep of town," Faith said, her voice steady but laced with an undertone of apprehension.

Joyce glanced at the clock on the wall, its ticking seeming to grow louder in the stillness, and her frown deepened. "She should have been back by now. She told me she would only stay out till ten." The clock's hands moved mockingly toward eleven, and the unease in Joyce's voice became palpable, a thread of worry weaving through her words.

Buffy's heart skipped a beat, her Slayer instincts immediately on high alert. It was a feeling she knew all too well, an instinct honed by countless battles and experiences that whispered of impending danger. Without another word, she turned and walked briskly into the kitchen, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Each thought tumbled over the last—what if she'd run into a vampire? What if she needed help and couldn't call for it?

She picked up the phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she pressed the familiar numbers. The urgency in her movements felt frantic, like a race against time.

"Giles," she said urgently when she heard her Watcher's reassuring voice on the other end of the line, though comfort seemed a distant notion. "Dawn is missing."

There was a brief pause, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath as Giles processed the information. "What do you mean, missing?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of immediate concern, and Buffy could hear him moving, perhaps reaching for his own weapons or gathering his thoughts.

"She was supposed to be back by ten," Buffy explained, her voice strained as she began pacing the kitchen floor, the sound of her footsteps punctuating the tension in the air. "Faith said that Dawn said she was going out for a patrol and mom said she would be back by ten." Each word felt heavy with implications, a reminder of the countless dangers that lurked in the dark.

Giles's voice was calm but firm, a stabilizing force amidst the chaos of her emotions. "Alright, Buffy. We'll handle this. First, check her usual patrol routes. I'll contact the others and coordinate a search. We'll find her."

Buffy nodded, though Giles couldn't see her, a small gesture of determination in the face of fear. "Thanks, Giles. Faith and I are heading out now." She hung up, turning to find Joyce standing in the doorway, her expression a mirror of worry etched across her features. The sight of her mother only deepened the ache in her heart.

"Mom, don't worry. We're going to find her," she reassured, though her own heart was pounding with fear that threatened to drown out her hope. The quiet resolve she tried to project felt like a fragile facade. She grabbed her jacket and a stake, the familiar weight of the weapon a small comfort. In a swift motion, she tossed another stake to Faith, ready to scour the town if necessary.

"B is right, Mrs. S.," Faith added, her voice steady yet warm, an anchor against the rising tide of panic.

Joyce nodded, trying to remain calm, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. "Be careful, Buffy, Faith. And bring her back safe." The plea in her words lingered in the air, heavy and hopeful.

Buffy gave her mother a quick, reassuring hug, the embrace a fleeting moment of warmth against the cold reality awaiting them. "We will," she promised, her voice firm yet soft, before dashing out the door with Faith into the cool night air.

Warehouse

Dawn sat in the back of the truck, the cold metal bench beneath her a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling in her mind. The dim, confined space was heavy with the smell of engine oil and something stale, perhaps from the remnants of past cargo. With only the woman for company, the silence was almost oppressive, punctuated only by the distant sounds of airplanes overhead. Each roar of an engine sent a shiver of apprehension through her. She could only assume that Wesley was getting the plane ready to take her to England, a thought that gnawed at her with increasing dread.

The woman seemed to maintain a cool detachment, her focus on Dawn. Dawn sensed a palpable tension radiating from her, as if they were both aware of the gravity of the situation unfolding. Her mind raced with thoughts of escape, but the heavy chains binding her wrists made any attempts feel futile. She could feel the biting metal against her skin, a constant reminder of her powerlessness in this moment. Memories of her recent flight above Sunnydale filled her head—how she had soared through the night, the freedom and exhilaration of the wind rushing past her, the feeling of invincibility that came with her armor. Now, trapped in the back of this unmarked truck, that sense of liberty felt like a distant dream, snatched away in an instant by the machinations of the Watcher's Council.

Her heart raced as she tried to piece together how this had happened. The adrenaline of her earlier patrol felt like a lifetime ago, replaced now with a hollow sense of fear and uncertainty. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had been a pawn in a much larger game, a game that she hadn't fully understood until it was too late. Would Buffy come for her? Would anyone know where to look? The gnawing anxiety clawed at her insides as she fought against the chains, a futile gesture that only reminded her of the escalating danger she faced.

With every passing minute, her thoughts turned darker. She felt the weight of not just her own fate hanging in the balance but also the potential repercussions for her family and friends. If the Council had their way, this wouldn't just be a personal issue—it would ripple outward, affecting everyone she loved. What would happen to Buffy? To Faith? Would they even know where to start looking?

Dawn clenched her teeth, determination fueling her frustration. She needed to think clearly. She had to believe that she could find a way out of this, that there was a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

February 16, 1999 – Tuesday

Sunnydale High School

The next morning, the atmosphere in the library of Sunnydale High was thick with anxiety and frustration, wrapping around the group like a suffocating shroud. Dust motes floated in the slanted beams of early sunlight that filtered through the high windows, but they offered no warmth or comfort. Instead, the room felt heavy with the weight of unspoken fears and the exhaustion of a night spent fruitlessly searching for Dawn. Buffy, Faith, Willow, Xander, Giles, and Joyce stood in a tense circle, each person's demeanor reflecting the toll the fruitless search had taken. Dark circles rimmed their eyes, the visible evidence of a long, sleepless night spent scouring the town without a single lead.

"Anyone seen Wes?" Faith asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over them like a thick fog. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the tension as her eyes scanned the room for any sign of the missing Watcher. The question hung in the air, a reminder that their enemy had also become part of this dire equation.

Everyone shook their heads, exchanging worried glances that spoke volumes. "I haven't seen him since yesterday," Willow said, her brow furrowed in concern as she wrung her hands, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. The apprehension in her voice was palpable, as if she were bracing herself for the worst.

Xander nodded in agreement, his usual bravado stripped away by the gravity of the situation. "Same here. It's like he vanished," he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. An unsettling feeling washed over the group, a creeping dread that something was terribly amiss.

It was then that a dawning realization began to spread through the group, the unthinkable scenario weaving its way into their minds. The pieces started to click into place, a chilling understanding settling over them like a dark cloud.

"I knew she should never have told him that she was Wonder Girl," Giles muttered, his voice tinged with regret and frustration. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as he rubbed his eyes wearily, frustration etched into every line of his face. "He must have called Travers, and together they orchestrated capturing her." The implication of his words loomed large in the air, heavy with the bitterness of betrayal.

Buffy's eyes blazed with fury, a fire igniting in her chest. "How do we get her back?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. The urgency in her tone was palpable, echoing the determination that had driven her all night. She felt the fierce protectiveness for her sister bubbling to the surface, urging her to take action.

Before anyone could answer, the door to the library swung open, and Wesley walked in, his demeanor calm and collected, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air. The moment he stepped over the threshold, his presence was like a cold gust of wind, chilling everyone to their core, sending a shiver down Buffy's spine.

"That's simple," Wesley said, his voice carrying a smug confidence that made Buffy's blood boil. He stood there with a self-satisfied smirk, as if relishing the discomfort, he was about to unleash. "Buffy and Faith renounce Themyscira and return to working with the Watcher's Council." The words hung in the air, each one laced with implications that felt like daggers aimed straight at their hearts.

The room fell into a stunned silence, the gravity of Wesley's words sinking in like lead weights. The collective shock was palpable, each person momentarily frozen in disbelief. Joyce's eyes narrowed, her protective instincts flaring up, a fierce motherly rage igniting within her. "And if they don't?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous, filled with a simmering intensity that promised she would do anything to protect her daughter.

Wesley met her gaze without flinching, his expression hardening as he locked onto her stare. "You will never see your daughter again," he answered, each word deliberate and cold, a chilling threat that echoed in the hearts of everyone present.

The silence that followed was deafening, an oppressive weight settling over the group as the reality of Wesley's ultimatum crashed down on them like a tidal wave. Each person felt the shock reverberate through their bones, a visceral reminder of the stakes at hand. Buffy's fists clenched at her sides, her body trembling with barely contained rage, the muscles in her arms coiling like tightly wound springs. Faith's jaw tightened in response, her eyes filling with a steely resolve that radiated determination. The air in the library seemed to thrum with the intensity of their collective anger and fierce determination, the walls closing in as tension thickened around them.

"How valuable are you to the Watcher's Council?" Buffy asked, her voice low and dangerous as she glared at Wesley, her gaze like a sharpened blade. "Enough for a trade?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implications, as she measured his worth against the life of her sister.

Wesley hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on him, sensing the threat woven into her tone. "And what will you do?" he asked, attempting to maintain his composure, though the edge of uncertainty crept into his voice.

"Buffy and Faith will do nothing," Giles interjected, his tone cold and precise, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Myself, however, I am sure the Council informed you of my background." His voice dripped with authority; a warning wrapped in a veneer of civility.

Wesley's face paled at the mention of Giles's past, the Watcher's Council had indeed informed him about Giles's youth when he had acquired the nickname Ripper. The stories he had heard echoed in his mind, each one a testament to the fury that lay beneath Giles's calm exterior. He knew Giles was not a man to cross lightly, and the realization sent a chill racing down his spine. "I was only following orders," he pleaded, his voice trembling slightly, revealing the cracks in his bravado.

Joyce stepped forward, her eyes blazing with maternal fury, the fierce protectiveness of a mother rising to the surface. "I am sure," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with the raw edge of a mother's heartbreak. "Where is my daughter?" The question was less about needing an answer and more a declaration of her unwavering resolve to protect her child.

Wesley swallowed hard, the pressure of their combined glares making him sweat, beads of perspiration forming on his brow as he struggled to hold their penetrating stares. "She's on her way to England," he admitted, the weight of the truth heavy on his tongue. "They should be in the air right now. They will stop in Los Angeles to refuel before making the cross-country flight." Each word felt like a dagger, piercing the fragile hope that had been clinging to the room.

Giles's eyes narrowed, the calculating glimmer of strategy flashing within them as he began to plot their next move. "You can get them to come back to Sunnydale," he said, his tone brooking no argument, a commanding presence that dispelled the remaining doubts in the room. "Tell them we reached an agreement." The authority in his voice left no room for discussion, as he formulated a plan that they could rally around.

Wesley, recognizing the futility of resistance, nodded meekly, the fight drained from him in an instant. He walked into Giles's office, his hands shaking slightly as he picked up the phone, each movement weighed down by the urgency of their situation. The room outside remained tense, everyone listening intently to every word, holding their breaths in anticipation.

"This is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," he said into the receiver, forcing his voice to steady, though the tremor of uncertainty lingered just beneath the surface. "An agreement has been reached. Return to Sunnydale and return Ms. Summers' items to her."

There was a pause as Wesley listened to the response, his eyes flickering with relief at the confirmation on the other end of the line. "Yes, immediately," he confirmed before hanging up and returning to the group, a mixture of anxiety and hope etched on his face. "They will return to Sunnydale." The weight of his words settled over them like a blanket, muffling the frantic noise of their thoughts, yet the underlying tension still crackled in the air.

The atmosphere in the library shifted ever so slightly; the collective breath they had all been holding began to ease, though the simmering anger and fierce determination remained palpable. Buffy stepped closer to Wesley, her eyes cold and unyielding, like shards of ice. "If anything happens to Dawn, there will be nowhere you can hide," she warned, each syllable a sharpened blade, the intensity of her gaze leaving no doubt about her resolve. It was a promise, a vow rooted in the depths of her fierce love for her sister, and she wanted him to feel every ounce of that fierce energy.

Faith nodded in agreement, her expression mirroring Buffy's fierce resolve. "And if you try anything else, you'll regret it." Her voice was steady and resolute, a force of nature that could not be underestimated. The quiet authority in her words hung heavy in the room, underscoring the stakes they were all facing.

Wesley nodded, his fear evident in the way his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his glasses. "I understand," he replied, his voice lacking its previous bravado, now tinged with an edge of vulnerability that made him seem smaller, almost defeated under the weight of their scrutiny.

Giles moved closer to him, his presence imposing, every inch of him radiating authority. "You're going to stay here and wait with us until they arrive," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. There was a gravity in his words that demanded compliance, the fierce protector in him ready to confront any threat to his family and friends.

Wesley nodded again, a quiet acceptance washing over him as he sat down heavily on a nearby chair.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Two hours later, the atmosphere in the library was thick with anticipation and tension, an almost tangible entity that wrapped around Buffy, Faith, Willow, Xander, Giles, and Joyce like a heavy fog. They waited anxiously, their eyes flickering to the door with every sound, each creak of the floorboards or rustle of paper igniting a spark of hope or dread. The minutes dragged on, every second stretching into eternity as they fought to keep their nerves in check, the air charged with the unspoken fears of what could have happened to Dawn.

Finally, the door creaked open, and in walked Dawn, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. She stood tall, her posture exuding both relief and simmering anger, a tempest of emotions battling within her. As soon as her eyes landed on Wesley, she glared at him with a fury that made everyone else in the room stiffen, a palpable tension settling over them like a thick blanket. The air crackled as if charged with electricity, every person present instinctively leaning back from the firestorm that was about to erupt.

"The Council and you knew what would happen if you did not do as I said," she began, her voice low but deadly serious, each word laced with the kind of authority that only comes from a deep well of conviction. "Pack your bags and leave. Giles is the only one who will remain. Any other Watcher who sets foot in Sunnydale will be forcibly put back on the plane and sent back to England. Is that understood?" Her tone was unwavering, a declaration of her newfound strength, making it clear that she would not be silenced or underestimated.

Wesley's face was ashen, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He felt small under the weight of Dawn's ire, every harsh word striking like a physical blow. He nodded quickly, avoiding her fierce gaze, unable to hold her steady glare for long. "Yes," he muttered, his voice barely audible, the capitulation tasting bitter on his tongue. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the library, the door swinging shut behind him with a heavy thud, the weight of his failure and the consequences of his actions pressing down on him like a leaden shroud.

As the door closed behind Wesley, the tension in the room began to dissipate, the oppressive atmosphere lifting slightly. A collective sigh of relief seemed to flow through the group, like the release of a breath they hadn't realized they were holding. Faith stepped forward, her expression transforming into a broad smile, a radiant beam of warmth cutting through the remnants of anxiety. "Good going, Dawn," she said, her voice filled with admiration and affection, genuine pride sparkling in her eyes.

With a gentle determination, Faith walked over to Dawn, her eyes softening with warmth and pride, reflecting the fierce bond they shared. Without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed her girlfriend, the gesture a tender declaration of their love amidst the chaos.

Themyscira

"Mother," Dawn said, her voice steady but edged with lingering anger as she approached Hippolyta. The tall figure of Hippolyta, regal and imposing, stood by the balcony overlooking the glimmering sea, the winds sweeping through her hair like whispers of ancient tales. Dawn stopped a few steps away, her posture strong but burdened by the weight of her recent ordeal. "I have sent Wesley Wyndam-Pryce back to England," she continued, her words carrying both resolve and quiet fury. "He violated the Covenants with Themyscira that the Watcher's Council agreed to a millennia ago."

Hippolyta turned to face Dawn, her expression unreadable at first, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps recognition, perhaps the weariness of a queen who had seen too many betrayals throughout her reign. She stepped closer; the soft rustle of her armor barely audible in the open air. "How did they violate it this time?" she asked, her voice calm yet laced with the remembrance of past grievances. The memory of the Council's previous betrayal—when they had attempted to revive the barbaric Cruciamentum—still lingered like an old scar, a wound not easily forgotten by the Amazons.

Dawn took a deep breath, her muscles tightening as she recounted the violation. "Wesley kidnapped me," she said, her tone sharp, the bitterness of the words still fresh on her tongue. "With the intent not only to force Themyscira to relinquish their claim to the Slayer, but also to coerce Buffy and Faith into submission. They wanted them back under the thumb of the Council, following every directive, every decree." Her voice faltered slightly, the betrayal hitting harder than she had anticipated. "They believed that by taking me, they could break all of us. That they could control us."

Hippolyta's face hardened, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the gravity of the Council's actions. The faint glow of the setting sun caught the edge of her crown, casting a golden light over her as she stood taller, the embodiment of both queen and warrior. "They dare attempt such treachery again?" she said, her voice low but filled with an ancient, simmering fury, as though the weight of Themyscira's entire history of defiance and protection hung in her words. "They have learned nothing."

Dawn could see the storm brewing in Hippolyta's gaze, the cold fire of a leader prepared to protect her people at all costs. She had seen that look before—in one of Diana's memories, on the battlefield, in the moments when diplomacy had failed, when Hippolyta had been forced to unsheathe her sword and defend Themyscira's honor. Dawn felt a similar fire within herself, fueled by the Council's audacity, their brazen willingness to undermine everything the Amazons had fought for.

"They tried to manipulate us, to use me as a pawn against my own sister and Themyscira," Dawn continued, her voice steady once more. "But they underestimated our strength, our bond." She clenched her fists at her sides, the image of Wesley's smug face flashing in her mind, his confidence that the Council could control their fate. "I won't let them do it again. We won't let them."

Hippolyta's expression softened for just a moment as she regarded her daughter with pride, seeing not only the warrior but the young woman who had faced her trials with bravery and unyielding loyalty. "You are right," she said, her voice now firm with the authority of a queen. "Themyscira will not bend to the whims of the Watcher's Council. Not now, not ever."

With a final look of solidarity, Hippolyta placed a hand on Dawn's shoulder, a gesture of both comfort and strength. "We will respond accordingly," she said, her voice filled with the quiet promise of action. "Let them try to challenge us again, and they will see the full might of Themyscira."

February 17, 1999 – Wednesday

Sunnydale High School

Dawn walked into the familiar, book-lined space of the Sunnydale High library, her steps deliberate and her expression set with purpose. The early morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the tables and chairs, but Dawn had no time to notice the tranquility of the scene. "Giles," she called out, her voice firm yet carrying a subtle weight of urgency.

Giles, who had been reviewing some texts in his office, emerged at the sound of her voice, his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose. His face held a mixture of surprise and curiosity as he looked at her. "I didn't expect you this morning," he said, his voice warm but laced with concern. "I assumed you'd be heading to Themyscira to talk with Queen Hippolyta, rather than joining Buffy and Faith on patrol."

Dawn took a breath, her gaze steady as she met Giles's eyes. There was a flicker of emotion in her expression, a sign of the deep bond they shared, a bond not just of Watcher and ally, but of something far more profound. "As you know, Giles," she began, her tone softening slightly, "Buffy, Faith, and I trust you. You've always been a father figure to both of us." Her voice held a rare tenderness, a reminder of the years of guidance and protection he had offered them. "So what I am about to say is only a reflection on Wesley's actions, not on you."

Giles's brow furrowed slightly, sensing the gravity in her words. He nodded slowly, understanding that whatever she had come to say, it would be of critical importance. "Go on," he urged, his voice gentle but attentive, as though bracing himself for what was to come.

Dawn straightened her posture, a flicker of fire igniting in her eyes as she prepared herself to deliver the message she had carried back from Themyscira. "I need you to contact the Watcher's Council," she said, her voice now firm and unyielding, carrying the authority not just of herself, but of Themyscira.

"For what reason?" Giles asked, his tone cautious yet supportive, his concern deepening as he studied her expression.

Dawn's gaze hardened as she delivered her response, her voice imbued with a quiet, simmering resolve. "For the reason that I have a warning for them," she said. There was a slight pause, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air between them. "If they attempt to do anything—anything—against me, Buffy, or Faith, they will face consequences far greater than they can imagine."

Giles's eyes searched hers, reading the seriousness of the situation. He had seen Dawn grow stronger, more confident, and more resolute over the years, but today there was something different—a fierceness that reflected the gravity of the world she was now entangled in. She wasn't just a girl from Sunnydale anymore; she was a warrior tied to Themyscira and its ancient power.

Dawn took a step closer, her voice lowering as she delivered the final, decisive statement. "Mother has said that if they challenge us—or Themyscira—they will face the full might of Themyscira." The words were spoken with the weight of a queen's decree, and the atmosphere in the library shifted, as though the very walls had absorbed the intensity of her warning.

Giles remained silent for a moment, processing the implications. His face tightened with thought, his mind racing through the potential consequences of such a conflict. He knew well the arrogance of the Council, their willingness to play dangerous games, but he also knew the power of the Amazons, the unbreakable will of Queen Hippolyta, and Dawn.

"Understood," he finally said, his voice calm but with a hint of unease. "I'll make the call."

Dawn's expression softened as she glanced at Giles, her shoulders slightly sagging with the weight of the situation. "I am sorry I have to put you in this situation, Giles," she said, her voice tinged with genuine regret. "After all, you're still employed by them."

For a moment, Giles didn't respond, simply studying her with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Then, with a slow sigh, Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though wrestling with a decision that had been long in the making. "To tell the truth," he began, his voice low, filled with a quiet resolve that caught Dawn off guard. "I have been thinking of tendering my resignation to the Council." His words hung in the air like a revelation, carrying the weight of years of loyalty, conflict, and the growing divide between his own moral compass and the rigid, often heartless mandates of the Council.

Dawn blinked in surprise, her eyes widening slightly as she processed what he had just said. She had always known Giles was different from the rest of the Council—more compassionate, more human—but to hear him voice his discontent so openly was unexpected. "You've been thinking about leaving?" she asked softly, her voice laced with a mixture of concern and understanding. She could see the strain in his eyes, the tiredness that came from constantly being pulled between his loyalty to her, to Buffy, to Faith, and the crushing weight of the Council's expectations.

Giles nodded slowly, replacing his glasses and letting out another deep breath, his posture slightly slumped as though the admission itself had taken some of the weight off his shoulders. "For a while now," he confessed. "The Council... they no longer represent what I believe in. Their methods, their disregard for the individuals they claim to protect—it has become... intolerable."

Dawn remained quiet, letting his words sink in. She could hear the sadness and frustration in his voice, a man who had given so much to an institution only to find himself increasingly at odds with its principles. And yet, despite everything, he had never wavered in his support for her, for Buffy, for Faith. The thought filled her with a renewed sense of appreciation for him.

"I just don't know how much longer I can continue to stand by their side," Giles added, his eyes meeting hers with a clarity that spoke volumes. "Especially after this."

Dawn nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and sadness. "I understand, Giles. And whatever you decide... we'll always have your back."