Midnight Snack
«Buffy, you've got all the time in the world, you're not going anywhere. Now, if you wanna stay up here and sulk, I won't hold it against you. But if you wanna come down with Dawn and me, I'll make us some dinner.»
With that, Joyce left, closing the bedroom door behind her, leaving her daughter in dismay.
Buffy leaned against the closet door, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Staying home, spending a quiet evening with her mother and sister, she would have loved to! Besides, since dinner had been mentionned, she'd noticed she was starting to get hungry.
Unfortunately, that wasn't possible: she had an evil Harvest to prevent, and human lives, even the fate of the world, depended on it! Sneaking out to like a rebellious teen, betraying her mother's trust, and all that to risk her own life, didn't thrill her; quite the opposite, in fact. But she knew she had no choice. If the Master managed to free himself, no one would be safe.
Buffy mustered up her courage. It was also for her mother and sister that she was going to fight, even if Joyce and Dawn didn't know it, and certainly shouldn't find out.
She opened her closet and took out a chest: her work kit, containing her Slayer tools: an assortment of stakes, garlic cloves, flasks of holy water... In short, the instruments of a craftsmanship worthy of a horror movie, and Buffy still couldn't believe that this knick-knacks had become her daily routine. But destiny had chosen her, so... Destiny apparently had a questionable sense of humor. She equipped herself as required, then closed and put away the chest.
After approaching the door to make sure her mother, or worse, her sister—Dawn was a formidable snooper—wasn't nearby, she opened her window and stepped into the night. She would have to save the world on an empty stomach.
That night, the Slayer fought with equal parts cunning and bravery, thwarting the Master's plans and winning a victory worthy of being recorded in the annals of the Watchers. In any case, Giles wrote a glowing report. Whether the Watchers' Council took any notice or attached any importance to it is difficult to say. After a few millennia of repeated victories over the forces of Evil, however dearly won by generations of Slayers, some end up taking the salvation of the world for granted...
Buffy went home, slipping through her window in the middle of the night, careful not to make any noise so as not to wake anyone. She succeeded, and that was the upside.
The downside was that now her stomach was rumbling with hunger. It wasn't surprising: night patrols always made her hungry. Nothing like fighting to the death to whet your appetite! Alas, there was no cure for that. She would have liked to go downstairs to get something to eat from the fridge, but it was far too risky: if her mother heard her and demanded an explanation, she would find herself in a highly embarrassing situation.
Buffy, hungry but resigned, was getting ready to go to bed for a night too short, when she noticed a plate filled with a sandwich on her desk. Approaching it with surprise and a touch of concern—had someone noticed her absence?—she found a note next to the sandwich. Deciphering her sister's still childlike and very recognizable handwriting, she read:
I made this for you because you'll probably be hungry when you get home.
Don't worry, Mom didn't see you were out, and I won't tell her.
I'm not asking you to tell me where you go at night; it's none of my business.
But take care of yourself.
Love,
Dawn
Buffy was stunned, torn between shock and gratitude. It was hard enough to believe that Dawn hadn't run to report her to their mother when she realized she'd run away, but that she'd shown her such concern, she couldn't believe it! She distractedly bit off a corner of the sandwich, chewed it, and swallowed it with obvious pleasure.
It was filled with eggplant. Her sister, who hated it, had nevertheless remembered her tastes.
Buffy smiled slightly.
«Thanks, Dawnie.»