"...the end." A.J. closes the book and looks up at the rapt young girl. Big blue eyes shine happily out of her tiny, pale face.

"Thanks," she says shyly. He grins back at her, but as the moment stretches on, she frowns. A.J. watches the wheels turn in her bald head, a look he's seen so many times from so many kids. She wants him to stay longer, is looking for an excuse. Fortunately, they still have some time. He waits to see what she will come up with, ready with a few ideas of his own, just in case.

"A.J.?" her eyes brighten again as she thinks of something.

"Yeah sweetheart?"

"Why do you always wear sunglasses?"

The question has been asked tens of times over the years, but it still makes his blood freeze for just a moment. He recovers, and searches for one of the stock excuses. But she is studying him so intently, waiting for his reply... and something tugs at his heartstrings. What would it hurt, this once?

A.J. tips his shades low down his nose and looks at the little girl over them. She giggles. "You don't know why I wear these?"

She shakes her head, eyes still sparkling.

"You're sure?" he teases and she laughs. "Well, okay then - I'll tell you. But," he moves out of the visitor's chair and closer to the bed that is far too big for her. "you gotta promise never to tell anyone, kay?"

Her eyes get even wider, solemn and luminous.

"They're not really sunglasses," he admits, his voice a storyteller's whisper now.

"They're not?" she whispers back, caught up in the tale already. A.J. takes them off completely now and hands them to her. She holds them reverently for a moment before beginning to explore with her frail fingers. "They are!" she accuses him, a little disappointed. But when she gives them back, there's still an expectant spark in her eyes.

He looks at her, looks at the metal, glass and plastic in his hand. Looks back at her, holding her gaze as he shuts his hand, squeezing hard. She squeaks, as if it's she who's being squeezed, then gasps. A.J., of course, doesn't gasp. It's not as if he hasn't done this a million times - although never in front of someone who didn't really need to know about these things. He does, however, look down at what he's revealed.

The wand is long and thin, shiny black, a little reflective. It's dormant at the moment, not willing him to use it - there's no emergency. He looks at her again and anger burns deep in his soul. Who says there isn't an emergency? This beautiful young soul is dying... but he's no healer.

"Magic," she breathes, looking up at him.

He shrugs, "Not much." This is true too.

"But what can you do?" she asks. There's a knock at the door, time's running out. Her face dims.

"Gimme a minute," he calls, searching the room for something, anything. A Backstreet Boys poster catches his eye. It's a live one, from this tour, a tour she's never seen. "Like I said, darlin' this ain't much..." A.J. waves his wand in an age-old gesture and thinks the spell. The poster lights up for a moment. "Keep an eye on that at night, okay?" he tells her, bending for a kiss. She nods, the moment of parting now a moment also of promise. He slips the remade sunglasses back on and gives her one last wave before leaving.

That evening it's another show in front of thousands, but A.J. dances and sings for an audience of one - a young girl in her hospital bed who needs more magic than he can give, but thinks this one present, a poster come to life, is the best magic she's ever seen.

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