Angel could hear music.

She got out of bed, tip-toing out of her room on the plush carpet down the hall so she wouldn't wake anyone. Her tiny feet made no noise against the floor as she went. The sound was tinny and sharp, like a music box left open. She looked down the stairs.

The banister was too high for her to reach, so she gripped the slats in-between as she made her clumsy way down the stairs in the dark. The light in the kitchen was on.

She crept into the room, taking careful steps. There was a man standing in front of the open refrigerator, where the music came out of. She came up beside him, staring into the brilliant white light. She looked up at the man, barely coming up to his hip.

"What is that?" she asked in a child's voice.

"You're bleeding," he said without looking at her.

She reached a hand up to her cheek, staring down at the red palm she pulled back.

"It doesn't hurt."

The blood dribbled down her chin and onto her pajamas.

"Make it stop," she asked, wiping her hand on her sleeve.

The man looked down at her.

"He's outside."

"Who's outside?"

He did not speak again. She hurried to the front door, pushing it open cautiously. It was snowing! She threw the door open, smiling. It never snowed so hard in the South. The streets and houses were covered with crystal white.

Angel didn't care that she had no winter clothes on—she waddled out the door and down the steps in her bare feet. The man inside was right. There was another person waiting for her in the street. Angel went to him, tugging on his coat.

"Do you see the snow?" he asked in a familiar voice.

"Did you make it?"

"Just for you," he said.

She smiled, tugging at his coat again. He wouldn't look down at her. It was then that she remembered her bleeding face. She reached up to touch the blood, but it was gone. A glint in the man's hand caught her eye. The knife struck out like a viper, slashing her cheek. A scream rose to her mouth, but nothing but vapor came out. The knife struck again, harder, harder, quicker, flashes of pain bursting through her as lights popped in her eyes, and in-between she saw his mismatched eyes and a pointed smile.

Angel managed to bite back the scream that almost burst out of her, her clothes soaked in a terrified sweat. She clamped her jaws down on her arm, her muffled yelling dying away into whimpers as her body shook. Her mind dripped with thoughts of blood and the taste of metal. She bit down harder, leaving deep red marks next to purple, half-faded ones.

Pain flooded through her, comforting her in a warm burst that coursed through her with a satisfying, dull ache. She was still there, still alive.

Remembering where she was, she let go, the pain leaving as her heart banged in her ears like an echoing gunshot. She wiped the saliva off on her shorts, breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her eyes snapped down—Murdoc was there, still sleeping as heavily as ever, as if nothing were wrong in the world. She swore under her breath; he never listened to her. If she hadn't been so drained, she would have shoved him right out of the bed.

Slipping out from under his arm, she carefully got to her feet. Angel stood at the edge of the mattress, wiping the back of her neck. He always seemed so fucking fine. She grit her teeth, anger eating at the ebbing adrenaline pumping through her.

Murdoc never seemed bothered by what happened at Kong, which worried her even more than if he was just as big of a mess as she was. He covered up worry and fear and sadness with jokes and laughs, and the more he laughed, the less she could relax. It made her angry. She took a big gulp of air, drawn like a bow, ready to release at a moment's notice.

The only thoughts that occupied her mind were escape routes and the vital points of the body and her shot practice. The only thoughts that he seemed to dwell on were getting shagged and getting drunk.

Minutes dripped by, and Angel stood alone in her panic, staring down at him, rubbing her arms so quickly that her skin glowed red.

Her head snapped up at the sound of the strong wind rattling the windows. Her skin exploded with pinpricks—a wave of nerves flowed through her. She took a shaky, deep breath, trying to calm down.

Her cheek ached with a steady throb. She ran her fingers gently over the raised skin, tucking her hair behind her ear. Trying not to wake him, Angel crept carefully to the door, silent on her bare feet. Grabbing the scar cream out of the medicine cabinet, she leaned against the cold sink, rubbing it gently over the old gash. The peppermint tingled over the sore nerves, and she felt some of her stress fall away with the cool touch of the cream.

Her reflection stared at her with purple rings under her eyes, mixing with the raw pink of her cheek. She scowled, turning away. It wasn't until a month ago that she could even look at her reflection. Hazan came through the house to help with the cleaning and saw the clothes Angel had draped over the mirrors. She didn't listen when Angel begged her not to take them down, and went through the house, uncovering every reflective surface.

She stared down into the sink. It was still hard to look at herself. This woman with black hair, blank eyes, dark circles and puckered skin was a stranger living in the mirror.

"Ange'?"

Her arm moved without a thought. Murdoc went flying back against the wall as her elbow dug into his chest, her brain fuzzy and unreachable. Something snapped as she glared at him, and she took a step back, lowering her arm.

"I-I'm sorry."

He gasped, trying to regain his composure.

"No—no worries, used to getting… smacked around by chicks, heh-heh… Usually in a different way, though, ugh…"

He rubbed his sternum, looking up at her through his hair, biting back the angry yell bubbling up in his throat. He choked it down hard.

"Why are you up?"

Angel gave him a long look, then turned to screw the cap back on her scar cream.

"I have a hard time sleeping sometimes. I told you not to get into bed with me."

"Since when do I take orders from you?" he said with a chuckle, but there was bite behind the words.

Silence answered him. Murdoc cleared his throat, glancing down at her bruised arm.

"Giving yourself hickies?" he muttered. "Most people grow outta that, but whatever floats yer boat, Ange'."

She ignored him. He shifted from side to side, his chest aching.

"You look horrible."

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"How much have you slept lately?"

"Enough."

His lips pulled into a tight grimace.

"Yer real icy, you know that?"

He tapped his fingers against him arm, staring at her back intently. With slow, calculated movements, she placed the cream back in the medicine cabinet and shifted things around, purposefully taking her time. She flinched as he snapped his fingers.

"I've got just what you need, little lady."

A shadow against the car, Angel watched Murdoc dig around in the Camaro from the window. He slammed the door hard and cleared the steps in a leap, grinning wide. Angel retreated to the kitchen, Murdoc on her heels.

"These," he said, shaking an orange pill bottle in his right hand, "will put you to sleep. And these—" he shook the bottle in other hand, "—will wake you up."

She eyed him warily.

"What are they?"

"Don't worry about it," Murdoc said with a grin. "Just take 'em."

Angel narrowed her eyes, turning away. He groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Do you really think I'm gonna poison you?"

Murdoc set them on the table with a 'clack'.

"They're sleeping pills and caffeine pills."

He pulled out a chair, sitting at the table as he talked with his hands.

"Take two of these pills at night, and go right to sleep. Unless you want a bad trip, then stay awake, heh-heh-heh… Anyway, if you have a bad reaction, I'll slip you one of these and we'll try something else."

"A bad reaction?"

"Some people don't do sleeping pills very well, love. Good thing you've got an insomnia expert with ya."

"You're not giving me something… illegal, are you?"

"Well, the pills themselves aren't illegal…" he mumbled, breaking her stare. "They just happen to be 2-Dent's prescription…"

"You stole Stuart's pills?"

"He can't remember where he puts them half the time. I was just doing what he would've done eventually anyway. Besides, he's got a problem popping pills. I was being a responsible friend by making sure he didn't take too many," he said with a shit-eating grin.

Angel looked down at the orange bottles, her mind working incredibly slowly. She knew she couldn't take the sleeplessness much longer without cracking. She would have let Murdoc knock her over the back of the head with a bat if it would mean she could sleep for a while.

"Fine, I'll try them… IF you keep an eye on me and make sure I don't sleep a little too heavy, got it?"

"Can I drink on the job?"

"As long as you can hold your liquor."

"Bingo! I'll do it!"

Watching Angel while she slept—and slept hard—was much less fun than Murdoc had thought. There wasn't much to drinking in the dark, staring at someone knocked unconscious. Even he had a hard time staying awake. He shook himself, pacing the room, growing restless as Angel slept a dreamless sleep. He hovered over her, snapping his fingers in her face, clapping his hands, and making hooting noises until he was satisfied that she was totally out.

He reached for the mobile phone jammed in his pocket and dialed, leaning on the window pane. It was so quiet in the room that he had to keep glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Angel was still breathing.

"Hello, this is… Mr. Sebastian Alphonse Faust," he muttered into the receiver. "I'm checking on the status of my order. Get back to me soon."

He hung up, letting out a long sigh.

Glancing back to Angel one more time, Murdoc plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, opening the window up to let the muggy, warm breeze in. He looked down at the parked cars and the few stumbling-drunk teenagers trying to find their vacation bungalows. It was relatively quiet, except for the random bursts of laughter or shouting from tourists down below. He grunted, wishing he was out there too. If he weren't afraid of going to jail if Angel choked on her own tongue, he would have left in a heartbeat. There was a cute girl that hung out down by the shave ice stand at night…

He wasn't sure what made him look at it, but there was a nondescript black car parked a few houses down, and the more Murdoc squinted, then more he realized there was someone sitting inside. Not unusual, but it nagged at him. It faced towards the house, headlights off.

Suddenly, a lit cigarette flew out the open window, and the person inside turned over the engine. They didn't idle, and drove away quietly, like they'd never been there.

It made Murdoc nervous.