Angus is back in bed, hooked up to various medical instruments that I don't have to know about because I don't recap ER. Ryan enters and says, "That was your fourth heart attack, Marcus. I don't know if you can survive another one." Ryan advises him against attempting another daring escape from the compound. Prison. Retirement home. Whatever.
We flash over to the Hyperion, where Cordy is returning from her whore-capades. She declares that "if Julia Roberts ever makes a realistic movie about being an escort, it should be called Pretty Skanky Woman." She lost me when she put "Julia Roberts" and "realistic movie" in the same sentence. And Cordy? Look carefully at your wardrobe before you start throwing the word "skanky" around. When no one chuckles at her non-wit, she calls out for Angel and Fred. No one answers. Cordy hears sniffling, and finally tracks it down to the elevator. I forgot they had one. Cordy opens the elevator doors and finds Fred curled up on the floor, crying. Aw, poor, crazy, inexplicable-addition- to-the-cast Fred. And props to her for making odd squeaky, snorty noises when she cries, like a real human being. Cordy asks what's wrong, and Fred sniffs, "He called me 'sweetheart'! But it's just an expression, isn't it? Like when a waitress calls you 'honey,' it doesn't mean you're special or anything, it's just a word, right? Sweetheart?" Awww. Cordy confirms that this has something to do with Angel, and says, "He talked to you, didn't he? This is all my fault. I told him to do that." Poor, hurt Fred moans, "You told him to make out with that woman on the desk?" Cordy corrects herself: "No! What woman?"