After that, I lost track of what exactly the needles were for. Some sort of treatments I'd imagine. Nothing horrible like the insulin treatments they used to give people in my condition, but still, needles aren't something you can lose track of easily. And I had lost track of almost everything by that point. At least these needles were small, and almost painless. I could give them to myself, and in the likely event that I chickened out, I had people around whom I trusted to do it for me.

It's odd that I trusted them all right away, but I did. My mother used to tell me never to take candy from strangers and to check my Halloween candy. I wonder what she'd say if she knew I was taking experimental drugs from a vampire. Ministers of Grace indeed.

What it boils down to is that those needles buy me silence.

I think I'm in love.

* * * * *

{Gunn looking out a window. Fred firing a gun. Wesley dusting a vampire.}

"Is he always like that?" Hannah asked, carefully making her way down the grand stairway.

"Who -- Angel?" replied Cordelia. "Oh no. Usually he just broods."

"Are you all right?" Fred asked Hannah, who was leaning heavily on the banister.

"Oh yes. I just have the worst coordination on the planet, and I really don't feel like falling down these nice hard marble stairs."

"Fair enough. This is the lobby, obviously. Lorne keeps a fridge full of assorted drinks behind the counter, but smell everything before you drink it."

Cordelia made a face, and Hannah giggled.

"Hey, can you teach me the French part of the song?" Fred asked, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the lobby. "It sounds so much more poetic that way."

"What song?" interjected Cordelia.

" 'Are You Sleeping'," replied Fred. "Except she calls it 'Frère Jacques.'"

"Sure," Hannah said with a smile.

"Sing it through a couple times for me," requested Fred.

"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques

Dormez vous? Dormez vous?

Sonnez les matines. Sonnez les matines.

Din, din, don. Din, din, don."

{Hallway off the lobby}

"How long do you have to wait between doses of Tylenol?" Lorne asked.

"Four hours," replied Gunn. "But the bottle doesn't give directions for demons."

"I thought your head ache was gone," Wesley said.

"It was."

{lobby}

"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques"

{hallway}

Lorne had both hands on his temples now, but he continued walking with the others. Angel looked concernedly at Wesley, but Wes could only shrug.

{lobby}

"Dormez vous? Dormez vous?"

{hallway}

Angel reached for the doorknob and turned it, opening the door into the lobby.

{lobby}

"Sonnez les matines. Sonnez les mat. . ."

A keening shriek cut off the music lesson. The girls leapt to their feet in surprise, as Lorne collapsed and fell writhing to the ground.

"What the. . ." began Cordelia, but Hannah had already figured it out.

"I'm sorry," she said backing towards the stairs. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

She turned and fled up the stairs.

Lorne groaned and sat up. Fred wordlessly handed him the brandy that she had retrieved from behind the counter. He took a pull.

"Thanks," he grated. "Wow, that was something else."

"Are you OK?" asked Gunn, extending a hand to pull the stunned singer to his feet.

"Yeah," came the reply, though it sounded like the exact opposite was true. "She caught me off-guard."

"Can you guard against it?" Angel asked, sounding concerned.

"There are precautions I can take."

"Someone should go talk to her," Fred suggested. "She's really upset."

"I'll go," volunteered Lorne.

"Is that such a good idea?" Cordelia asked.

"I can explain it to her better then you could, Princess," Lorne said it quietly, but in a tone that brooked no argument.

{Lorne drinking brandy. A figure in a dark robe runs across a room. Cordelia dodges a punch.}

Lorne knocked on the door of Hannah's room, and it fell open. The doors in the Hyperion did that sometimes. One can't expect a latch to last forever, after all.

Hannah was on her bed, facing the wall. She had curled up in the fetal position, as though she expected the posture to protect her somehow. Her shoulders heaved ever so slightly, indicating that she was silently crying.

"I'm sorry," she said without turning around. "I am so sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, peanut," Lorne said, quietly entering the room and sitting on the bed.

"But I could have. . ."

"Made my head explode?" he cut her off sardonically. His voice turned serious. "Maybe. But I would have died the happiest cat around."

"I don't understand."

"Usually when I see a person's aura, their soul, it's cloudy. The beauty of it is hidden deep within. What I saw when you sang was the most indescribably beautiful thing I have ever seen."

She finally rolled over and looked at him, her eyes wide and her face streaked with tears. He reached into his pocket, and then handed her a large purple handkerchief with orange polka dots. In spite of herself, she laughed, before sitting up to blow her nose.

"Sing for me."

She looked up at him, surprised.

"I'll be OK," he said, taking her hand to reassure her. "I just have to be prepared for it."

"You're sure?"

"Peanut, to hear you sing is worth a thousand headaches."

Reassured, Hannah glanced out her window to see the skyline, racking her brain for a song to sing. The sun had already cleared the horizon, and the sky was that perfect colour of blue, even through the LA smog and haze.

She smiled.

"Who will buy this wonderful morning?

Such a sky you never did see.

Who will tie it up in a ribbon

And put it in a box for me?

So I can see it at my leisure,

Whenever things go wrong.

So I can keep it as a treasure

To last my whole life long.

Who will buy this wonderful feeling?

I'm so high, I swear I could fly.

Me oh my, I don't want to lose it.

So what am I to do

To keep the sky so blue?

There must be someone who will buy."

{Who will buy this wonderful morning? Such a sky you never did see.}

There was something therapeutic about whittling a stake. It was just a simple piece of wood, but once it was pointed, it became so much more. Gunn had saved his own life, and those of others, with just a little piece of wood like this one. It helped keep things in perspective.

{Who will tie it up in a ribbon, And put it in a box for me?}

Cordelia rolled her head around on her neck, trying to relieve some of the tension building in her muscles. She'd been on the computer for what felt like forever, and she'd come up with practically nothing on Sheldon Sarkov. She hated it when they flew blind. Maybe she'd get a vision. She wondered if Lorne had finished the Tylenol.

{The'll never be a day so sunny, It could not happen twice.}

Wesley shut the book with just a tad more force than was absolutely necessary. Nowhere in his prophecies, or in any of his writings was there talk of a girl with more than one soul. He didn't want her to be a threat to Angel, but he needed more information and didn't know where he was going to get it. He reached for the phone. Maybe Giles would know something.

{Where is the man with all the money? It's cheap at half the price.}

Swearing under her breath, Fred scraped her latest failed effort into one of the special containers Wes had spelled for potentially hazardous magical materials. The concoction simply would not go into solid form. Hannah had said she didn't mind needles, but Fred thought a pill would be easier. She needed to do something to help out.

{Who will buy this wonderful feeling? I'm so high, I swear I could fly!}

There were only so many times one could check one's weapons. Axes could only be so sharp, stakes could only be so pointed, and water could only be so holy. It was awkward sometimes, handling so many things that could kill him. . .more. But he did it anyway. Because he had to.

{Me oh my, I don't want to lose it.}

Lorne was still holding her hand, but his other was held to his temple, and he was grimacing slightly. She paused, and he smiled and waved her on.

"So what am I to do

To keep the sky so blue?

There must be someone who will buy."

* * * * *

A.N. Frère Jacques is still a French folk song, and Who Will Buy is from Oliver the Musical.