Chapter 7: Broken

Author's Notes: Again, I'm taking liberties with Wolfram and Hart.



Angel opened the door of his apartment and stepped back, allowing Buffy to enter first. When he made a move to follow, Spike nudged him out of the way and stepped in behind Buffy. Angel caught the back of his duster and pulled him back into the hallway. “I believe you live across the hall.”

Spike shrugged him off and adjusted his coat. “Protection in numbers I always say.”

“Like hell.” Angel motioned for him to leave, but Spike shook his head and moved across the room, setting Buffy’s suitcase beside the couch.

Buffy was at the window, staring down at the flickering lights of the city.

“We’re so high up,” she commented, more to herself than anyone else. The ride in the car had been silent. She had alternately chewed her fingernails and bottom lip while trying to drown out the worry that had begun to consume her. She turned to look at her two companions and attempted a weak smile. “This is a far cry from your apartment in Sunnydale, Angel, but it still doesn’t compare to the mansion.”

“Yeah, but here I can walk around in the sun.” He put down the overnight bag he had carried for her and clasped his hands in front of him. “Wolfram and Hart own this entire building. You’ve been to the top floor, which serves as our main office. This is the twelfth floor, and if you get hungry there is a huge cafeteria on the eighth floor. I can have them prepare anything you want.”

Buffy nodded and glanced around the room. There were small accents that were purely Angel. The walls were adorned with masculine paintings that depicted several scenes from the eighteenth century. She glanced at the one closest to her and saw the familiar A scrawled in one corner. “You painted these?”

He smiled almost shyly. “It gets boring here sometimes.”

“They’re nice,” Buffy said honestly.

“If you like nancy boy watercolors,” Spike mumbled loud enough for them to hear. When they both looked at him, he added, “What? I know good art when I see it. I’ve seen better on the sides of trains!”

“I seem to recall you painting Angel on your punching bag, Spike,” Buffy replied. “Do I even have to go there?”


Spike scowled. “Yeah, well it’s not like I had a good subject.”

“Must have been for you to attempt my likeness.” Angel smirked.

Buffy rolled her eyes heavenward. “Can we not? I think maybe we should be concentrating on the fact that I don’t have enough sacred powder for many more circles and we don’t know if this place can prevent The Immortal from gaining access to me.”

“How long before the serum wears off?” Angel asked.

“Oh, now you’re worried about it? You didn’t seem to have a single fucking care in the world when you were stomping it into the ground, did you? Asshole.”

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow. “I’d say that it’s still working.”

“And you’re an asshole, too!” Buffy yelled. “I told you both everything that was happening and you destroyed my chances!”

“Your chances are not destroyed. Fred is already working on the problem.” Angel responded softly. “I know you’re upset and I know that you’re emotions are going to be in turmoil when they do come back to you completely, but you’re not going to do this alone. We’re here now and we can help.”

“Then God help us all!” Buffy screamed.

Angel and Spike watched as she stormed across the room, yanked open a door and disappeared into a darkened room, slamming it behind her.

“You think she realizes that’s the broom closet?” Spike asked.

There was a loud clattering, a muffled curse, and then silence.

“Yep,” Angel replied. “I think she does.”

“Should we go get her?”

Shaking his head, Angel chuckled quietly. “There is a broom in there. It has a wooden handle.”

“I see your point.”

Several minutes went by before Buffy emerged again. She didn’t make eye contact, but her cheeks were flaming red. When she spoke, her tone was calm, quiet and unwavering. “Where am I sleeping?”

“Down the hall. Second door on the left.”

She picked up her overnight bag, flung it over her shoulder and left the room.

Giving them a one fingered salute as she did so.








Fred knocked on Angel’s door at ten a.m. the following morning. Her hair was frizzy and her clothing, the same she had worn the night before, was disheveled. She had the distinctly wide eyed appearance of someone who had come close to overdosing on coffee. When Angel answered the door she brushed past him, pulling a handtruck with neatly packed boxes of files.

“Before you say anything,” Fred said quickly, depositing the boxes next to the couch. “I need the restroom.”

“You’ll have to go to go to Spike’s place,” Angel replied, lifting the lid on one of the boxes. “Buffy is in the shower.”

Fred gasped. “She spent the night? Here? With you?”

Angel rifled through the contents in the box, satisfied that Fred had done her homework. “It wasn’t safe for her to be alone.”

“Hello? She’s a Slayer.” Fred crossed her arms over her chest. “And Nina stopped by looking for you last night.”

He suddenly remembered that Nina had gotten concert tickets and asked him to go. “Damn. What did you tell her?”

“I told her that you were on a very important case and we couldn’t disturb you. I like her, Angel. I think you should tell her the truth.”

“That was the truth. I am on a very important case and that’s all there is to it.”

Fred put her hands on her narrow hips. “And it doesn’t matter at all to you that Buffy is like, your greatest love?”

“She’s a client.”

“Is she paying?”

Slipping the lid back on the box, Angel glared at her. “Do you have a problem with Buffy?”

“I have a problem with what she did to Mort and I have an even bigger problem watching what she does to you and Spike.”

“You don’t know the whole story.”

“Don’t I? Cordelia told me everything. You even told me a lot of it.”

“Well, if you have this kind of impression of her then I must not have told it right.”

“What impression should I have? Have you seen Mort? I haven’t even met her yet and I know that anyone who could do that to someone like Mort is heartless.”

“She was mad at me. That’s all it was.”


”That’s not very reassuring.” Fred handed him a folder that had been stuck between two of the boxes. “She’s got quite a reputation for herself in Europe. They call her le petit tueur.”

“The small killer.” Angel opened the folder and saw an illustration of Buffy in action. Her hair was flying wildly, her eyes were large and full of satisfaction, and her mouth was drawn back in a large, demented smile. In one hand she held a dagger and in the other she held what appeared to be a human child. “I don’t get it.”

“The demon underworld claims that she brings children to The Immortal. They claim that she takes life, demon or human, without pity or remorse. All for him.”

“Buffy would never do that.” Angel closed the folder and held it back out toward Fred. “I asked you to find out information about the Immortal. You turned it into-”

She wouldn’t accept the folder from him. “This was the information I found, Angel. All Vespara demons have someone who gets their prey for them because they can’t. According to all the information I’ve gathered, Buffy is that person.”

“We’re talking about human lives here.” Angel raised his voice. “We’re talking about a woman who values human life more than anyone I’ve ever met. Buffy would not do that!”

Spike, who had been sleeping soundly in the hallway outside Buffy’s room, shambled into the living room with a blanket wrapped around him. “Good job waking the dead,” he said as he surveyed the boxes.

Angel handed him the file that contained the drawing of Buffy. “Please tell Fred that this is impossible.”

Spike rubbed his eyes, gave a loud, fake yawn, and opened the folder. He scanned the artwork, then flipped through the pages, scanning over the information. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, turning the pages faster. “The little killer, eh? That’s my girl.”

Angel snatched the folder and hit the other vampire on the head with it. “Fred thinks she’s been killing people!”

“Well, she hasn’t been herself lately, has she? What with the soul issues.” Spike pulled the blanket further around him.

“What soul issues?” Fred glanced between the two of them.

“Oh!” Spike dug around in his pocket and produced an unharmed vial of the serum. “Le petit tueur has been killing her soul with this stuff. Thought maybe you could have a go at figuring out what’s inside of it.”

Fred accepted the vial and held it up to the light. “She drinks it?”

“Injects it.” Spike cocked his head to one side. “Water’s stopped running. She’ll be out and about in a second all hell bent on making us suffer.”

Fred stuffed the small bottle into her pocket and clasped her hands in front of her innocently. “So maybe she’s been on this stuff and that made her become a heartless monster?”

“She’s not-”

But they stopped talking when Buffy entered the room. She had on a pair of Snow White pajamas and was gently towelling her hair. When she saw Fred, she came across the room, put the towel over her arm and held out her hand. “You must be Fred, I’m Buffy.”

Fred could not argue that Buffy was beautiful, even with her hair wet. Her skin was vibrant and had a healthy glow from the shower and her luminous eyes looked genuine as the two women shook hands. Fred felt herself smiling in return. Surely a pretty little blond girl who wore Snow White pajamas and dainty satin slippers could not be a cold blooded killer. “It’s nice to meet you,” Fred replied. “God, you’re such a little thing.”

“I get that a lot.” Buffy went back to toweling her hair. “Willow told me a lot about you. She thinks highly of you.”

“These two are the same way about you.” Fred nodded at Angel and Spike. “What with the high thinking.”

“What is this?” Spike had been rifling through the box that contained the files and had pulled out a small wooden cylinder.

“Oh!” Fred took it from Spike and pulled a note from her pocket. “It’s the weirdest thing. No one can open it. Harmony said that it was delivered yesterday and Wesley did a half translation on the note, but it’s pretty sketchy.”

“Looks simple enough.” Buffy took the cylinder, held it in her palm, and poked it lightly. It sprang apart, revealing a key inside, which she handed to Fred. “Have you eaten yet?” Buffy asked sweetly. “Angel told me there is a cafeteria around here and I’m starved.”

“Oh!” Fred nodded. “I haven’t eaten since last night. I’m famished.”

“Let me change and we can get something.” Buffy turned around, still ignoring the two other people in the room, and went down the hallway.

“We have a problem.” Fred said as calmly as she could, examining the key in her hand.

“What kind of problem?” Angel asked.

“Read the translation.” She handed Angel the note.

Angel read it, then read it again. Spike rolled his eyes. “Out loud!”

Swallowing hard, Angel said, “It can only be open by someone who doesn’t believe in love.”

Spike cocked his head to one side. “Damn. That can’t be right.”

To Fred, Angel said. “Listen, Spike wasn’t kidding about her using that stuff to mess with her soul. She may not be completely back to herself so keep a close eye on her.”

Fred nodded. “You don’t think she’s going to be tempted to treat me like Mort, right? Because I’ve seen Faith in action and I know what-”

“Don’t even think that. You’ll be fine.”

Hoping that he sensed her apprehension, she sunk onto the sofa and waited until Buffy was ready.



“What do you think of the food?” Fred asked, watching as Buffy gently tapped her scrambled egg with the prongs of her fork. “Is it bad?”

Buffy, who had her head propped on her hand as she surveyed the patrons of the cafeteria, realized what she was doing and laid her fork to the side. “It’s fine. Just not as hungry as I thought.”

“You look like you’re a million miles away.” Fred piled butter onto her pancakes, drowned them in syrup and took a big bite. “Oh my god. Yum!” she moaned, her mouth quite full.

Despite her determination to locate an easy way to escape Wolfram and Hart, Buffy found herself sidetracked by her own pancakes and followed the other girl’s lead. They were soon bonding over the sticky, wonderful, goodness that was the homemade maple syrup. The conversation ranged from Fred’s family, to Dawn, and then to Europe, where Buffy admitted that Italy was beautiful, but she hadn’t realized how much she missed California until she had come back.

They made plans to head to In and Out Burger as soon as they could, and stood, carrying their trays toward the garbarge can. A pretty woman with soft, smooth blond hair, waved toward Fred, who suddenly looked like she had been caught doing something incredibly wrong.

Buffy heard her whispering to herself and strained her ears to hear better. “What?”

Before Fred could reply, Nina had joined them at the trash can and was smiling broadly. “Hey, Fred! I was just up at Angel’s place, but he didn’t answer. Is he in the office? Because he missed a great concert.” Reaching into her bag, she produced a large tee-shirt. “I bought him a souvenir.”

“That’s sweet.” Fred glanced at Buffy, noting the way she regarded Nina with a mixture of interest and annoyance. “This is our friend, Buffy. She lives in Italy.”

“Oh.” The shirt that Nina had been holding up slipped from her fingers and landed in the floor. She didn’t seem to notice as she openly appraised Buffy. “You’re - you’re Buffy? Sunnydale Buffy?”

Buffy stood a little taller, very happy that she had taken the extra time to make herself presentable. She adjusted her halter top slightly and smiled, extending her hand. “That would be me. You are?”

“Nina. Angel’s girl-”

“Girl Friday,” Fred announced, bending and grabbing the shirt, which she handed to Nina. “Buffy we really ought to get you back upstairs. I think Gideon wanted to have a look at you today.”

Buffy was still wearing her false smile and it literally pained her to offer her hand as she mumbled, “Nice to meet you.”

Nina clutched her hand, a little too hard, and replied, “You too, sweetie.” To Fred, she added, “I’ll just go up and take him his present.”

Buffy’s gaze followed her out of the room. “Angel has a girlfriend?”

“Well -”

“Is she human?”

“Well-”

“Is she evil?”

“Not exactly.”


Buffy turned to look at Fred. “What does that mean?”

“She’s a werewolf.”

“Angel’s new honey is a werewolf?” Buffy shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. “I am going to go back to his place and digest.”

“Are you okay?” Fred watched her with growing alarm. “Buffy, you’re really red. I mean, are you-”

Buffy exhaled loudly. “I’m going to go see the doctor now.”

“Do you know the way?” Fred shouted after her.

“Yeah.” Buffy threw her hand up in a wave and left the cafeteria. By the time she arrived at the elevators the food she had eaten felt heavier than bricks in her stomach. Angel had a girlfriend. A *human* girlfriend who apparently knew who she was. That made her furious. To think that Angel would share what they had.
Buffy hadn’t even shared everything with Riley!

When the elevator didn’t open immediately, she turned and walked down the hallway, her shoes clicking on the polished floor. Her heart was pounding in her chest, causing it to ache with a pain that she hadn’t felt in months. It hurt all the way through. Leaning heavily against the glass windows that ran the length of the building, she stared down at the traffic below. She was eight stories in the air and the sun had settled high in the sky, bathing everything in a beautiful glow, but all she could see, all she could feel ... was the torment of knowing that he had moved on.

He had left her because she was a human.

But Angel found another one to take her place. Another *human*.

The irony was not lost on her. She had done the same thing with Spike, but it *hurt* and that was so foreign to her that she felt like slipping to the floor, curling into a ball, and never moving again. It rippled through her, caressing her intimately in ways that she had long forgotten, had denied could exist inside her anymore.
Swallowing hard against the bile that threatened to erupt, she took a deep breath that was meant to be calming, but it only burned her lungs.

“Buffy.” Angel, who had been waylaid by Fred in the elevator, saw her standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against the window as if willing it to open and let her escape. He had not run into Nina yet, but apparently Buffy knew about her. He dreaded the conversation that had to take place with both women.

Buffy moved away from the window and into the bathroom that was directly across the hallway, effectively ignoring him. Once inside, she wet a cloth and pressed it against her face, then her neck. The nausea was instantaneous and she rushed into one of the stalls.

Angel waited at least five minutes before he went to the nearest desk, quickly scrawled ‘out of service’ on a piece of typing paper and taped it to the door. He stuck his head in the restroom and said, “Buffy?”

“I’ll be out soon.”

Something in her voice made him enter the room all the way and shut the door behind him, locking it. He paused outside the only closed stall. “Are you sick?”

“I’m okay. Just - leave me alone, okay?”

“Open the door.”

“Angel-”

“Open the door, Buffy.” He stepped back a little as it slowly opened and she emerged. He gasped when he saw her face. Devoid of color, her skin was shiny with beads of moisture and her eyes had taken on a hollow, sunken look. “What happened?”

“We covered that the other day.” She moved to the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels, wetting them under the faucet. “You did.”

He watched as she wiped her face and rinsed her mouth. “I should have told you about Nina.”

“You think I’m upset because you’re boning a girl who moonlights as a dog?” Buffy tossed the tissue toward the wastebasket, but missed, something that rarely happened. She frowned and retrieved it, trying to downplay to dizziness that swept through her as she did so. “I meant your food. I think you poisoned me which is a step up from shooting me, but a step down in originality.”

“I never -”

“Shut up,” Buffy said, rubbing her stomach as it recoiled angrily. “I need to call the airport.”

“What? Why?”

“You can’t -” Buffy shouted. “You can’t expect me to stay here and watch you paw at one another. Oh, pardon the pun. You know I did tell you that you were like a dog always sniffing stuff. It’s nice to see that birds of a feather ...”

“Don’t, Buffy.” Angel glared at her. “Don’t say things that you can’t take back.”

“Ooooh, did your girlfriend teach you how to get your hackles up?”

“You never had a problem with Oz and Willow.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That was different.”

“How?”

“Because it just was!”

“Tell me how!”

“You left me because I was a human and you couldn’t give me the life you wanted me to have. Why does she get that life? She’s human, too, for the most part. Why can you be with her, but not me?”

Angel looked away, hands on his hips. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I really don’t. And I don’t plan on waiting to find out anything else.”

“You know what,” Angel snapped. “This is the part where I remind you that you were with *Spike*.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Angel! The difference here is that I never had a problem being with a vampire and you were the one I wanted. *You* chose to leave me. You held it against me that I was human-”

“I did not hold that against you! I wanted you to have a normal life!”

“Is that what you’re giving her? A normal life? Are you with her in the sun? Are you having sex with her? Are you thinking about HER future kids?”

“Stop.” Angel held up a hand. “Just stop.”

“Truth too much for you to handle?” Buffy took a step toward the door, but turned back to look at him. “Because the truth is, and always has been, that you wanted off the Hellmouth and away from me. I don’t think you could handle the fact that I was stronger, better, and more important than you.”

Buffy saw the fury on his face, knew that she had pushed his buttons too hard, but she continued. “So keep that in mind the next time you follow me into a room where no one can see what I do to you. After all, what good are you without your flunkies?”