It had been like this since the beginning of their relationship. Nothing serious, just sex. It was what the both of them needed and could handle in their lives. She'd come over after a rough day (or a rough exorcism for him) and they'd just let it all out, unwind, and then do it all again the next day. Today had been one of those days for both of them. They'd met up, had a few drinks, and came back to John's apartment.

It was late now, maybe eleven at night, and John was sitting upright in his bed, smoking a cigarette, staring off into space. No doubt thinking about the stress of the day that had brought him to this point. The bedding of the opposite side was pushed to the side, the spot empty, and he'll give a glance to the kitchen, where she was digging through his alcohol stash for something good. She was wrapped in one of the sheets, holding it around her with one hand, while the other pushed bottles aside as she scanned the labels. His gaze moved back to the wall, beginning to get lost in his thoughts again.

He only returned from them when the opposite side of the bed dipped and a glass filled with alcohol appeared in front of his face, held by a small pale hand. He pinched the cigarette between his lips and took the glass from her, giving a thankful nod in her direction, and watched as she curled up in the bed beside him, taking sips from the glass slowly, savoring the alcohol unlike she usually did. It was a good sign, he supposed, a sign that she was feeling less stressed and more at ease with herself. He was glad, honestly, he just wished he felt the same.

"Want me to stay the night?" She knew him all too well. She could tell that he wasn't relaxed. Sure, he felt better, but it hadn't been enough. Something just wasn't right and she understood that without even having to ask him. He hated it sometimes; how she could read him so easily and knew so much about him without him having to tell her. He also knew, however, that it made their relationship easier, because she knew what he dealt with. Angels, demons, half-breeds…she knew what his life was and knew just what to do to get him to relax.

"Sure." It's the only response she's going to get as he downs the alcohol in the glass, sets the empty glass on the nightstand, and continues smoking, settling deeper into the mattress. He hears her sigh next to him and he turns his head, watching as she grabbed the cigarette from him and brought it to her own lips, taking a puff off of it before giving it back to him.

"You hungry? I could order some pizza or something." She quirks her dark black brows at him, head tilting to the side in due questioning, her gaze locked with his. He sighed, deeper than she had before, and took the cigarette from his lips, putting it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. He'll adjust himself until he's at her level, a hand moving to rest on the side of her neck, fingertips burying into her soft jet black hair. A grin comes to her lips as he leans down and presses his lips firmly to hers, his body coming down on hers to press her into the mattress. She, playfully, fights against him, a laugh escaping her as she removed her lips from his and buried her face into his shoulder. "John, I'm seriously hungry and gonna order a pizza. You want some?"

He's almost insulted that she would rather eat pizza than be with him in bed, but he knows it's been a while since she ate. She didn't know that he knew that she tended to starve herself, eating only when she was absolutely hungry and hadn't eaten in days, sticking instead to a liquid diet. He didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He was always offering her food and she knew his fridge was always open to her, especially when she was staying the night with him.

"Sure. Make it cheese or meat, though. Not that nasty Hawaiian shit." He'll flop onto his back, reaching for his pack of cigarettes as she got out of the bed and dug into her coat for her phone. She'll quickly dial the number and he listens as she orders a pizza, meat, tempted to make a sex joke. He doesn't. She hangs up and jumps back into the bed, disturbing his peace, making him grumble.

"It'll be here in twenty!" She says excitedly, laying her head in his lap, fingers burying into his short dark hair as she grinned up at him. He blew the smoke from his cigarette down at her, but she remained steadfast in her gaze, staring at him through the smoky veil. God damn, he might just be falling in love with her.

He didn't know what had happened. Something had attacked him. He didn't know what. An angry half-breed? God, he didn't even know. Speaking of God, he was so sure this was the end. It had thrown him against the wall of the alley and dug its claws into his abdomen. Blood stained his pure white four-hundred dollar shirt, his eyes closed and he remembered thinking:

Shit. This is the end? I've faced the Devil himself, cancer, and this is the end?

The next time he opened his eyes, he was back in his apartment above Bowl Bowl Bowl. He blinked several times, confused, recalling the events of the night before. The half-breed, the blood on his shirt...hands find his abdomen and he groaned aloud. Bloody bandages were wrapped tightly around him, enough that he could barely suck a breath in and when he did, it hurt to do so. He went to sit up, but found himself being pushed back down by his shoulders. Through blurry vision, he saw a pair of dark brown eyes, quite familiar, and he groaned again.

"What…happened?" He managed to get that much out before a wave of pain silenced him, nearly making him double over, had it not been for the pair of hands pinning him down with an inhuman amount of strength. His vision blurred even more, his head felt light and his body felt heavy, all at the same time. He was brought back to reality when he felt the pressure around his middle releasing, and he glanced down, seeing pale hands unwrapping the bandages, lifting him up every now and then as needed. He beheld the bloody mess the half-breed had made of him, fingers shaking, and his head fell back to rest on his pillow.

"Fuck."

"You'll be fine." Some shuffling around and the person, who he still can't see clearly, returns with a needle and thread. They sit beside him, fingers squeezing wounds together as they take the needle and thread and begin sewing him back together. He handles the pain as best as he can in his condition, but when his vision finally clears and he can see his savior clearly, he's taken aback.

"You…saved me…" He groaned out, feeling the needle go through his skin and thread follow as she pulled the needle.

"Well, you weren't doing all that good of a job of saving yourself and, well, I couldn't just let you die. I'd feel guilty." Her hand came up to gently comb through his dark black locks as he stared up at her. Her eyes were that soft brown, gentle as ever as they peered down at his bloody condition. Her dark black hair was pulled up into a messy bun, stray hairs falling around her small pale neck, framing her face and contrasting its pale color sharply. She'd grabbed a chair from his kitchen and set it beside his bed to sew him up and to watch over him. Her coat was strung over the back and as Constantine looked to it, he noticed some blood on it. She noticed his gaze and gave a sharp tug to the thread as she tied it, closing one of the many wounds on his abdomen, forcing his attention back to it.

"Don't worry," She threaded the needle again, preparing to sew another wound, "It's not yours…or mine. I killed it."

"…Killed it?" He echoed, confusion evident in his tone. He was pretty sure what had attacked him had been a half-breed and as far as he knew, they couldn't be "killed". Only sent back to where they had come.

"We need to talk, John."