Title: Sacrificial Coats
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic, Topher, OC (Nuts)
Words: 1,178
Notes: For whedonland's Meet Jane Doe.

This was supposed to be longer. But I only needed to write 300 words. So... yeah. Overboard. I apologize for the errors. And you don't need to read this. Really.

Also, I'm taller than Maggie Q, in case you're wondering. That is all.



She freezes the moment she catches a glimpse of him. Blond hair, blue eyes, the perpetual frown—he hasn’t changed much, as far as she can tell.

Dominic. Dominic, the NSA Man.

The man who ruined her life.

Adrenaline kicks in and her hands curl into a fist. Suddenly, she feels as though she’s going to explode at this very instant.

“You son of a—”


2 HOUR EARLIER


“I don’t think it’s a good idea, ma’am.”

Laurence Dominic stays still in his position as his boss sits on her chair just a few feet away from him.

“And why do you think that?” Adelle Dewitt asks, crossing her legs.

He keeps his gaze on her face, “all the Actives who were loaned to Wolfram and Hart have been behaving erratically in their doll state ever since they got back.”

She quirks a brow. “Ever since they got back? Are there new incidents I’ve not been made aware of, Mr. Dominic?”

“No.” he shakes his head and puts his hands behind his back, “But let’s not forget that she burned a coat the day after she returned from Wolfram and Hart.” He points out, “She tried burning down the facility in her doll state!”

DeWitt shrugs, “I checked with our contact with Wolfram and Hart. Apparently, during her stay there, she misheard sacrificial goats as sacrificial coats.”

“She’s insane.” And who the hell mistakes goat for coat, anyway? Sacrificial coats, really? He’s not into ritual sacrifices, but he’s sure sacrificing a goat will appease a demon more than sacrificing a coat would.

“I don’t think that’s what her Active designation means.”

He sighs, “I meant her real personality. She’s insane.”

“The imprint we sent to Wolfram and Hart didn’t seem to have any problems.”

“That imprint wasn’t her.”

DeWitt slightly turns away from him, glancing at the file on top of her desk, “I suppose you know this because of the very detailed files you have on Nuts?” she asks and looks back at him.

There’s a slight tinge of reproach in her tone. Of course she knows about that.

“I encountered her in the field—five, six years ago. It was during one of my last operations with the NSA.” He explains, “She’s dangerous.”

“Unfortunately Mr. Dominic, we’re facing a unique problem which calls for a unique solution.” DeWitt stands up and takes the folder from her desk, “Let’s just hope no one leaves a coat lying around for her to burn.” She adds and heads to her private elevator.

~*~

She patiently waits in line for breakfast. They’re serving blueberry pancakes and she likes those the most.

The line is long. She counts five heads before her turn but she doesn’t mind. She isn’t hungry yet.

But she really likes those blueberry pancakes.

“Nuts?”

She looks up and sees Miss Christy walking towards her.

“Hello.” She greets. Miss Christy is with a man with light hair and a dark suit. Her face lights up upon seeing him.

“Good morning.” She chirps at the man, “We’re having blueberry pancakes.” She likes him very much—he makes her fingers and toes go tingly.

“That’s nice.” He answers with a frown, “Would you like a treatment?”

“I like my treatments.” She replies, “They help me be my best.”

“Come on.” He says and takes her by the elbow.

She takes a backwards glance to the line as she walks a step behind the man holding her arm. She likes her treatments, but she likes pancakes better.

“May I have pancakes after my treatment?” she asks when they reach the top of the stairs.

The man looks at her, brows drawn together, but doesn’t say anything.

~*~

She doesn’t move the first few seconds she opens her eyes. She feels very well-rested. It’s something she hadn’t felt in years.

“Ms. dela Cruz. Welcome back.”

She turns toward the voice and sees Adelle DeWitt, wearing different clothes.

Her eyes dart around. Adelle DeWitt, that kid Topher and three other people whom she hasn’t seen before. Two women, three men; two guys in a suit, two women in heels, one guy in a sweater vest.

“Has it been five years?” she asks in wonder.

“Not quite.” DeWitt replies, flashing a grim smile, “If you remember, your contract is different from most of our volunteers.”

“Yeah, I just signed it a few minutes ago… for me, anyway.” She replies.

“Good. Mr. Brink will be performing a short diagnostic test, after which our head of security will—”

She freezes the moment she catches a glimpse of him. Blond hair, blue eyes, the perpetual frown—he hasn’t changed much, as far as she can tell.

Dominic. Dominic, the NSA Man.

The man who ruined her life.

Adrenaline kicks in and her hands curl into a fist. Suddenly, she feels as though she’s going to explode at this very instant.

“You son of a bitch!” she leaps from the chair and lunges at him. She narrowly avoids collision with the door, but she was still too fast for him to dodge and at a blink of an eye, she has him pinned on the floor. She jabs his eyes—she’s a half a foot shorter than him and she’s going to be at a greater disadvantage if she doesn’t disable him first.

He yelps in pain and tries to push her off him.

Anger rushes through her as she starts punching him, “You stupid, stupid, son of a—”

“—get off me!” he growls and tries to get hold of her arms.

She scratches his face, “I’ll kill you first.” She strikes him repeatedly and she tries to pin him down as long as she can.

He manages to grab her wrists before trying to push her off again. This time, she locks her ankles around his legs and forces her weight to the side before ramming her forehead into his face.

“Fucking sonuvabitch!”

She rolls away from him, as the pain radiates on her head. She takes a deep breath and waits for a few seconds before opening her eyes and standing up.

She finds everybody staring at them.

“Whoa.” Topher says in awe. “And you’re like, Ivy-tall.”

The woman beside him elbows his side.

She massages the base of her neck and turns to DeWitt, “Can I eat after I get the diagnostic test? Or are you pressed for time?” she asks. Her stomach’s grumbling.

DeWitt tears her eyes from the floor and looks at her, “You can have breakfast after the test if you’d like.” She says. The corners of her lips tug upwards, “I can see why Mr. Dominic thinks you’re dangerous.”

“It’s part of the charm,” she answers dryly and looks at the man on the floor. He’s clutching his nose, understandably.

There’s a quick moment of awkward silence.

“Topher, please start with Ms. dela Cruz’s diagnostics.” DeWitt orders, “And Mr. Jameson, please look for Doctor Saunders downstairs. I believe Mr. Dominic might need to be checked upon.”

She looks at Topher and smirks. Topher grins back at her.