Wesley collapsed at the table in Cordelia's apartment. The brunette had been so kind as to let him stay there for the night. For some reason, he wished to be near a fellow co-worker that night. The strangeness of all that had occurred was a little too much for him to digest all at once, and having the presence of a friend nearby was enough to help him stomach that night's events.

Sighing heavily, he found himself wishing for an aspirin and a strong drink. He chuckled to himself, suddenly understanding how his Watcher predecessor must have felt so many times. Although relating his life to Rupert's was not exactly what he had in mind for the evening, it had to do. It was better than mulling over the redheaded witch that had left Angel Investigations in turmoil.

Willow. He ran everything he knew about the girl through his head like a Rolodex: the redhead, Buffy's friend, the witch, the werewolf's girlfriend, the frenzied woman who had transformed into something powerful right before his eyes. He hardly understood it - although that was partly because he never really knew her to begin with.

Damn. He was mulling.

The sounds of someone preparing a snack in the kitchen barely registered with the preoccupied ex-Watcher. None of it gained his attention until milk and cookies were placed in front of him. Not bothering to look up, Wesley smiled wearily.

"Thank you, Cordelia, but I really don't need…" he was about to continue until he glanced sideways at the chair being pulled out from under the table. He briefly considered jumping in fear at the sight of the chair moving by itself, but then he remembered, and sighed. "Sorry, Dennis. Thank you for the snack." Lifting a cookie from the plate, he took a bite from it, lowered his eyes to the table, and considered falling asleep in the kitchen.

As he sat there, contemplating the enigma that was the redheaded witch, Wesley was aware of the comforting presence in the room. And for once in his life, as he sat there eating cookies with milk, he was grateful for the supernatural things in the world.

***

"97."

*yank*

"98."

*pull*

"99."

*tug*

"100."

*tear*

"Shit!"

Crying out angrily at no one in particular, Cordelia dropped her brush and collapsed backwards onto her bed. In a desperate attempt to calm down, she had decided to brush each lock of hair one hundred times each. After two hours of this, the bandage around her hand had finally given way, and her split knuckles were exposed to the harsh air. They protested this sudden emergence by stinging profusely.

As she lay there, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the pain in her hand, she couldn't help but think back to the confrontation in the office that evening. Rage once again boiled up inside of her, along with confusion and fear.

Rage, for the innocent little Willow that she had known for so many years. Albeit they had not been friends that whole time, she was still just a harmless little girl. But Buffy Anne Summers, for some inexplicable reason, had gone and damaged that sweet young girl, and Cordelia was filled with murderous intentions for that sort of violated purity.

Confusion, coming from the old Cordelia Chase, who could remember when the redhead dressed in fuzzy sweaters and clogs, like a Sears fashion reject. When did she form such a strong camaraderie with this pitiful little girl? Why did she care what Buffy and her freak clique did, anyway? Because they were her friends now, that's why. But why were they her friends? Indecision
and questions fronted her every which way she turned to rationalize her thoughts.

Fear, of the strong and powerful woman Willow Rosenberg had become. Right before her very eyes, the tiny redhead had transformed into a massive force, throwing the vampire she had once seen as invulnerable to the floor like a twig. She could easily turn that power onto Cordelia at her very whim, with or without provocation if she so wished. This scared Cordelia to no end, even if the fear was poorly founded.

Moving as slowly as she felt like moving, she stood back up, attempting to fix her ripped wrappings. Seeing that they wouldn't be so easily fixed, she decided to go and ask Wesley for help re-wrapping her damaged hand. At least then she would have someone to talk to.

***

Tired feet trudged up the step and into the house as their owner forced them to move. Step by step, they carried the girl up the stairs and into her room, finally collapsing by her bedside.

A purse was flung onto the floor without care, the emotionally exhausted girl too weary to give notice to where it landed. The blonde head landed on the pillow, and Buffy stared up at her ceiling. Her thoughts were too scattered and crazy to piece many things together at that point. The only things that flew through her mind were bits of pieces of the night. Getting the call from Angel. The bus ride to L.A. The fight with Willow. Her rationalization of her own actions.

Too tired and too stressed to bother sorting anything out, she slowly drifted off to sleep, imagining Oz giving her a soothing backrub as she closed her eyes.

Something about that picture seemed to click in the deepest recesses of her mind, but the realization was gone before she could grab hold of it, and it was lost for another day.

***

Willow laid huddled in Angel's bed, the covers wrapped tightly around her. Although she felt better now that she was in one of the vampire's few oversized t-shirts, and washed up in his little-used shower, the images and memories from the past twenty-four hours still assaulted her inside her head.

Everything she had done recently had been so amazingly…un-Willow-y, it boggled even the young genius' mind. She knew people were subject to change, and had a tendency to do so sporadically. And even though she had changed dramatically since the day she first met Buffy, her actions from just a few hours ago were more than a far cry from the Willow she once had been.

Her actions in the office hadn't been reasonable, or even acceptable. She hadn't even been human - she'd been pure power, force borne from the magickal rage flowing through her veins. She hadn't really been angry with Angel, yet he was the one she had pinned up against the wall.

Guilt began to set in. Whether she had been herself or not, she had still hurt her friends. Although she had no idea where she would go, she knew that she would have to leave in the morning, leave the people who would no doubt be scared of her. Willow knew that they would have to be scared of her. They'd seen the things she was capable of, now they wouldn't want her
around, for fear of their own safety. And the witch completely understood that, because that's exactly how she would feel in their situation.

Alone, scared, hurt, angry, and afraid, the tiny redhead balled herself up underneath the covers and began to cry herself to sleep.

***

A pair of dark chocolate eyes watched the girl from the doorway. She was crying now - he couldn't bear to watch her cry. It had hurt his soul enough when he had woken - had it only been that morning? - to the girl sobbing into his arms. Now he had to watch her as she berated and abused herself the same way she had been by Buffy.

Angel hung his head in spirit, but his eyes remained locked on Willow's shuddering form. He couldn't believe that he had just dared to assume what she was feeling, what was going on inside her mind. He had attempted to do that this morning, and he had been utterly wrong in the worst way possible.

It was obvious now that Buffy hadn't been telling him the whole truth when she had arrived. But to hear the truth coming from Willow's mouth had hit him worse than a Mack truck - he felt like he had been staked ten times over, then resurrected just to be thrown out into the sun. Although he had known that the passion between him and Buffy had been slowly dying, he hadn't expected this sudden and painful death. He knew what a broken heart felt like, and now so did Willow. And strangely enough, it was all thanks to Buffy.

He knew how he felt at that moment, and could only guess that it was nowhere near as horrid as what Willow had to be feeling then. She had not only completely lost the one she loved, but had lost him to her best friend, only to have her best friend leave her in the dust as well. Then, with no one else around, she had fled in desperation to the one place where she might find solace - only to be stabbed in the back by the one she had sought help from.

A single, reddish tear slipped through the vampire's defenses, trailing its way down his cheek and eventually dripping onto the floor. His brooding couldn't have prepared him for the way he felt now. He had betrayed the one woman who had trusted him enough to run to him for support.

But as he looked at Willow underneath his bedsheets, and watched her cry, he knew that she was berating herself the way that he was berating himself. In that instant, he knew that he had to comfort her in some way, but was at a loss on how to do so.

Then, in an extremely selfish moment, he decided that he wanted to be with her, to share her pain, if only for that night. Stepping forward on his soundless feet, he walked to the bed and slipped under the covers behind her. Then, wrapping his arms around her still-shaking body, he held her close to him, feeling her heart beat and her lungs breathe.

And there they lay, crying their sorrow into the pillow, until they both fell asleep.