“Willow?”

*sniff*

“Willow, wake up.”

*sniff*
*sniff*

“Willow, I know you’re awake. But I don’t know why you’re in my bed. So if you could just please wake up…”

“I don’t wanna wake up.”

Angel sighed in relief. At least now he knew that she could still speak. Whatever had happened hadn’t left her in too much of a trauma. Still worried, he turned her over gently.

The sight of her was almost too much for his soul to bear. Her makeup was smeared all across her face, her eyes scrunched up tightly against the sudden change of lighting, and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself. The collar of her shirt was tearstained, and her hair was streaked with what seemed like paint and grime. Choking back his gasp, he brought her head up to his lap.

“Willow, I want you to open your eyes and look at me. You’ve come here for a reason. I trust that part of that reason is that you feel you can talk to me. So please, look at me.”

As he watched her shake her head violently, he sighed again. Glancing down at the covers on top of both of them, he found himself glad that he had slept in boxers that time. He snuck a quick peek at the clock, seeing that Cordelia would soon be coming down to get him up to the office. Looking down once again at the crying girl in his lap, he began to stroke her copper hair softly.

Trying his best to soothe her, he rubbed her back as he brushed his fingers gently through her hair. “I know something’s wrong. I may be dead, but I’m not stupid.” She cringed slightly, but into his hand instead of away from it. “If you want to tell me, I’m here to listen. But one of us is going to have to explain to Cordelia and Wesley why you’re here. And since it seems like you don’t wish to talk much, I’m going to have to have some idea why you’re here.” He sat her upright forcefully but gently, and let her catch her own balance before letting her go.

She averted her eyes, becoming intensely interested in the tearstains on her skirt. After fiddling with the hem for what seemed like forever, she spoke quietly, in a raspy voice.

“Buffy…” she choked out, then fell onto Angel’s chest, crying against his cool skin.

Angel simply sat there, thinking to himself that he was going to have to give Buffy a call. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the crying girl, rubbing her back and holding her.

After almost ten minutes of sitting like that, Willow stopped crying abruptly. Drawing herself from Angel’s arms, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. She walked to the door, and paused in the doorway. “The bathroom?” she rasped questioningly.

Angel had to think. “Down the hall. You’ll see it.” The girl nodded.

“My bags are by the door,” she said, then disappeared through the doorway.

Running his hands through his hair, the confused vampire stood up and dressed himself. He went and retrieved Willow’s baggage, and placed it by the now-closed bathroom door. He knocked once before saying, “I’ll be up in the office. Cordelia and Wesley will most likely be there, too.” With that, he went upstairs.

He was just sitting down at his desk when Cordelia waltzed in. “Well, look who we have here. If it isn’t Mr. I-don’t-have-a-reflection-and-my-hair-shows-it.” She walked over to him, quickly fixed his hair, then went out to make coffee. It wasn’t long before he heard her screech. “Willow!”

Sighing, Angel found himself hoping that she would talk to Cordelia. He leaned forward in his chair, lifted up the receiver, and dialed a familiar number. He may not know what was going on, but he was determined to fix it.