Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Because I loved this short-lived show and still like thinking about the characters. Oh how I wish it'd lasted, though maybe then we wouldn't have such a perfect Constantine, so swings and roundabouts.

TAKE A BREATH AND SHARE IT

The first time it happened, Mick was slovenly leaning against crumbling bricks, a half-empty bottle hanging limply from his fingers. He looked to all the world like just another soak – eyes glazed, expression far too happy, the smell of alcohol surrounding him like thick fog. But under the rakish angle of his battered bowler, Mick was taking in everything and everyone he saw, mentally filing it all away for Penelope to record later.

The area was beginning to get busy and within the hour it would grow busier still. More prostitutes would emerge alongside men rattling dice, stall holders and unhappy-looking bow-street runners. A spate of particularly disturbing murders had recently taken place here – murders that'd involved stolen kidneys and caressing knife wounds – which had caused Cooper's team to be called upon to help prevent any more. Gina would be arriving soon, undercover in corsets, a lace shawl, and much perfect performance. But for now, Mick was there alone, scoping out the landscape and checking that there was no reason for the team to withdraw.

A hand snaked the bottle out of his grasp and Mick turned to see Prophet leaning heavily against the wall, like without it he'd fall. Mick hid his surprise. This wasn't the plan. Prophet was only meant to appear if an emergency had occurred. Mick shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned like he'd been expecting Prophet's company all along.

Under his breath and through clenched teeth he muttered "Why's the plan changed?"

"Gina was followed. Could be an associate of our killer."

Prophet's words were directed at the bottle, but that sweet and slow drawl of his had its usual soothing effect on Mick. A fact that he really hoped he'd kept well-hidden. He and Prophet had been working together for about a year now and Mick had found himself drawn to the Southerner in a way that he didn't dare speak of aloud. Prophet had been married once and Mick had no wish to ruin a healthy friendship by making awkward advances.

Prophet pushed away from the wall, not needing to say that Mick should keep his wits about him, before reaching out a warm hand to reassuringly squeeze the back of Mick's neck. Mick resisted the strong urge he had to close his eyes and become boneless. Prophet's touch always had that effect on him.

The next moment, Prophet had wandered off, a slight stagger to his steps to indicate a man not completely sober. Mick tried hard not to watch him leave. There was somebody out there in the dark and smoke that was causing bloody terror and the team had to catch them. Mick checked his pocket watch and then lurched forward. He had a dice game to attend and clues to root out by sundown. He could still feel the warmth of Prophet's hand on his skin. Prophet, and the team, were looking out for him.

The second time it happened Mick had been crouched down for hours high up on a roof, his rifle in hand and ready. His legs had been numb for some time due to the inactivity and his neck had become stiff, but he stayed quiet and watchful and made the shot when it was needed. Cooper offered congratulations and thanks, sentiments the others echoed as Mick slowly made his way down towards them. Mick smiled, pain almost turning the expression into a grimace

Prophet lingered, concern making him frown. "You okay?"

Mick tried to smile again, but the pain in his legs throbbed. His body had been folded up in one position for so long that straightening it out was now excruciating. It was actually difficult to simply stand upright. Mick felt his legs wobble alarmingly but Prophet was there to steady him, an arm around Mick's waist. Mick breathed in sharply – Prophet smelled of the cold snowy outdoors, wood smoke and gut-rot coffee. He tried to inconspicuously memorise it.

"Think you can walk?" Prophet asked.

He was so close that Mick could feel his breath. It was torture. But Mick shoved all of that away, managed a slight head nod, and moved his left foot, taking himself forward. It hurt, but with Prophet's support, it would work. Prophet's hand dropped a little and squeezed Mick's hip.

"I've got you."

God... Mick thought If only.

Mick could feel Beth staring at him. He'd managed to mostly ignore it as they'd worked through the papers Penelope had provided them with for their latest case while Gina and Prophet were out on the streets searching for more information. But honestly, it had been a very long day and Mick was sick of constantly feeling eyes on him. He dropped his pen and finally met Beth's gaze.

"All right, what is it?" he challenged.

Beth just raised her eyebrows. "I'm just trying to decide how foolish you are, or if at least some of it is an act."

Mick snorted. This was familiar territory. "Haven't we talked about this before? On many occasions?"

"Mick." That was Beth's most pointed tone and Mick really couldn't think what he'd done most recently to earn it. "Please assure me that you're going to say something meaningful to Prophet."

Mick tried hard not to splutter. Beth rolled her eyes and reached for the heavy book at her elbow. Mick pushed his chair back and away from her – Beth was a little overly fond of hurling tomes at people when she thought that they weren't truly listening to her.

"Right. So unless you want this fine volume making contact with your pretty face and therefore greatly displeasing Miss Penelope because she loathes any and all damage to her books, open your eyes a little wider, please?"

Before Mick could try to make sense of her confounding words, Cooper marched through the door, Gina and Prophet on his heels, theories already spilling out of them. Mick got to his feet gratefully and kept his eyes carefully averted from both Prophet and Beth. Her words could wait, possibly forever.

"You know, Beth's got some wild theories..."

So much for forever.

Mick closed his eyes briefly and flicked his matchbook shut. He wasn't going to get a quiet smoke now. Prophet sat down beside him, so close that their legs touched. Mick wasn't going to read into that. They didn't analyse each other – as Cooper had once pointed out, that would only inevitably make things ugly between them all. Messes and complications were not welcome when teamwork was of the highest priority.

Still, Prophet's leg against his did feel good.

"Beth talks too much," he replied at last, slipping the matches away.

"But she does know what she's talking about."

Mick wet his dry lips. God, there was a lot of suggestion tangled up in Prophet's words. He could guess that the older man was offering him something. But he already wanted that idea too much so he was probably projecting.

Prophet put a hand on his knee. A warm solid gesture. Mick couldn't prevent a sharp breath from escaping at that. He felt Prophet lean closer, then his other hand cradled Mick's jaw. Prophet keenly studied him for a moment before moving in without warning and touching his lips to Mick's. It was a soft kiss to begin with, one that Mick was far too stunned to return, but then Prophet sucked at his bottom lip, sending a feeling like lightning through the Welshman. Mick reached suddenly, gripping Prophet's neck, and tried to get as close as possible, his tongue stroking Prophet's. Prophet made a deep satisfied noise in his throat.

Eventually they had to come up for air. Mick couldn't help grinning, even though his legs felt like water. "I hate that Beth was right. We don't have to tell her that she was though."

"If you honestly think she won't recognize what's happened…"

Mick dropped his forehead to rest against Prophet's. Sharing breath, sharing warmth in the city chill felt really good. Prophet's hand, clad in a worn fingerless glove, made its way up past Mick's knee to his thigh. Mick gasped out a noise that made Prophet's grip tighten. It was a very good feeling. One he really wanted to last, a fact that prompted his next question.

"So something's happened for her to recognise then?"

Mick was going for almost joking with his tone, but his tension was obvious. He knew what he wanted and it wasn't anything brief. In fact, that'd probably make things worse. What did Prophet want anyway?

Prophet tightened his grip again and Mick moaned, a sound that Prophet swallowed up with his mouth. Some long moments later, Prophet backed up wearing a faint amused smirk.

"More than just something."

Mick let out a heavy shuddering breath and grinned, like a shark. Then he grabbed a fistful of Prophet's shirt and pulled him in.

-the end