***************

Dylan fought feverishly to get away and head back to the club. Bastian was doing his best to drag her along, but she knew he was injured and kept hitting his shoulder. Though he was letting small yelps escape from his lips and there were tears rolling down his cheeks from pain, he held tight onto the girl’s wrist with his good hand. Apparently, he was less afraid of bleeding to death than Grandfather.

“Let me go!” she screamed again, jerking and pulling at her wrist with all her might. She hit Bastian again, and yelled, “Now! Let me go!”

A few feet in front of them, Travers stopped with a groan, his anger getting the better of him. With a quickness that someone his age should not have, the old man turned around to the children, his eyes narrowed on the struggling girl. Sebastian’s own eyes widened at the look on Grandfather’s face, as Travers stalked back to the girl that the boy was still holding.

For a moment, Sebastian considered letting her go, to give her a chance, but the boy saw the streak of white and knew he had waited to long. There was a smashing sound as the panther head cane came into contact with its intended mark. The force was so great that it ripped Dylan’s wrist from his hand and she fell to the ground. Sebastian turned towards the girl fully- who was now dazed from the hit-and the large, old man that towered over her.

Dylan blinked a couple of times, and spat out the coppery taste that was filling her mouth. She knew something had hit her, but what she wasn’t quite sure. The girl winced as she pushed her self up on her side, then narrowed her eyes on the man over her. His face was hard and even while he stared down at her. She would swear it was the coldest look she had ever seen him give.

“You shot her,” she hissed at him. “You shot my mother!”

“It’s not as if you liked her anyway,” he told evenly.

“She’s my mother!”

“I think you mean was.”

Growling, Dylan promised, “I’m going to kill you.”

Before she could move, the black polished bottom of his cane hit her wounded leg that she had pretty much been able to forget about until that moment. A surge of pain shot up her body, causing Dylan to give out a small cry. She then felt the ivory head of the cane hit her shoulder and push her back to where she couldn’t get up off the ground.

“Now you listen to me very well, girl,” Travers growled. “I had you created. You belong to me. You always have, and you always will. You are nothing more than a thing I own and I do not take kindly to being threatened by my belongings.”

“I am not a thing,” she dared to say.

“Oh, really,” he answered dryly with a raised eyebrow. “You are not a thing? You really believe that damphyr’s aren’t things? Well, Dylan, my darling, I can assure you, you are mistaken. You proved that yourself tonight. Any normal child would not have been able to fight off that man, let alone kill him as easily as you did. And to kill him right in front of you mother. Really, what she must have thought of you.”

Dylan swallowed hard, trying to fight that tight feeling in her throat and stinging wetness in her eyes. She had seen the look on Buffy’s face, that shock and horror. For a moment, she would have almost sworn that the slayer was afraid of her.

“Your mother has never liked me, I won’t lie about that,” Grandfather went on. “But I must say I do believe that by that look on her face tonight that she hated you. Surely you must have noticed that disgust that passed in her eyes.”

“Shut up,” the child spat weakly.

“Why? It’s true, and you, my dear, know it. In her eyes, you proved yourself no better than the things she fights at night. You really are you father’s child; you’re demonic, soulless father.”

“Dad has a soul,” Dylan defended, trying to not let his words affect her, but failing.

“Of course he does. Now.” A small smile appeared on Travers’ lips when he saw the confusion on her face. “Oh, so they never told you, did they? I must hand it to Rupert; I did not believe that he would be able to keep that little secret from you for so long. Or those other-what do you call them? Scoobies? Whatever they are, I did not think that they could keep their mouths shut about your father and his soulless ways.” He lifted the cane from her shoulder and pointed it in her face. “Your father, my dear, was soulless when you were born. An evil demon, just like the ones that we hunt at night. A demon is your real father, and he passed some of that onto you.”

“You’re lying!”

“No, child, I’m not,” he said calmly, though she could easily see that he was enjoying this little torture section. “You can feel it, crawling around inside of you. That evil. You can sense it too, in others. A trait only other demons have. You really are an evil little thing. Why, just look around you right now. One of the few people who actually still give a damn about you is standing there quietly, letting himself bleed to death on a sidewalk because of you.”

Dylan turned her eyes away from the old man and over to the boy that was watching from the side. The hand that had been holding her wrist had returned to his wound, trying to stop what little bleeding it was still doing. He had been lucky that the bullet had only grazed him and not hit him full on, or he probably would have died by now. Still, his face was paler than usual, and it needed to be attended to soon.

And she was wasting time here. She had already killed someone tonight. Now she might very well kill another?! Maybe she really is as evil as Grandfather says. She had to be. Buffy had seen it, back at the club. She had killed that guy. Oh, God, she killed him, and that was the last thing her mother had seen. She really was evil.

Travers grinned at the look on the girl’s face. He was winning, that stubborn spirit of hers was finally breaking. A few more days of her mulling over what she’s done and that her mother had seen, with his gentle reminding of course, and she’ll be his. Really, he had to thank Ms. Summers. She might not have been a great slayer, but she most certainly served her purpose well.

Pulling his cane away to let the child up, he ordered, “Help Sebastian back. He needs medical attention. You both do.”

Travers turned away from the pair, not even wondering for a moment if they were going to follow. They would come. After all, they belonged to him, and they knew it.

**********

The windowless waiting room was crowded that night, mostly with people from the club or their family members. Only a few people had actually been shot, but the mad rush to get out had caused several more deaths and quite a few injuries. Spike was sure that it was big news about a shooting and the deadly stampede and it would be on every station. Humans never could get enough of bad news it seems.

He was leaning forward in the plastic seat, his head in his hands. God, he hated this bloody place. It might have something to do with that he didn’t trust any doctor as far as he could throw them; or maybe the fact that the place had a familiar ring that reminded him of that soddin’ place he and Buffy had been trapped in before Dylan was born. Mostly, though, he hated it here because he felt so helpless. There was nothing he could do, except sit and wait, and he was never any good at waiting.

Buffy probably wouldn’t be alive if I was, he thought with a humorless grin.

“Any word yet?” Giles asked, sitting down in the plastic, orange seat next to him.

Spike drew in a long, deep unneeded breath and looked at the Watcher at his side. The older looking man had a warm grin on his face, silently begging the younger to have some good news; but the vampire just dropped his eyes from his and shook his head.

“Nothin’ yet,” he said sadly. A still moment passed, and then he asked, “Did you get ahold of the others yet? Joyce and the Niblet?”

“Yes,” the watcher said. “I believe they might be coming on the first available flight, but I’m not sure.”

The blond man sighed as he leaned back in his seat. “I shouldn’t have sent her up there.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Giles told him, not feeling like dealing with a pity party on top of everything else. “And we still don’t know what started it. It could have simply been that we were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. It’s been known to happen.”

“Not to us, Watcher,” Spike said solemnly. “Whatever happened up there had to do with Dylan.”

“You can’t be-.”

“She was there,” he repeated the fact firmly. “She was injured, too.”

“How do you know?”

Spike paused for a moment, considering whether or not he should tell him the answer or not. Well, it’s not like it’s a big secret about vampires, but it still sounded really creepy to say, even to him. “I could smell her blood, Rupert.”

Giles stared at him for a long moment, not saying anything as he absorbed what Spike had just said. The Watcher was wigged, as Buffy or Dawn would say, but was doing that weird proper thing he does when he didn’t want to seem wigged. Despite himself, Spike smiled. Even when something bad happens, seeing Giles squirm was still fun to watch.

Clearing his throat, the watcher shifted uncomfortably in his chair and said, “Oh.”

Since they were already on the subject, Spike decided to go ahead and tell him the rest. “Someone else was injured,” the vampire told him. “Someone who’s missin’ too.”

“Another patron perhaps?”

“Wouldn’t bring it up if it was just another human,” Spike said point blank. “They’re different. Sort of like…Course, I’m probably just losin’ my mind to think that.”

Giles studied him for a moment. He looked like Spike had just been telling him the most interesting story, and had stopped right before the best part. “What?” he asked, his eyes looking awful owlish behind his wire-rim glasses.

Spike looked over at the man at his side, and decided that perhaps he wouldn’t think that he was crazy. But as he opened his mouth to answer, another voice cut him off.

“Mr. Summers?”

The two men looked up to see an older bald man standing over them. He was wearing the typical white lab coat with the stethoscope hanging around his neck: the tale, tale signs of a doctor. His smile grew when he realized he indeed had found the right person and Spike scrambled to his feet.

“Buffy?”

“Is going to be fine,” the doctor said in English, but with a thick Russian accent.

Spike let out a sigh of relief, as Giles said, “Oh, thank God.”

The doctor continued to smile at them. Apparently giving out good news was something he enjoyed. With a small laugh, he told Spike, “She is a very lucky woman. An inch lower or to the right, and there would have been little we could have done for her. And there would have been no way we could have saved the child.”

The vampire chuckled to himself. “Luck has nothin’ to do with it, mate. Buffy’s just one stubborn-Wait. What?”

**********

She sat back in the hospital bed, staring off into nothing. So close. She had been so close tonight. She could have literally reached out and touched Dylan, but she had lost her…again. And not only that, but she had nearly gotten herself killed in the process. Herself and…

Buffy dropped her eyes and watched as her hand lightly traced over the blue and white hospital gown that covered her still flat stomach. Of course, she didn’t think it would stay that way for long. It hadn’t whenever she was pregnant with Dylan. God, she had nearly killed it tonight. Yeah, wasn’t she a front runner for ‘Mother of the Year.’

But what was she supposed to do? Trade one child for the other? She didn’t know if she could do that, and didn’t know if she should try. The baby is so vulnerable, but so is Dylan, maybe even more so after tonight.

Her daughter had killed that man tonight, and didn’t even seem to understand what she had done. Part of Buffy was grateful for that, that she still had that touch of innocence after that, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. All that had been was shock, and once it wore off…well, she didn’t want to think about that, especially since she wasn’t here with them. God, Dylan was going to need them so much in the next couple of days, and she was still missing. Still with him.

Buffy drew her fingers into a tight fist as she thought about the old watcher she had seen that night. She couldn’t really say that she was surprised. Now that she thought about this whole thing did stink of the Council, but they had really crossed the line this time. She swore once she got out of this place, she was going to England and show those watchers what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a pissed slayer.

The blonde was concentrating so hard on what she was going to do to the Council that she hadn’t even noticed the vampire that had come into her room. He stood back for a moment, watching her look over in the other direction of the room. She had tight frown on her face, the same one she wore whenever he had kidnapped Peaches to cure Dru all those years ago. Whoever she was thinking about better prepare for a big hurt, was all he could say.

Not that he was going to let her do anything like any time soon. Not after finding out that she’s…God, he’s an idiot. He knew something was wrong with her, but he thought she was just exhausted. The idea that she was actually pregnant had never even entered his mind. But now that he knew, there were things, little things that started to make sense. Her restless sleep. The pain he knew she was in but she never told him about. Her sudden taste for that god awful borsch that he thought had been making her sick. Well, turns out it wasn’t the borsch.

Spike glanced down at her stomach where she had her hand was lying. He had wondered if she had known; that maybe, like him, she had convinced herself that had been something else. But now, that he was looking at her lying there, he knew she had. That hand was there to protect what lay beneath while she thought of hurting whoever she was thinking of hurting. And knowing that she had known made him very angry with her.

Buffy was jerked back to reality when she heard what she almost mistaken for a growl coming from the other side of her room. She looked up and found Spike standing there, watching her intensely. He didn’t have that expression of ‘I’m glad you’re alive’ that she had expected. No, she would say it looked more like ‘I know, and I’m pissed’ more than anything.

Her throat went dry. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Hey,” Buffy said, pushing herself up more in a sitting position. She winced for a moment from wound, but pushed it out of her mind. “How’s Catherine?”

Spike dropped his eyes down to the ground as he began to walk towards her. So, she wanted to play it like that? Fine, he’d play along for the moment.

“Not as good as you,” he answered, coming to stand beside her bed. “But she’s stabilized, from what I understand. Hasn’t woke up though.”

“Oh,” Buffy said softly.

She had only seen Catherine for a moment before everything had gone black, so she hadn’t been sure how badly the woman had been hurt. It might have not been as bad as Buffy, but thanks to slayer healing abilities, the blonde was going to do much better anyway.

It amazed Buffy that she had actually died eight years ago from a stab wound that is only a few inches away from the gun shot wound she now had, but that hadn’t killed her. Maybe the PTB finally decided to give her a break, but she had serious doubts about that. Something told her was that this little stroke of luck was going to cost her in the long run somehow.

“Is Giles…?”

“He’s fine,” Spike said calmly, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “He was with me when everything happened.”

“Good.”

They sat there in silence for a long time; Spike staring at her, waiting for her to tell him, and Buffy avoiding his eyes at all cost. She knew she was just making things worse, but she just couldn’t bring herself to say it, even if he did already know.

If she said it, then it was real. If it was real then she would have to start to think about it. If she started to think about it, she would have to start taking it into account when she did things. If she took it into account, she knew she couldn’t live with herself if something happened to it, so she would start making decisions that would protect it. If she made those decisions, then she couldn’t look for Dylan like she wanted. If she didn’t look for Dylan the right way, she would never see her again.

So, no, she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t say the words, or she would lose her daughter. One child or the other, Buffy thought bitterly. And she thought that choosing between Dylan and Dawn had been hard.

“I know,” he finally said after a moment.

Buffy didn’t look up at the words, just continued to stare down at nothing. God, he had even told her and she refused to tell him.

“I know,” she answered softly.

Spike stared dumbly at her for a moment. “Well? When did you plan on tellin’ me? Or were you just waitin’ until I noticed that you couldn’t see your feet anymore?”

She offered no answer.

“Well?” he pushed. When she didn’t say anything, he exclaimed, “Buffy!”

“What?” she suddenly bit back, finally looking up at him. Her eyes were burning with anger from his pushing, along with pain and confusion. “What do you want me to say, huh? You know. I know. Do you really have to hear me say it?!”

“Yes!” he snapped back, not understanding why she was fighting this so much. With a heavy, almost angry sigh, he said, “You told me about Dylan easy enough, and we didn’t even like each other then. Why can’t you tell me about this one?”

“Because,” she said, dropping her eyes from his again.

“Because why?”

He had expected her to yell her answer back at him, like she had the night she told him about Dawn and the Key. But she didn’t. Instead, a small, almost trembling voice answered him. “Because I just can’t,” she told him, lifting her eyes to show that they were now slightly shiny from unshed tears. “Cause the second I tell you, I’ll lose Dylan and I can’t when we’re this close.”

Confusion appeared on his brow as he tried to understand. “Love, you won’t lose her by tellin’ me you’re havin’ another one.”

“Yes, I will because the second I say it, it’ll be real; and I won’t put it in danger and that’s where Dylan is.”

They sat there for a long moment in silence, letting him understand what she was saying. He understood, he really did, but it wasn’t going to change anything. She was still going to have stop and leave this to him and the Watcher. Reaching over, he pulled her to him and just held her for a moment.

“I saw her tonight,” she finally went on solemnly. “At the club. She was upstairs with us.”

Spike sighed slightly as he pulled away from her to look her in the face again. “I know.” There was a pause as he tried to decide whether or not he should ask if she saw what happened to Dylan. Partly from fear that it was an answer that he really didn’t want to hear; partly because he didn’t know if Buffy had seen or not and he didn’t want to upset her anymore than she already was. Still, he had to know. “How was she hurt?”

The blonde slayer blinked from the question. Dylan had been hurt? Now that she thought about it, when she…kicked that man, she had fallen to the ground in pain. Oh, yeah, her leg. Now that she thought about it, it had been covered in blood. But it hadn’t looked to bad. And besides, how did Spike…oh, that’s right. Vampire.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “It wasn’t bad, though. She was still able to-.”

Buffy stopped mid-sentence, realizing she had no idea what she was going to him what Dylan had done. Coming out and saying that their daughter had killed someone right in front her just didn’t seem right, even if it was the truth.

“She was still able to defend herself,” Buffy finally offered.

It was true enough; Dylan had only been defending herself. It wasn’t murder, but still.

“There’s more,” she went on, trying to drive the conversation away from what she had seen. “I know who took her. I know who he is.” She watched him search her face for signs that she was telling the truth while, at the same time, surprise ran in his eyes. Slipping into the slayer who spoke in a cool tone, she asked, “Have you ever heard of a guy named Quentin Travers?”

**********

Dylan lay on her bed; one leg wrapped and propped up on a pillow while the other was bent up towards her. She had a small room here, much smaller than the one back Sunnydale. Unlike home, this one was half the size, with a single bed stuffed into a corner and a dresser for the few clothes she had with her. There was one window, but it was high on the wall and was far too small for even her to escape through. And even if she did, she didn’t have anywhere to go but straight down several stories.

Connor might have been able to make it, and she had even seen Sebastian jump from that height a couple of times; but she wasn’t about to test the theory that, because she was the daughter of a vampire, big fall doesn’t equal big splat.

Not that escaping really mattered that much to her anymore. Where would she go? She had done something that she had always been warned against. Her dad and Giles and the others had always told her to be careful with her power because she could easily hurt someone, and she always had been. Even those scraps she had gotten into at school, she was always very careful not to hurt them too bad, just rough them up a little.

But this guy was coming after her to kill her, she had no doubt about that, so she fought back. One punch to the stomach to make him double-over enough to where she could kick him across the face and it was finished…he was finished. She had done something that was next to unforgivable for someone who was going to be a slayer; she had killed a human being.

Dylan had heard the stories about Faith. She heard what the other said about her and what she had done. In the end, Faith had been able to redeem herself, but the others had never fully trusted her again, not really.

Dylan barely remembered her, except that she had dark hair and liked to hang around her dad. She would bum smokes off of him, or make lewd jokes that the others would look at her like she was crazy for saying in front of children. But sometimes her dad would smile at them or even laugh. That had been one of the first times Dylan could remember her dad really smiling, except for her.

But the others weren’t comfortable around her; she could see it in their eyes. They always had that shine that whispered ‘murderer’ when they looked at Faith. The dark-haired slayer saw it too. Probably why she left and never came back. She said that it was because her dad and the others could take care of things and didn’t need her anymore, but Dylan knew. It was the same way they looked at her father and Angel. They had been killers and always would be. And now so was she.

A small knock came from her door and Dylan looked up to see Bastian standing there. His arm was in a sling, but it would probably be gone within the next couple of days, tomorrow night at the earliest. He looked at her with sad eyes, and came into the room quietly.

“Grandfather says we’ll be leaving soon,” he told her as he came to stand beside her bed. “He wants to leave before sunset today.”

Dylan didn’t say anything, nor did she raise her eyes to meet his as he spoke. Instead, she began to focus in on the small, silver cross she had in her hands and had been playing with since coming to her room. Her mother’s cross, the one she had given her to let her know she would always be with her. Dylan was finding that she really didn’t want Buffy to be with her anymore. Not after what she did.

Sebastian stood there for a few more minutes in silence, just watching her. She was so sad, so quiet, so…broken.

This was entirely his fault. He knew what Grandfather had planned, but he had done nothing to stop it. He had hoped that it wouldn’t have to come to this, that Dylan wouldn’t have been as stubborn as he had been. That she wouldn’t have to go through the same thing he had. But she had been, and he knew her guilt and pain was just starting. At least she had something he didn’t when it happened to him. She had him.

“I’ll help you pack if you want,” he offered.

She sighed as she took one last look at the cross necklace, then put it on the small night stand next to her bed. “I don’t want anything,” she told him before laying her leg down and turning her head away from him. “Just come get me when we leave.”

The boy frowned even deeper as he took one last look at her, then did as she asked.

**********

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.

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.”

**********

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