Part 5: Ms. Baron
She walked down the upstairs hallway of her home, the carpet feeling soft against her bare feet. It was cool that afternoon, thanks to the air-conditioning that was blowing down from above her. Warm light rained in from the window set behind her at the opposite end of the hall that she was traveling from; heating her bare skin on her arms and legs thanks to the shorts she was wearing. Something told her that this was wrong; that she should go back and close the window blinds before her father got up, but she wouldn't. They had to be open, but she didn't know why.
A whimpering sound caught Dylan's attention as she passed the bathroom. She glanced inside the room as she passed and saw Willow there. The red-headed woman was pressed against the tub, like she was trying to use it to help her stand but wasn't able too. The one-time witch groaned loudly as she fell against it again, and looked like she was actually going to give up this time.
Dylan kept walking.
As she passed the door to her Aunt Dawn's old room, she found it too was opened. She peered in, but saw that it was no longer a bedroom. Instead, she saw the lobby of the Hyperion. Angel, Cordy, and Gunn had their backs to her, and were considering someone or something that was hidden from her sight.
"Yo, with an appetite like that, she looks like your boy's honey," Gunn said in regards to whoever they were looking at.
Dylan made a face, but continued to walk.
She finally stopped when she reached her grandmother's bedroom door, and just looked at it for a long moment. There was a mark carved into it, one that she had never seen before. It looked sort of like a crescent moon turned upside down with a strange looking eye under it. It looked familiar somehow, but she paid it little mind as she reached up to open the door.
A large, dark hand grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away before she could. She turned her head and found an African man was the one holding her. He was dressed in some strange, ceremonial robes, and held a staff in his free hand that stood nearly as tall as him. Behind him, stood two other men, dressed much the same way and with the same even looks on their faces.
Though he spoke in a language Dylan had never heard before, she understood every word he said. "Do not release him."
The girl drew in a sharp breath as she came back to consciousness and found herself riding safely in the back of a car. She pulled her face away from the fist it had been leaning on as she slept, and blinked a couple of times as she tried to remember exactly where she was. Outside the car, people were walking along the busy sidewalk, talking and laughing with each other as they enjoyed the mild spring night in New York.
They had been back in the Big Apple for the past month, coming there shortly after that awful night back in St. Petersburg. Grandfather had thought it best that they distance themselves as much as they could from that city for awhile, which suited Dylan just fine. In fact, if they never went back there, it would be just dandy with her.
She knew, however, that they would not be staying in New York much longer. They had been there too long already, so she was ready to pick up and leave any day now. Move onto some place new and different, where they didn't know her or what she had done. It used to be that she hated all the moving. Now, however, she was grateful for it.
From her side, Sebastian was looking at her oddly, like he knew there was something wrong. Over the past several weeks, they had actually become rather good friends. They still didn't talk much because, well, that wasn't Bastian's thing; but they would just hang and let the other know they were there. It was nice having him around, especially after everything that had happened.
He had been the one to tell her that the trick was to try and not think about what she had done. Think of something else, something she liked. It helped some; at least she wasn't crying herself to sleep every night anymore.
Leaning a little closer to her, he whispered lowly, "You okay?"
She nodded, which drew the attention of Grandfather from the far end of the backseat.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice sounding rather cool like it always seemed to these days.
Again, Dylan nodded and answered, "Yes, sir."
"Good," he said, turning his attention forward again to the driver. Lifting his cane, he gently tapped the front seat to get the man's attention, then ordered, "Pull over here."
He briskly replied, "Yes, sir."
When the car was safely off the road, Dylan opened her door, and both she and Sebastian got out. Grandfather stayed in his seat, and told the children, "I'll send the car to come and pick you up after you do your sweep. I have some other business to attend to, so I will be waiting back at the apartment when you arrive for a full report. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Grandfather," they answered in unison.
**********
Her pumps made a soft squishing sound as she walked down the hall on the cheap carpet and towards the elevator doors. The only people there that late were the cleaning crew, and they were currently cleaning the section of the floor that was covered with a maze of cubicles. They all knew her by name because she was generally the first to arrive and the last to leave.
All the other secretaries didn't like the work initiative that she had, but she could really care less. She was the best at what she did, and she planned to stay that way. Besides, the man she worked for was the head of the company, and he deserved a girl who would work just as hard as him. If the others didn't like that, well, they could go to hell.
She rode the elevator to the lobby in silence. It didn't stop on a single floor on its way down, just like she thought it wouldn't, and the door slid opened easily once it reached her desired floor.
She walked towards the large glass doors that lead out to the busy street. As she passed the security desk, Jack and Craig, the two night watchmen, sat up in their swivel chairs to make it look like they hadn't been goofing off as usual. Jack's boots slammed hard against the floor, echoing in the large, empty lobby, and Craig smiled widely at the middle-aged woman.
"Working late again, Ms. Baron?" Craig asked through the grin, a pair of crow's feet appearing on the corners of his eyes.
"When am I not?" she asked, her British accent sounding strange even to her own ears since she had become accustomed to the American ones, particularly the New York and Jersey accents.
"Was kinda a dumb question, huh?" Jack laughed, his distinctly New Jersey accent sounding harsh to her, as he stood up and followed her to the doors. He fumbled with his keys for a moment before finding the right one and opening the door for her. "See you tomorrow, Ms. Baron."
"Good night, Jack," she smiled before calling over her shoulder like an afterthought, "Good night, Craig."
"Night, Ms. Baron," the Italian man called to her before going back to the monitors in front of him.
As she stepped out into the cool, early spring New York night, she heard the door's lock click shut again. Pulling her jacket a little tighter around her body, she glanced around to see if a taxi was nearby when she heard someone say, "Lindsey?"
The middle-aged woman turned towards the voice and found a man standing off to the side of the building's entrance. He was a little older than she, with hair that was a mixture of gray and brown. His face was covered with a pair of wire-rim glasses that were reflecting the lights that hung over their heads. There was something familiar about him, and, though her instinct was telling her that she shouldn't talk to a stranger on the street like this, something else was telling her that it would be all right.
"Yes?" she said.
A small smile broke out onto his face as he came closer to her, extending his hand to her. "Ah, I'm glad I caught you."
She took his hand limply and cautiously. "I'm sorry," Lindsey finally said. "Do I know you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose it has been awhile," he said, his British accent sounding warm and familiar. "I am Rupert Giles. I believe we use to work for the same...organization."
The woman pulled her hand away from his like it was on fire. "You're a watcher," she stated firmly.
Giles grinned sloppily at her. "Well, er, um, I was. A long time ago."
"I have nothing to say to you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a cat at home that needs attending to," she turned back towards the street, but found another, younger man standing there next to a young blonde woman. Lindsey took a step back for the couple and glanced over her shoulder at Giles. They basically had her boxed in, or as boxed in as three people can. "What do you want?" she bit coolly, showing no signs of intimidation.
"Travers," the blonde woman said. "You used to work for him." It wasn't a question, but a firm statement. Lindsey could see the disapproval in the girl's face at the knowledge.
"That's hardly a secret, my dear," she told the blonde. Briefly turning her eyes towards Giles, the middle-aged woman said, "Everyone in the Council knew who I worked for."
"You worked for him right up until he retired," the blonde continued to state. "So, I take it you knew everything going on in the office."
"I suppose. Yes."
"Then I take it you might remember me." The blonde extended her hand to Lindsey and said, "I'm Buffy Summers."
Buffy watched as something flashed through Lindsey's eyes at the name. Whether it was guilt or uneasiness she wasn't sure; but she definitely recognized the name. The woman bit down on her lip for a moment and drew in a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," she said in a controlled tone. "I do not recognize the name."
"Oh, really. Well, how about my daughter, Dylan? Do you recognize her name? Or did Travers just call her 'the Angel'?" Buffy took a step towards Lindsey, her eyes narrowing in on her. "Or maybe you'll remember this name. Dr. Lang? Does that ring a bell?"
"Ms. Baron," a voice called out from behind the group. They looked up to see Craig standing there, his hand resting near his side where his gun was holstered. A worried and suspicious look was on his face as he studied the scene before him. "Is everything all right?"
Lindsey opened her mouth slightly and drew in a small breath as if she were going to answer. Instead she shoved her purse into Buffy's grasp, throwing the slayer off balance before the secretary took off in the opposite direction from the blonde. Giles moved to catch Buffy as Spike took off after the runaway.
"Hey!" Craig called, but no one paid him any mind.
Lindsey ran as fast as she could to get away from them. As she turned the corner, her heeled shoes slipped a little on the sidewalk, nearly causing her to spill onto the hard ground. Her hand touched the concrete, pushed her upward, and she began to run again before she crashed into a man who was apparently waiting for her.
He was the young, with slightly wild dark hair that was falling around his face. There was something cold in his eyes as he stared down at the woman that he held by the upper arms, and the look he gave her sent a chill down her spine.
The other man rounded the corner; Ms. Summers and Mr. Giles following close behind, and found that she had been recaptured.
"This her?" her capture asked coolly.
Giles nodded slightly, walking up to them. "Yes, Connor. This is Ms. Lindsey Baron."
Lindsey jerked at her arms, and the boy released her after a moment. She turned back to Giles, a scolding look on her face that was reflected on his.
"I believe we have things to discus, Lindsey," the ex-watcher stated in a matter-of-fact way.
Frowning, the secretary sighed and dropped her shoulders in defeat.
**********
He sat in the back seat of the car, watching the little exchange that was going on on the sidewalk less than a block away from him. A deep frown was etched on his face as his thumb ran over the cool, polished ivory panther head that rested on the top of his cane.
He should have known a shot to the stomach wouldn't have killed the slayer; at least not one as stubborn as Ms. Summers. Sure, he had hoped it would have, but now he knew she was alive and running around New York City. Damn all the luck.
This was most regrettable. Young Dylan was finally starting to see things as they should be, and now her mother was alive to muck it up all again. And with the help of his secretary no less! Really, this was a most regrettable situation.
Travers raised his cane and tapped the front seat of the car gently, letting the driver known he was ready to leave. As he drove by the group, he sighed, knowing there would be several loose ends that would need to be tied up before the night was over.
**********
They sat at a coffee shop down the street from the building where Lindsey worked. Tonight, it was rather crowded, mainly with college students who had just spent the better part of their Saturday down at the Spielberg marathon they were having at the Richmont Theater a few blocks over. There had been many days when Lindsey herself had stopped by this very place; mainly because they were the only people that she had found on this blasted continent who knew how to make a decent cup of tea. This evening, however, she really wasn't enjoying it all that much.
Giles sat there, staring at the young woman he had seen so many times sitting outside Travers' office. He had always thought of her as a sort of guard dog, as everyone else in the Council did. No one got in to see Travers without going through Lindsey. Once he discovered that she was in New York, he knew she would be the one to help them; especially considering that none of the other Watchers that he was still in contact with seemed to know anything about Dylan or Travers' activities.
It hadn't surprised him. Quentin never was one for sharing such things. Hell, he had been stingy with his bourbon; the very idea that he would share the fact that he had created his own damphyr was down right laughable. Both Willow and Fred had confirmed that the Council had no knowledge of the girl or her linage by hacking into their computer files. Giles was glad for their lack of knowledge. The less they knew about the girl, the better.
Connor had once again disappeared from the group, choosing to stand guard. He had joined them after the St. Petersburg incident. Catherine, who didn't have the slayer's healing ability, had to stay in the hospital a lot longer than Buffy did, and had suggested the boy take her place. After all, he would be able to help them out more than she ever could in a fight, and that was apparently what this Travers person wanted. And besides, with Buffy surely being sent home very soon, they were going to need someone like him.
Buffy sat across from the woman. The blonde slayer was leaning forward towards the table. Her elbows rested on her legs as she slouched over, half to show interest in what the woman was saying, the other to try and ease the nausea that had set in after smelling the fresh ground coffee that filled the cafe. After being pregnant with Dylan, she had never been able to even look at noodles without having a disgusted feeling pass through her. Looks like this one, it was going to be coffee. Well, she should be real fun in the mornings from now on.
"I take it your friend must have gotten my message," Lindsey finally said, breaking the silence that had hung over the small group since their arrival.
"Huh?" the slayer asked, not knowing where that had come from or who she was talking about.
The secretary smiled almost coyly as she began to stir her tea with the plastic red stick they had given her at the counter. "The werewolf," she clarified. "The one in Tibet."
Buffy blinked. "You sent Oz that e-mail."
With a small shrug, Lindsey pulled the small stick out of her tea then brought the cup up to her lips. After taking a sip, she said, "That demon was too dangerous to handle, especially in that witch's body."
"Why didn't you warn one of us?!" the slayer demanded. "Giles? Or me? Any of us?!"
Lindsey made a face at the young woman who sat across from her and placed her tea cup gently on the saucer. "Ms. Summers, I was lucky to warn your friend-Oz?-at all. If I would have tried to contact any of you directly, Mr. Travers would have surely found out and done something to myself or my family. I couldn't take such a risk, no matter how much I would have liked too." She sat back in her chair and frowned deeply as she looked at the drink. "He went too far with this whole blasted thing."
"You knew what was goin' on the whole time. Didn't you?" Spike accused, his face hard as he stared at the woman beside him.
"I know more than you can imagine. But that doesn't mean I will tell you anything."
"Oh, I think you will," the vampire said coldly, his eyes flashing a dangerous yellow color for a moment.
Lindsey just chuckled softly to herself. "You think I'm afraid of you? When he now has both of them?! I think not."
For a second time that night, Buffy blinked from surprise. "Both of them?" she repeated.
As if suddenly realizing what she had just said, Lindsey bit down on her lip for second then backtracked. "I meant the both them, the Angel and Mr. Travers."
"No, I don't think that's what you meant at all. You were talking about that boy, aren't you?" Buffy asked.
"What boy?" the secretary asked. However she didn't sound very convincing that she knew nothing about him.
"The one that's running around with Travers and my daughter," the slayer clarified, causing the woman's face to drop a few shades of white. "Who is he? What's he got to do with this?"
A stiff silence passed over the table. In the background, a young woman laughed brightly at an unheard joke. From behind the counter, the cash register was slammed shut after a sale, and the cappuccino machine made a swishing sound as it prepared another drink. At the table, the four adults remained silent while the woman being questioned debated inwardly whether to tell them or not.
"I believed she asked you a question," Spike said smoothly after a moment.
Buffy watched as Lindsey's dilemma played on her face. She looked as if she really did want to tell her what she knew, that she really wasn't as cold as pretend to be. But there was also a fear in her eyes; one that held the woman's tongue. Letting her own aggravation and anger towards this woman who had helped Travers for so long go, Buffy decided to let her see what she really looked like: a frightened, worried mother who only wanted her child back.
"Please," the slayer said weakly. "I just want my daughter back. And you can help me. I need you to help me."
The proper British woman's cool demeanor faltered momentarily at seeing the strong woman who sat across from her become so…human. All those years she had spent in the Council's office, she had been able to read everything she wished on the slayers from the papers and memos that passed over her desk.
There had been quite a few written on Ms. Summers, but Lindsey couldn't remember a single one that had ever mentioned that the girl wasn't up to the challenge befitting of a slayer. And, from what the secretary had read, when she did face these challenges, she had always done so with confidence and hardly ever showed any signs of weakness and vulnerability. Well, expect for that unfortunate incident with Angelus. But, placing herself in the slayer's shoes, Lindsey could understand the circumstances. Approve of and dismiss, never, but understand, yes.
However, now that strong and capable girl she had read about was sitting across from her, literally begging her for help. If there was one thing Lindsey was sure of, it was that Ms. Summers wasn't the begging type, not from everything she had read about her and not from what she had seen earlier that night. This was most definitely a last resort for her, and she was only doing it because she was the child's mother and did just want her back. Lindsey supposed that if it were her child, she would do no different.
That still didn't change the fact that-"I can't tell you anything," she said, dropping her eyes from the slayer's and down to the cup of tea before her. Her voice was soft and regretful as she added, "I'm sorry."
"Ms. Baron," Buffy said in a pleading voice. When the woman refused to look up from the tea, the tone became even more desperate. "Lindsey."
"Ms. Baron," Spike finally spoke up, his accent sounding harsh compared to hers.
The middle-aged woman looked up at the young looking man who sat to one side of her. She knew he wasn't young, not by any means, but it was hard to image that someone with that face was actually well over a century old. There was just some air about him that seemed like he was more alive than most of the people there in the coffee house. However, that night, when he was staring at her coldly, he did look as if he had seen more than his fare share of stubborn, tight-mouthed people in his day and he knew how to get them to talk.
The secretary swallowed hard at the look, knowing very well that on any other occasion that neither the slayer nor Mr. Giles would let him do a thing to harm her. However, it was concerning one of their own this time, and it was the slayer's child no less! They would let him do what he had to to make her talk. And since he was the girl's father, she knew that he would pull out all the stops and show her exactly why he had earned his nick-name Spike.
"You don't understand. He'll kill me," Lindsey pleaded to him, trying to sway Spike or the others from the idea of 'any means necessary' to get the information. She turned away from the vampire and over to Giles. "He's done it before."
"We won't let anything happen to you for giving us what we need," the ex-Watcher tried to reassure her. "I swear we won't."
A humorless, almost frightened snort was her reply as she shook her head. "You can't guarantee that, Mr. Giles. And the only way I know that I will stay alive is by keeping my mouth shut." She turned back to Buffy, that same sad and apologetic look resting on her face. "No matter how much I would like to help, I simply cannot."
"Don't you mean won't?" the slayer bit back, her anger returning.
Lindsey drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. "Yes, I do."
The slayer's eyes were cold as she stared at her, trying to think of anything that might make the woman talk to them. Even Spike's threatening growl from next to her wasn't intimidating the woman as much as it should. Buffy really had no idea what she could do or say to this woman that would make her tell them anything of use. All they knew now for sure was that Lindsey did in fact know something, probably everything. They also knew that at some point, Travers had killed because of it.
As they sat there, staring at one another, a thought struck Buffy. "Ms. Baron, how would Travers even know if you told us anything? Do you still report to him or something?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Lindsey bit back at the statement. "Of course I don't. I haven't seen or spoken to Mr. Travers in years."
"Then how would he know if you told us anything?" Buffy asked carefully.
Not quite following where she was going with this, the secretary answered, "I know he still watches me. Has tabs on me somehow. Why?"
Buffy glanced over at Spike and saw he had caught onto what she was getting at. With a nod, he continued for her. "I think what the slayer is tryin' to say is that Travers probably already knows you're talkin' to us. And since you're not exactly on speakin' terms with him, he's probably assumed that you've already told us everything."
Horror flashed over the secretary's face at the revelation. How would Travers know that she hadn't told them anything? From what she recalled, he wasn't really one to let someone try and explain themselves. And if he did, he generally didn't believe them.
"Way I see it, Ms. Baron," Buffy went on, leaning back in her own chair. "You can go ahead and help us and we'll do our best to keep Travers from harming you; or you tell us nothing and you can deal with him on your own."
Lindsey sat that for a moment, staring at the slayer across from her. She could easily see that the blonde had ever intention of just leaving her there, or at least looked as if she did. And the secretary knew they were right. Travers probably did already know she had spoken to them and would just assume that she had revealed everything. Any way she went, Lindsey knew she was, as her current boss would say, completely screwed. But at least if she helped Ms. Summers, she still stood a chance of perhaps making it through all this. And to think she was excited all those years ago when she became Mr. Travers' own personal secretary.
With a deep sigh and slumped shoulders, she asked, "What do you want to know?"
Around her, the group exchanged a hopeful look before Buffy said, "Everything."
**********