John cursed to himself, shuffling towards the door. "I'm comin', ya impatient wanker," he muttered. "Hold yer bleedin' 'orses."
He threw the door open prepared to yell at whoever had woken him up from where he'd passed out from last night's bender. His head was pounding, and that knocking hadn't been helping.
He stopped short when he saw a miserable-looking Pete Wisdom standing on his doorstep. "Bloody 'ell, Wisdom, wot 'appened to you?!"
"Kit…left…me…" Pete said between sniffles.
John debated between comforting Pete and going to find that wanker and feeding him his own heart. Comforting Pete won out. He led her into the flat, shutting the door behind her. "Wot 'appened, luv?" he asked.
"He…met…he met someone else." Pete began to sob again.
John took her bag from her and set it on the floor before pulling her into his arms and chastely hugging her. He was already thinking of a million ways to get her now that her little boyfriend was out of the picture, but he knew it was not the time. "I'm so sorry. I know you loved him."
"I still do," Pete said weakly, relaxing into John's embrace. It felt so good to be held after she'd been so carelessly tossed aside.
"You got anywhere to stay?"
Pete looked up, her blue eyes so wide and expressive that John felt himself almost melt. Hell, he wanted this woman… "I was 'opin' I could stay with you…jus' until I get back on me feet."
John repressed the urge to dance. "You're welcome 'ere as long as you need," John said.
"Thank you so much. I really don't deserve it after I was so mean to you back on Muir…"
John smirked. "I wasn't a picnic meself…"
Pete chuckled, and John was glad for that. "I won't impose on you long, I promise."
"Don't worry about that, luv. Impose away."
"Thank you, John. I just didn't know where else to go, and…"
John put his finger on her lips. "Shh. It's okay, really. I'm just happy to see you again."
Pete blushed. "I'm happy to see you, too."
John wanted to kiss her, but he used every bit of his small amount of self control to hold back. If he moved in too soon, he'd scare her off. He was sure he could get what he wanted now, but he'd just have to take it slow. "You need anything, luv?"
"I 'ate to be so dull, but I'd really jus' like to rest a bit. It's been a stressful day."
"Of course," John said. "You take me bed. I'll sleep on the couch." John figured he could be a gentleman for a little while at least. Pete would be asking him to join him in the bed soon enough. He was sure of it.
Pete cast a weary eye over John's couch. Dilapidated was an understatement. It was a hideous plaid monstrosity, with several duct tape patches and a cinder block holding up once side. "John, you can't possibly sleep on that."
"Beats the floor. Besides, I can't make a lady sleep on that thing."
"Lady? Bah." Pete was actually somewhat surprised—though grateful—that John hadn't suggested they share the bed. He'd certainly seemed hell-bent on getting her in the sack when he'd been back on Muir. She wondered idly if it had been more a competitive game with Kit on John's part than an actual play for her. Pete knew she wasn't exactly all that desirable. Renée Fallon had made that perfectly clear…
John looked down at Pete for a moment, wondering what he'd done to finally deserve such good fortune. Pete was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen—and feisty, too. He vowed to hold on to this one when he finally got her. He picked up her bag. "C'mon, luv, the bedroom's in here. Sorry about the mess."
"It's all right," Pete said, looking around John's tiny bedroom. "It's sort of refreshing, actually. Kit was such a neat freak."
John smirked. "Well, that's one thing I'm definitely not. So, um, do you need anything before you rest?"
Pete shook her head. "No. I'm fine."
"All right then. Call me if you do."
"Thanks, John. You've been wonderful."
John gave her a nod and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Pete opened her bag, pulling out a t-shirt to sleep in and then changing her clothes. She climbed into the bed, pausing a little when she realized it smelled like John. She breathed the scent in deep for a moment before she realized what she was doing.
Pete curled up and cried herself to sleep.
xxx xxx xxx
John peeked into the room, noticing Pete was asleep. Her face was still blotchy, and he knew she'd been crying. He wanted to go to Muir and hurt that bastard something awful. He could just picture the kind of woman he'd leave Pete for, and it made John sick. But it was Kit's loss. Pete was more woman than Pryde could ever handle anyway.
John smiled to himself when he saw Pete's shirt. It was a woman with a Mohawk and piercings superimposed over the Union Jack with the words "Punk's Not Dead" scribbled in red and blue letters. She looked like the girl he'd known seven years ago again, and John liked that. That was the woman that haunted his dreams, the one he wanted more than he could even tell.
He reached out and pushed her hair out of her face, unable to keep from touching her. He wanted to crawl in beside her and hold her while she slept, but he didn't. If he was patient, there'd be time for that later. He kissed the top of her head lightly before creeping back out of the room.
xxx xxx xxx
Pete woke far too early out of a light and restless sleep. She got up and crept through the living room where John was snoring on the sofa and went to his tiny kitchen. It was messy and obviously hadn't been used in a while, but at least nothing was growing in it.
Pete managed to locate a pot and some reasonably fresh coffee. It felt strange not to be in Excalibur's luxurious kitchen with Kit, having tea and breakfast like a happy couple.
Pete rubbed her puffy eyes. She'd have to clean up before John saw her. She probably looked worse than most of the demons he knew.
"Mornin', luv." Pete jumped.
"John, you scared the bleedin' hell out of me!" John smirked at her.
"Never pegged you for an early riser, Wisdom." Pete realized he was clad only in a pair of boxers.
"Never was one," she muttered, averting her eyes. John grinned wider, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Please tell me you make better brew than that MacTaggart woman."
"I think Satan makes better coffee than Moira." John shrugged.
"Probably." He added a shot of whisky before gulping the mug down.
"Careful, it's—" Pete started to say "hot", but John was already choking. Pete sighed, patting him on the back. She noticed most of it was covered by a large tattoo of a Celtic cross. "You've got a nice drawin' on your back, Constantine," she said. John straightened up. Pete noticed his chest was also covered with several smaller tattoos. Pete traced one with her fingers. "What do they all mean?"
"Protection," said John. "Back when I still believed in that sort of thing…" He pressed his hand over Pete's, keeping her fingers against his skin. "Now they're just decoration."
"I never knew you had this many," said Pete, slowly raising her other hand to touch him.
"Never got a chance t'find out, you mean," said John with a wink. Pete nodded slowly.
"I was always sorry about that, you know." John raised an eyebrow.
"Oh really, luv? Not as sweet an' innocent as you let on?" He reached out his other hand to draw her closer, their bodies touching along the length. Pete shivered as he locked his eyes with hers. She suddenly understood why it was so easy for him to hypnotize people. "Pete…" he whispered. Pete dropped her gaze. She couldn't end up in John's arms again. It would just bring her more pain.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling away. "If you're 'ungry I'll get breakfast on…" John shoved a hand through his spiky blond hair, making it stand up even more.
"Eh, no thanks, luv. Gotta keep my girlish figure you know." Pete nodded silently. John touched her arm again. "Pete, listen…" The phone shrilled in the living room. "Sod it," muttered John. "I'll be right back." When he left, Pete found a pack of abandoned Silk Cuts on the counter and lit up, puffing deeply to calm her trembling hands and legs. Moving in with John was probably the worst thing she could have done, but she hadn't been lying when she said she didn't have anywhere else to go. Pete exhaled, feeling calmer. From now on it would be strictly business, as far as John went. And once she found a flat of her own, she'd be gone for good.
John poked his head back into the kitchen, now wearing a wrinkled shirt, pants and tie. "'ave to go out for a bit, luv. Think you can manage on your own for a few hours?"
Pete nodded. "I'll just have a spot of breakfast and amuse meself." John smiled.
"Don't miss me too much." He grabbed his trench coat off the back of the sofa and left. Pete curled up on the sofa with her legs under her and stared at the flat, wondering what on earth she was going to do.
xxx xxx xxx
In a dingy tearoom, John was sitting across the table from a woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to the Cryptkeeper. In spite of that, he was rather enjoying himself. That is, until she drew a sealed envelope from her bodice and handed it across the table.
"Wot's this?" John asked.
"Arrived for me by morning post," said the woman, who's name was Clarice. When John had first met her, she had been rather striking, in a Mrs. Robinson kind of way. Seeing her now, John suspected that had been a rather strong illusion on Clarice's part. She was a crafty old witch, after all.
John opened the envelope, trying to ignore the smell of camphor and mothballs that clung to it. It was a scrawl of lines and squiggles on parchment paper. "Looks like a mad spider got into the inkpot," John commented.
"It's runic writing, you bleeding idiot," Clarice informed him. "And the message is written in that threatening, authoritative tone that only supernatural beings and arrogant sods like yourself use." John frowned.
"Wot's it say?" Clarice sipped her tea, draining the cup so she could read the leaves.
"Basically, it says my time on this earth is limited. Since I already knew that, I wasn't terribly disturbed, but the letter-writer is rather rude, and since it's written in a language few living beings of any persuasion know, I thought I ought to bring it to your attention."
"Bugger all, Clarice, stop talkin' in riddles," said John.
"Since I know no one else who has such a penchant for making enemies and bringing thunder down on his friend's heads, I deduced this person—or whatever he is—is threatening me because of you." She glanced into her cup. "And I see that I'm right. I don't mean to accuse you, John, I just wanted to bring it to your attention in case I die suddenly and unpleasantly." John's mouth tightened.
"It won't come to that, Clarice." Clarice shrugged.
"You always were incredibly overconfident, Constantine. But on a new topic—who's this young lady who's gotten you so hot and bothered?" John glared at her teacup.
"Anyone ever tell you you put too much bloody stock in a silly granny's ritual?"
"Anyone ever tell you you're a sod, John?" John stood.
"All the time. See ya 'round, Clarice."
"If you curb your natural instincts, you might actually have a chance with this woman."
"Goodbye, you freaky old mummy!" John shouted before he left the tearoom.
xxx xxx xxx
Walking home, John was considerably less cheerful than he'd appeared to Clarice. Nergal was trying to rattle him, trying his level best—and John had to confess it was working, somewhat. He smoked his Silk Cut down to the nub and lit another immediately. He hated the feeling of looking over his shoulder, and vowed that if he ever caught up with Nergal again he'd make good and bloody sure he sealed the demon somewhere where Satan himself couldn't get to him.
He climbed the rickety stairs to his flat—the only one he'd be able to afford after Kit left—and unlocked the door.
At first he was unsure if he had the right flat.
Then he wondered what kind of horrible joke they were playing on him.
Then he let out a loud, rather unmasculine yelp. "Pete! What's happened to me bloody flat?!" Pete emerged from the bedroom with a feather duster in her hand, wearing one of his old Sex Pistols t-shirts with a bandanna tied around her head.
"I've cleaned it, haven't I?" John stared in horror.
"All me books!"
"They're on the shelves, Constantine. In alphabetical order, no less." John sputtered.
"You've ruined all me piles!" Pete rolled her eyes.
"Oh fer fuck's sake, John. Stop bein' a baby an' look at your nice tidy flat." John glanced around.
"Bloody 'ell," he said after a moment. "This place is 'uge." He looked back at Pete.
"Why'd you do it, luv?"
"Well, John," said Pete with what he could only describe as a maniacal gleam in her eye. "I've discovered that if I'm cleanin' your flat I'm not thinkin' about Kit." She flicked the feather duster over his collection of shrunken heads. "An' besides, 'ave you seen the state of this place? It looked like bloody animals lived here."
"I liked the state of the place…" John muttered, more as a token protest than anything else. He had to admit that without books and Arcanum scattered all over the floor, the flat did look more presentable. He sighed, flopping down on the couch and loosening his tie. "Thanks, Pete. Really." Pete smiled at him.
"Just don't expect it to be a regular occurrence."
"Wouldn't dream of it," John said.
xxx xxx xxx
Nergal sat alone in a dark tenement building in a bad area of London. He could find another flat with another family to feast on, but he wasn't particularly hungry. He just wanted to sit, quietly, and wait.
Nergal wasn't what most would call patient, but when it came to things like this he could be persuaded. He wondered if Constantine had been made aware of the letter sent to Clarice. Nergal looked up at the wall of the tenement, where he had scratched out all the names of the people John cared about. The ones still living, anyway.
There weren't many. If Constantine didn't manage to alienate people, he got them killed. He had a rare talent for shortening the lifespans of those around him. Nergal sat for several more hours and stared at the wall of names, thinking about how to systematically destroy each and every one of them.
The hardest would be Kit Ryan, Constantine's old flame. Nergal hated to go out of his way for anything, and she was all the way in Belfast. Still, it would be worth it to see the look on Constantine's face...
Nergal decided that he couldn't bear it any longer—he had to look in on his adversary. He wrapped himself in his human form and went out, the cold night air biting into his flesh. He walked for almost another hour, until he came to the shabby building John called home these days. It was an improvement over his flat from the last time Nergal had met him, but not by much.
The thought of that night still made the rage prickle on Nergal's flesh. Never had he been so humiliated--not in ten thousand years. And to think that a mere human had wrought it upon him...well...Constantine would have to pay one-hundredfold. And this time, he wouldn't let himself be tricked so easily. He wouldn't let Constantine open his mouth to spit one of his little spells, and he certainly wouldn't make the mistake he'd made last time.
Nergal's teeth ground. The thought of how he had had Constantine at his mercy, bleeding and near death on the floor of the club, and how the man had had the nerve to taunt him...challenge him to a magician's duel...and tricked Nergal into giving him some of the demon's own blood so he could survive the ordeal--and then he had slapped a sealing spell on the weakened demon and run like the rat he was. Nergal had to face his failure in Hell and the torture that went with it.
But there would be no running this time. Nergal would not fall prey to his ego. And Constantine would beg for death before the demon was through with him.
xxx xxx xxx
John stopped short in the doorway when he heard Pete crying softly in the bedroom. He shut the door, taking off his trench coat and tossing it over a chair before walking into the other room. "You wanna talk?"
Pete rolled over on the bed so he couldn't see her face. "No."
"Too bad," John said, sitting down on the bed. He reached over, gently squeezing her shoulder. "Wot's wrong, luv? Still missin' Kit?"
"Yeah. And the rest of me life is crap, too."
"You got London's sexiest mage for a roommate. That's something ain't it?"
Pete laughed a little, and John smiled. That was the reaction he'd been going for. He massaged her shoulders a bit more, glad to see her relax at the touch rather than tense more. He kneaded her shoulders and back for a few minutes, his strong hands working out the knots.
After a bit, Pete pulled away, rolling over and sitting up. She pulled her knees up to her chin. "It's like, well, I didn't just loose Kit. I lost me whole life. I threw away wot I knew before, an' I built somethin' new up around him. After Black Air, I wanted something good and solid in me life, and I created that with Kit as the center. But he left me, an' I lost everything. I couldn't even stay with Excalibur. I wasn't there because I care one way or another about Xavier's 'Dream.' I was there because I loved Kit. Without him, I don't even have a home anymore…"
John reached up, wiping the tears away as the rolled down Pete's cheeks. "I know wot you're goin' through, luv. Lost the center of me life not to long ago, too"
Pete blinked, surprised to hear that John had ever been that much in love. "Wot was her name?"
John smirked. "Would you believe Kit?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"Nope. It was Kit. Kit Ryan."
Pete shook her head, chuckling. "Maybe that's a name that we should avoid in the future."
"Probably a good idea." He reached out, stroking her face. "I would say I'd prefer to go for another name these days, but you're the only Pete I'm attracted to."
Pete rolled her eyes, knocking his hand away. "That's nice to know. And stop trying to take advantage of me in my emotional state."
John shrugged. "I'll take it 'owever I can get it, luv."
"Wanker."
"That I am. So wot is your real name anyway?"
"I'm not tellin'."
"That's not fair."
"No, it's not. But I've never been one for fairness. So tell me about Kit."
John shifted uncomfortably. "Why?"
"Because I want to know. I want to know who this woman was that actually got you to care that much, John Constantine."
John frowned as she said that. She really didn't realize how much he really wanted to be with her, did she? He thought back to what Clarice had said, about curbing his "natural instincts." Apparently, Pete really did think he was just interested in a shag. Bugger. "She was younger than me," John said. "Full of life an' all. She didn't much approve of me lifestyle. Tried to change for her, but you are who you are, y'know? But I couldn't, and she wanted out." John sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I fell apart when she left me. I...I lived on the streets. All I did was drink. I wanted to die."
Pete's eyes filled with tears again, but this time it was for the pain in his voice. "Oh, John," she said, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. John let her hold him for a moment. As much as he would hate to admit it, he liked the feel of someone comforting him. Since Kit had left him, there'd been no one just to hold him…
He pulled away, looking at her eyes for only a moment before shifting his gaze for a moment. "I'm better now, really," he said. He glanced back up, smiling at her. "You'll get better, too, luv."
Pete smiled at him, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. "Thank you."
John swallowed hard as he felt her caress his hand with her thumb. He wondered what she'd do if he just lowered her to the bed right then, and he had a feeling she wouldn't object. But then he thought about what Clarice had said. He wanted to sleep with Pete, but he also wanted a lot more. If he seduced her now, she'd probably regret it when she wasn't feeling so vulnerable, and then he'd be in an even worse position with her than he already was.
He pulled away. "You hungry?"
Pete blinked. "Wot?"
"I'm hungry. I'm going to go get take away from the pub. You want something, too?"
"Uh, sure."
John got up quickly, not trusting himself to sit on the bed with her any more. "I'll be back in a few, luv." He rushed out of the room and the flat.
"Well, bye," Pete muttered as she heard the door shut.
xxx xxx xxx
"It's Petunia."
"No, luv, it's bangers an' mash."
Pete gave him a dirty look. "Not the food, you bloody idiot. That's me name."
John stared for a moment before laughing heartily. "That's your name? Petunia!"
Pete wadded up a napkin and threw it at his head. "Shut up, wanker."
John tried to stop laughing, but started up again. "I'd call meself Pete, too, if I were you."
"Sod off," Pete said, smiling slightly.
"So can I call you Petunia now?" John asked with a smirk.
"No!" Pete blushed. "God, no one ever called me that but me crazy hippie mother. I didn't even tell Kit me real name."
John raised an eyebrow. She'd confided something in him that she didn't tell Kit? John liked the sound of that. Maybe she was falling in love with him. He just had to keep curbing those "natural instincts." Especially the one that said he needed to drag her into the bedroom and stake his claim… "Can I call you Tuni?" he asked with an impish grin.
"Bloody 'ell, I knew I shouldn't 'ave told you."
John reached over and patted her leg. "Don't worry, luv," he said. "I won't call you anything but Pete."
"Ta."
John ate in silence for a few moments before glancing over at her. "How's your dinner, Petunia."
Pete shot him a look. "It's about to shoved up your arse."
John just laughed as they finished their meal.