Willow quietly opened the door to Oz’s dorm room and froze.

Everything was gone.

All of his clothes were gone from the half-open closet and from the dresser whose empty drawers were tossed haphazardly on the floor. The blankets and sheets and pillows that she would usually come to lie on and breathe in the Oz-ish smell were gone too, and the mattress had fallen off the bed. There were a couple of boxes lying randomly on their sides on the floor.

Nothing was left.

Willow stood there for a while, sniffling and trying to hold back the tears that were trying so very hard to come.

Then she turned and ran.

Willow knew that though Buffy was a great friend, she was not what Willow needed right now. Willow could predict what she’d do: sit silently with a slightly exasperated look in her eyes, and when Willow finished crying or telling her how she felt, Buffy would say, "I know it’s really hard, Will, and there’s a lot of pain. I’ve been through the same thing. But sooner or later, the pain goes away. It lessens, and you find someone new."

Willow didn’t want anyone new. And even though she loved Angel dearly, she did not want to hear--from Buffy's lips, at least--about their relationship. It was so much more dire than Willow's dilemma--'We were soulmates, Willow, and now he's gone.' The pity-parties for Willow always turned into one-sided Buffy talks about Buffy's pain. Buffy always had guys throwing themselves at her--Oz had been Willow's first and only, and Buffy was really good at unintentionally reminding Willow of how long it took her to get that one boyfriend.

Since Willow couldn’t think very clearly, all she knew was that she wanted to be alone. So knowing that Giles would be out (probably at some coffeehouse), it was to his apartment that she headed.

She managed to keep the tears at bay until she walked through the door and closed it behind her. Then she began sobbing in earnest, tearing, body-wracking sobs that probably sounded quite frightening. She curled up into a little ball on the couch and cried for about a half hour straight, and then the tears slowed and stopped, and Willow sneezed once and gradually gained control of her breathing.

"I need a vacation," she thought, smiling a tiny bit through the moisture in her eyes at how pathetic she must look, and that was when it hit her.

She would do just that.

She would get away from Sunnydale for a few weeks (winter vacation was soon anyway) and get to spend time with her best friends, who knew exactly how she felt and who had both recently gone through similar ordeals as she. They could curl up together on the couch and have a pity-party.

Willow reached for the cordless phone, snuggled into the arm of the couch, and dialed the number she knew by heart.

"Hi, Angel?" Willow said once she heard the quiet ‘Hello?’ on the other line. "It’s Willow."

And in the bathtub, Spike listened with mounting interest.

* * *

It was a quiet evening at Angel Investigations.

Cordelia was downstairs in Angel's apartment, alternately feverishly attacking the punching-bag and crying her eyes out on the couch, and Angel was upstairs in his office with all of the lights out save a single candle on the desk.

He'd done his share of crying already. He couldn't help but feel that he was a huge failure: he'd failed Buffy, he'd failed Doyle, he'd even been rude to Willow when he'd come to Sunnydale. Therefore he sat, elbows propped on his desk and fingers pressed to his temples, staring into the candle as if it might reveal the meaning of life.

The phone rang.

He groaned; the last thing he needed right now was someone in need. He wasn't sure he could deal with the added pain of someone he didn't know.

But then, perhaps they might have a demon he could wail on.

With a sigh, Angel removed one hand from its busy job of massaging his temple and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Angel? It's Willow."

Angel immediately sat up a little straighter. "Willow! Hi!" There was a snuffling sound and a sigh, and Angel realized she'd been crying. "Are you okay?" <If that pup did anything to hurt her again, I swear…>

Willow giggled softly. "Yeah, I'm alright. I'm really cried out, though."

"What happened?"

"Is Cordelia there? I don't want to have to say it a trillion times."

"Or twice. God forbid." But Angel got up to yell down the staircase, "Cordy! Phone, line 1!" There was a rustling downstairs, and Angel quickly sat back down at his desk and picked the receiver up. "Hey again."

"Angel, what are you doing on the line?" Cordelia asked indignantly.

"Cordelia, it's me," Willow said with a smile.

"Oh!" Cordelia's grin could be heard through the phone. "Hey!"

"Look," Willow said, "Oz moved all of his stuff out of the dorm."

"Oh, Willow," Cordelia said sympathetically.

"He had all of it moved! He called Devon and asked him to send him everything. He didn't leave a message for me or anything, and I only found out when I went to his dorm to sleep…"

"You sleep in Oz's dorm?" Angel asked.

"I slept in Oz's former dorm," Willow. "And it really broke me up, you know? And I didn't want to talk to anyone so I went back to Giles' apartment and cried like a baby for an hour… And now here I am, talking with you guys, with a game plan."

"Game plan?" Cordelia and Angel asked simultaneously.

Willow giggled slightly. "Yeah. See, winter vacation is coming up real soon, and I was thinking I could just skip the last week of school--"

"--and come visit with us for all of vacation, sleep over, go shopping, and have a long succession of pity-parties?" Cordelia interrupted.

There was a pause, and Angel smiled. "Cordelia, you're a genius."

"Cordelia, you're psychic," Willow said.

Cordelia and Angel both hesitated for a moment. If only she knew…

"So, you guys," Willow continued, "I was thinking I could come…"

"…right away?" Cordelia interrupted again.

"You're a genius," Angel repeated.

"Psychic, like I said," Willow giggled. "I could run home and pack really quickly, and then I'd catch the--" she checked her watch--"nine o'clock bus to LA?"

Cordelia squealed. "Yes! Willow, that would be perfect. We'll be at the depot at 10:30, early, okay?"

"Okay," Angel said. "Of course I'll drive you."

Willow and Cordelia both giggled.

 * * *

Feeling much better once she knew she’d be gone from Sunnydale in a matter of hours, Willow made her weary way to the bathroom to wash her face.

Without looking up, she grabbed a washcloth, squeezed some soap out of the container and scrubbed her tear-streaked face until it was pink and all traces of her little breakdown were gone. Then she turned to hang up the washcloth and found herself face-to-face--er, sort of--with Spike.

"Spike!" she managed to squeak out.

"’Ello, pet," Spike said cheerfully from his vantage point in the bathtub. "Got anythin’ you want to be tellin’ Uncle Spike, then?"

"Well," Willow said as she hung up the washcloth, "Actually, yes, I do."

Spike had been expecting her to tell him off immediately and stomp away. He was shocked into silence, but only for a moment. "Tell us, then, ducks," he said, and settled back into the distinctly uncomfortable porcelain of Giles’ tub.

"All right, then, ducks," Willow mimicked as she sank to the linoleum beside the tub and rested her chin on the white surface. "Since they left Sunnydale, I’ve kept in constant contact with Angel and Cordelia by email."

"Why?" Spike asked. "I’d be glad the poof and the Homecoming Queen were gone."

"Well, that’s you," Willow answered shortly. "And it's May Queen, not Homecoming Queen. You want to hear this? Keep quiet." Spike made a face, but shut up. "Good. Anyway, Buffy being Buffy, she’s a great friend but more than slightly self-involved--"

"You’re telling me," Spike commented. He had often observed the way the Slayer cut off her "best friend" in the middle of her sentences to replace her words with something far more important—namely, something concerning herself.

"Quiet," Willow ordered. Spike was quiet. "And Xander’s been different since—well, since you captured us and left us in that factory—there was the whole fluke and everything, and then there was Anya. Forget her—the only things she can talk about are Xander, sex, and sex with Xander, which is not something I want to consider--"

"Me neither, pet, trust me," Spike threw in, and then pressed his lips together at the look Willow gave him.

"Anyway, so Buffy’s self-centered, Xander’s occupied with Anya, Anya—when she’s not occupied with Xander—will talk only about sex, and Giles is just Giles. And Oz is gone," she added with a bit of a tremor in her voice. Then she caught herself and continued. "So I’ve kept in touch with Angel and Cordy since they went to LA. Angel is really good at just listening, and Cordy can be a bitch sometimes but I love her. She knows when to give pity and when to say 'fuck 'em.' But, see, nobody would understand the Cordy/Me connection because we used to hate each other, and Buffy would get all hurt and pouty if she knew I was talking to Angel, so…"

"And now?" Spike prompted.

"Well," Willow said, "Every evening, after our meetings here, after Oz left, I’d go to his dorm to see that his stuff was still there, you know? Lie on his bed and reassure myself that his favorite green shirt was still there, so he has to come back to get it, right?"

Spike nodded silently.

"Well, I went there after our meeting today, and Devon and some of his friends had it all packed up and away and gone at his request. All of it was gone," she repeated brokenly, and a last lone tear slid down her cheek. "Oz didn't want Devon to tell me. There wasn't a message or anything…"

After a bit she straightened and scrubbed at her cheek. Spike kept silent, wanting to hear the rest for some reason he couldn’t explain. Willow sighed and kept talking. "And so I came back here and cried for a while…" She grinned a little at Spike, who grinned back—he’d heard her little breakdown from in the bathroom. "Then it hit me—I need to get out of here. Who cares if they need me? They’ll do fine for a few weeks. So I’m catching the 9:00 bus to LA" She looked at Spike. "And that’s all."

"Well." Spike considered. "That’s quite a yarn you had there, pet."

Willow sighed again. "I know."

"The Slayer’s gonna have a fit, you know."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Too bad. I won’t tell her where I’m going or who I’m staying with. I don’t want her to call me, either…" She stopped and looked at Spike.

He swallowed.

"Spike, would you do me a favor?"

"Depends on what the favor is."

"Okay." She took a piece of paper out of her jeans pocket. "This is a copy of Angel’s phone number." She handed it to him.

Spike took it as though he thought it might bite him. "And what exactly do I do with this?"

"You can call me whenever you want… Despite my better judgement, I’m not sick of you yet. For some reason, you're the only one I can stand to hear while I'm on vacation. Angel will think I’m out of my mind… And if there’s actually an emergency and my research skills are desperately needed… and not before that, mind you, call Angel and then give Buffy or whoever the phone. I don’t want them to have general access to my number… they’ll never leave me alone."

"How do you know you can trust me?" Spike asked, a little ticked off at the thought of being even remotely trustworthy.

"I don’t," Willow said quietly. "But I’d like to be able to."

Spike sighed. "Fine. Whatever."

"Thank you, Spike." On a crazy impulse, Willow reached down and hugged him before she got to her feet and left.

Spike was left in the silent house, wondering when he’d become so bloody pathetic.

* * *

Willow was nearly finished packing her stuff into her knapsack and small overnight bag when Buffy came in.

"Where’re you going, Wills?" the Slayer asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

"On an early vacation," Willow responded shortly.

"What? Why?"

"I need it," Willow responded in the same tone.

"Oooooo-kay," Buffy said, deciding to play along with her friend until she could decipher what was going on. "Where ya goin’?"

"I don’t really wanna say," Willow said as she put her laptop into her knapsack.

"Oh." Buffy sat on the edge of her bed and watched as Willow wound the cord of her headphones around her CD player. "Who ya stayin’ with?"

"I also kinda don’t wanna say," Willow said, zipping up her knapsack.

"You can’t just leave, Willow," Buffy argued, frowning.

"Au contraire," Willow responded.

"What?"

"Au contraire. It’s French for ‘on the contrary’," Willow said patiently."

"Oh. But you have to tell someone where you’re going."

"Someone knows."

"Who?" Buffy asked. Who would Willow tell besides her?

"Somebody that I trust."

"You trust me, Willow," Buffy insisted.

"The person I trust, you don’t trust," Willow continued as though she hadn’t heard. "Which is a very nice arrangement, as far as I’m concerned."

"Willow, what’s going on?" Buffy said, crossing her arms across her chest. She brightened suddenly. "Are you mad at me? ‘Cause you could just come out and say it, you know."

"I just need a break," Willow said, swinging her knapsack across her shoulders. "I’ll be back by the end of vacation."

"But--"

"I’ll email you or something later, okay?" Willow put the strap of the overnight bag across one shoulder and headed out the door.

"You can’t go out at night by yourself!" Buffy ran out after her. "Look, I’ll walk you to wherever you have to go, okay?"

"Whatever." Willow said shortly. Buffy was really getting on her nerves. "The bus depot."

* * *

Somehow, miraculously, Willow got Buffy to leave her at the depot and not come on the bus with her. The Slayer was left fuming outside the depot because she didn't have a ticket, frustrated and confused as to where Willow could possibly be going.

Willow got on the bus with a smile, feeling amazingly light and free. After putting her overnight bag in one of the racks, she plopped into a seat next to a window near the front of the bus and settled down for the ride.

As the bus pulled away, Willow borrowed the cell phone from the woman sitting next to her and called Angel to tell him she was on her way.

Elated and now more relaxed than she'd been in a long time, Willow returned the cell phone to her seatmate and took her discman from her bag, pulling the earphones over her head. She pressed play, but no more that 30 seconds into the first song, she fell asleep.

* * *

The woman who'd lent her the cell phone woke her up. Willow had her head leaning against the window, and her forehead was very cold and her eyelids stiff, but she smiled sweetly at the woman and stretched slightly. The woman was getting off at LA as well, so Willow waited for her to get up and get her stuff from the rack before Willow rose as well.

Once she had her stuff, Willow made her way down the aisle of the bus as quickly as she could, nearly skipping down the steps after she'd thanked and said goodnight to the driver. Once she had her feet planted firmly on unmoving ground, Willow looked around for Cordelia and Angel, but they were nowhere to be seen.

She sighed slightly. There was always traffic… Willow turned around to see if there was any better-lit area nearby and walked straight into Cordelia's open arms. "Thought we'd forgotten about you, didja?" Cordy asked as Willow squeezed her. "Ah! Air!"

Willow stood back, holding Cordelia's hands, to look her friend over. "LA looks good on you," she decided happily.

"And it will look good on you, I promise," Cordelia replied. "You're awfully thin. Have you been eating?"

"Not much," Willow admitted reluctantly. "But, then, neither have you."

"And here I am," Angel commented sadly from right behind Willow, "feeling so left out. All alone, unloved, watching by the sidelines while my friends forget about me--"

Willow giggled and spun around to give him a hug too. She almost got lost in his arms and his big leather coat. Finally she stood back to look at him just as she had Cordelia. "Why, Angel," she said with a smile, punching his stomach, "Are we putting on a little weight?"

He wrapped his arms around his stomach and pouted. "No!"

Willow linked an elbow with both of them as they began to walk to Angel's car. "So," Cordelia said. "The first stop: any store, so we can stock up on Ben and Jerry's…"

"…Second stop, Blockbuster, so we can stock up on Mel Brooks and tearjerkers," Willow continued.

"And the third stop," Angel finished dutifully, "My apartment, slash the office, where we will stumble down the stairs--"

"--Or take the elevator in an extremely dignified manner," Cordelia interrupted.

"--And watch movies until the wee hours and then sleep ridiculously late," Angel said.

"Sounds like fun," Willow said enthusiastically. Then she saw the convertible. "Ooooooh, Angel, this is your car? I love it!" She hopped into the back seat. Cordelia sat down next to her in a slightly calmer way, and Angel took the wheel. "Can we leave the top down?" Willow begged.

They left the top down. Cordelia took her hair out of its ponytail and shook her head, letting her mane of dark waves go wild in the wind as the car drove. "Look at us! We're a car commercial!"

Angel just rolled his eyes, feeling happier--but carefully not dangerously so--than he had in a long, long time. "Welcome to LA, Willow."

That night, there were no tears.

None whatsoever. Willow was very impressed with the three of them.

They'd stopped, as promised, for ice cream, movies and then Angel's apartment. Willow and Cordy were both childishly thrilled at the gigantic tubs of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Phish Food and Mint Chip ice cream they'd had filled at the nearby Ben & Jerry's; Angel thought they were insane until they gave him a chocolate Phish and then he deferred. The Blockbuster, sinfully, had no Mel Brooks that night, so they got Monty Python instead. They left the tearjerkers for another night, both by unspoken rule and because Willow and Cordelia wanted to watch Titanic, which Angel would not have watched if they'd paid him.

The Life Of Brian proved sufficient entertainment, as Angel and Willow howled over the night-watchman's correction of Graham Chapmans' Latin graffiti grammar and Cordelia fell asleep humming--out of tune, of course-- "Always Look on the Bright Side Of Life." Morning found the three of them asleep under a comforter on the floor in front of Angel's television in a heap.

Well, not exactly morning.

Since they'd remained up until 2 o'clock, it was inevitable they'd sleep late, and since it was a weekend, it was inevitable they'd sleep later. Hence it was 3:30 PM than Angel opened refreshed eyes to find them sleeping in a sort of triangle: his head on Cordelia's stomach, Cordy's head on Willow's, and Willow's on his, with the comforter covering small, random parts of their anatomies and mostly warming the rug in the middle of them. Before they'd turned out the lights for the remainder of the night, Willow had insisted they play the 'ha-ha' game, which Cordelia had argued was merely for sixth graders at summer camp.

Cordelia, it was found, could not maintain a straight face above five.

Angel smiled at his two friends sleeping peacefully and carefully extracted himself, placing Willow's head on the floor gently, and went to make breakfast. Or lunch. Tea? Whatever.

The smell of scrambled eggs, pancakes and bacon are enough to wake the deepest sleepers if those sleepers are hungry, and though they had consumed (with Angel's generous assistance) 3 1-gallon tubs of ice cream the night before, Willow and Cordelia proved to be insatiable.

Breakfast was eaten in relative quiet, save for the crunch of Angel and Cordelia eating bacon (Willow having declined because she still kept kosher despite her recent venturings into Wicca) and Cordelia insistently humming "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life." Showers were taken and Angel made fun of, both for his all-black linens, towels and washcloths and for the six different conditioners, two different shampoos and three bottles of gel that were discovered and counted gleefully by first Cordelia and then Willow.

After showers and changing of clothes (again, Angel was made fun of, because Willow and Cordelia had taken it upon their persons to poke through his closet in search of color, discovering exactly three shirts and seven pairs of boxers), it was inevitable that Cordelia would bid a swift goodbye to Angel and drag Willow along with her to the mall.

The day suddenly became far more foreboding to Willow. The mall had always remained uncharted territory, as her mother had always bought her clothes. Cordelia, though dear to her, had been trained to super-shop and was already fretting that everything had already been bought.

It was difficult for Willow to not rejoice outwardly at the thought.

Unfortunately, Cordelia's worries were blown way out of proportion, bred from years of shopping marathons. There was plenty left to look at, try on, take off, try on with something different, haggle over, finally purchase, compare to a later buy and then, at long last, return to its original store. The main problem was, Willow reflected as Cordelia dragged her out of The Limited and directly into Express, was that it was actually enjoyable.

Willow's fears of shopping were borne from the horrible clothes her mother seemed drawn to like a magnet and the stories of terror Xander had related to her after going with Cordelia.

Cordelia explained Xander's miscomprehension as due to the fact that he was, undeniably, male. It wasn't his fault. Willow analyzed this and found it true. All of the other men she knew would probably have reacted the same way.

To Willow's surprise, it was disappointing when their day of money-spending was over and they retired to Cordelia's apartment to sleep. Tonight was to be the night for crying-- without Angel. It was for feminine angsting only, as Cordelia had explained to the slightly disgruntled vampire over the phone. "And besides," Willow argued, taking the phone from her, "We'll be watching Titanic. You can come if you really want to."

Angel's protests immediately ended, and Willow and Cordelia were left to an evening of tears, more Ben & Jerry's, and Leonardo DiCaprio.

* * *

"So he just had Devon pack up his stuff?"

Willow sniffed and suddenly began to sob. Cordelia stuck out a sympathetic lower lip and patted Willow's shoulder. They were both lying on their stomachs in sleeping bags, propped up on their elbows, in Cordelia's living room. Cordelia sighed and crossed her arms on the floor, leaning her chin on them. Tears collected at the corners of her eyes for her friend. "He's a bastard, Willow."

Willow giggled through her tears and then began to cry again. "Hey," Cordelia said, trying to help, "You want pain? My man gave me visions." It worked. Willow began to laugh while Cordelia tried to look outraged. "No! So now I have to get these migraines that I can't get rid of and not even Ibuprofen will help!" Willow sighed and smiled again, fixing Cordelia with a firm (if tear-glazed) stare.

"Okay, Queen C. We've heard my sad tale and it's still only 1 o'clock. Spill."

Cordelia sighed right back at her. "Do gals from Sunnydale, like, attract non-human guys?"

"He was half-demon, right?"

Cordelia nodded. "Yeah. And he didn't even tell me until the night he died! And then I didn't even find out from him."

"Life suckety suck-suck-sucks," Willow commented. Cordelia laughed.

"I see you read the book I recommended," she said.

"A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," Willow said with a grin. "Was the phrase 'You suckety-suck-suck-suck' or was it 'You suck-suck-suckety-suck?'"

"Who knows? Who cares?" Cordelia asked. "But I think Sunnydale taints us."

"At least you've had human boyfriends," Willow pointed out. "Age-old demon/robot? Werewolf? Hello!"

"Xander? Devon?" Cordelia countered. "Goodbye!"

Willow burst out laughing. Cordelia did have a point. "So tell me about Doyle," she said, trying to return to their original subject.

Cordelia looked wistful. "He and I clashed from the beginning," she said. "Kinda like me and Xander. I mean, you should have seen the stuff Doyle would wear--these awful brownish-yellow leather jackets, shirts with big collars. I'm talking slobbo majoro. And he was a big pain in the butt, too."

"He sounds a lot like Xander," Willow agreed, nodding.

"Yeah. He always called me Princess or something, and I think he had a change of clothes in the office so he could always clash directly with what I was wearing. He'd always try to get Angel to go out drinking with him at some pub so they could 'catch up on the auld times'--it was some Irish bonding thing, or something."

Willow giggled and so did Cordelia, but her eyes had become much sadder. "I never guessed he was half-demon! I just knew he was a Seer, that was all. When he sneezed, his demon face would come out. Angel told me that later. His face was all spiky, but it wasn't bad, you know? If Buffy could love Angel's gameface and you could love OzWolf, I could love Doyle's sneeze, right?"

Willow patted Cordelia's arm. "D'you have pictures I could see later?"

"Yeah." Cordelia sniffed. "Somewhere. And I have a video." She began to cry, and Willow reached for the box of tissues that had been sitting by her pillow.

"Here."

"Thanks," Cordelia said stuffily, blowing her nose loudly. "I feel stupid."

Willow smiled sympathetically. "At least we both have someone to lean on now."

Cordelia nodded in agreement, pulling a new tissue from the box to wipe her eyes. "I know. Leaning on Buffy must have been like leaning on paper."

Willow swatted her shoulder half-heartedly with the tissue box. "Hey, that's a friend of mine you're insulting."

Cordelia shrugged and then they both burst into hysterical laughter for no other reason than it was another excuse to cry. They collapsed back on their pillows and stared up at the ceiling tiredly. "Hey, Dennis?" Cordelia said, gesturing with a hand, "Do us a favor and turn out the lights?"

Dennis amiably complied and held the tissue box out for each of them to blow their noses one last time before he put it on the coffee table.

"Oh, and press rewind for Titanic?" Willow said. "Please?"

There was a breeze of a ghostly sigh, and then they heard the whirr of Cordelia's VCR. "You're so sweet, Dennis," Cordelia commented.

"Thanks," Willow added.

They lay in silence for a while in the dark, gently drifting off to sleep, until Willow heard Cordelia begin to hum "My Heart Will Go On."

"This humming thing?" Willow said, reaching behind her head. "It's gotta stop." She whacked Cordelia with a pillow, who, of course, had no choice but to retaliate.

* * *

around 14 hours later, 4:00 PM

The bell Angel had had Cordelia hang on the door of Angel Investigations rang and Angel opened the door of his office to see who it was.

"Ah, yes," he said cheerfully. "Work started… what was it?" He hummed as he checked his watch. "Six hours ago?"

"Stuff it, Angel," Cordelia said, plopping with a complete lack of grace into a chair. "Ugh."

"Did you two sleep well?" Angel asked with an even bigger grin.

Willow collapsed on the floor next to Cordelia, leaning her head against her leg. "Is he always like this? 'Cuz if he is, I'm leaving. Now."

"If he was, I'd be going with you," Cordelia replied, closing her eyes. "I decree that being awake is highly overrated."

"Mm-hmm." Willow yawned and stretched her legs out. Then she looked up at Angel, whose grin had diminished to something like an incredibly self-satisfied smirk. "Do you like my shoes?" she asked sleepily, wiggling her toes inside of the calf-high, four-inch clunky black boots. "They're new. Cordy made me buy them."

"They're Steve Madden," Cordelia said without opening her eyes. "There was a sale, and--"

"She dragged me into the store, going, 'ooh, Willow, look at this!' and 'ooh, Willow, only $99!'" Willow mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"Ooh," Cordelia agreed, rubbing her temples, and then-- "Ooh! Aah-- Vision! Vision!"

Now fully awake, Willow leapt to her feet and steadied Cordelia in her chair as Angel rushed for water, aspirin and a pad and pencil.

"Cordelia, are you okay?" Willow asked, concerned.

"Water," the Seer croaked, gesturing for Angel to hand her the glass. "And… do you have Midol?"

"Just aspirin."

"Aspirin doesn't help," Cordelia grumbled, reluctantly taking the pill and downing it along with almost the entire glass of water.

"Cordelia, be grateful there's something for the migraine at least," Willow scolded, taking the glass of water Cordelia held out haughtily once she was done drinking.

Angel shook his head. "What? I thought she said aspirin didn't help the headaches."

Both girls blinked at him and then shared a smile. "Girl stuff," Willow explained, gesturing vaguely.

"Uh-huh," Angel said, not understanding at all. "What did you see, Cordelia?"

"Guy--in black leather--on a motorcycle! At the address I gave you from my last vision--d'you still have it?"

"Yeah. I'm gone." And then Angel was gone, disappeared into his apartment and presumably through the sewers to the hotel Cordelia had previously Seen.