His psychic awareness woke him first with a loud alarm sounding in his head. Something was wrong. His eyes opened second, and he snapped into consciousness, instantly ready.

Crying. Her crying had woken him up. God, you're getting soft, John. He berated himself then cast to see if she knew he was awake. Nope. Flicked his gaze towards the windows. Must be past noon. Her crying wasn't loud, mostly muffled by the pillow, so it wasn't what woke him.

Her pain did. A familiar ache, the kind you get when you know you're different and although not your fault, you wish it wasn't so.

Constantine silently rolled over, spooning in behind her, sliding an arm over her side to settle around her. He was getting slightly better at this comforting bit and could probably use the practice. He said nothing, nor did she, but her sobs subsided a bit, changing into the painful winces when you know someone's watching you cry but you can't stop.

"Let it out." He gently commanded. Hell, there was nothing worse then a woman crying… well, Hell was worse, but this was just underneath on the scale. He felt her body wrack with another deep sob, outwardly silent but physically loud.

Then he felt her hand on his left arm, just at the inside of his elbow. Sliding down the underneath of his forearm, turning his arm over, and stopping at the raised scars, the jagged tissue. She traced it almost reverently, the physical contact almost electric.

"I didn't have the guts. So I saved up the medication, pill by pill, till I had about a hundred. I thought it would be enough. Picked a date and did it. I started to fall asleep… but I woke up and it felt like a hand was squeezing my stomach, forcing everything back out. I was so violently ill mama insisted they take me to the hospital. I don't think my parents ever really fully understood what I'd done. I left home a month later." Her confession seemed to lift a weight off her. John was silent for a long moment.

"I was 15 and I succeeded." He kept his gaze on her hand, watching her trace the physical reminders of his success. "I got sent back though. I'm not sure anymore that I'm still damned to hell, or if heaven's taken me back. Either way I'm walking a fine line. I've seen what waits after death."

"Do you think I'll go to Hell, for even attempting?"

"I don't think so. Something, maybe God Himself, didn't want you to." The scent of her, sandalwood and roses, was hitting him and strands of her hair tickled his face. She was warm, beginning to trust him, and already in his arms. He could push her; just enough, and she'd probably bend.

No, not him. He was filthy compared to her, in that sense. He hadn't had the patience to wait, had actively sought out sex as soon as possible. Constantine just had to keep shoving the thoughts out of his head. It wasn't going to happen and he had to make sure it didn't.

Elizabeth sat up slow, and his hand slid to rest on her thigh. She didn't push it away. "I need to take a shower."

"Sorry, my bathtub is broken."

"Pipes?"

"No, just literally."

"You must have some wild parties."

"I wish." John smirked. She rose and his hand fell away. He lay there long after she'd gone into the bathroom and locked the door behind her self.