Disclaimer: I do not own Constantine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the reviews. I'm considering a Constantine/Stigmata crossover, in a separate fic of course. What do you think?

IX

Can it be right to give what I can give?
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations? O my fears,
That this can scarce be right! We are not peers
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nor give thee any lovewhich were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.

John's heart skipped a beat when he saw Angela standing outside his door, her red lips parted. Their eyes locked and he felt butterflies in his stomach. He noticed the pouting shape of her lips, imagining what it would be like to have such luscious lips pressed against his own.

Stop it, John, he hissed to himself inwardly. Even Chas would handle himself better than you right now. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. How idiotic he must have seemed, standing at his door and gawking at his beloved.

Angela finally broke the silence with a coy smile. "Can I come in?" she said, amused at his reaction.

"Yeah," he said, albeit too quickly and moved aside. As she came in, her lithe body brushed lightly against his and he shut his eyes briefly, holding his breath. He loved her perfume – roses and jasmines. He shut the door and faced her, searching desperately for something to say to her. Ironically, there was so much he wanted to tell her but the words wouldn't come – he was too overwhelmed by her glorious presence.

He cleared his throat and asked her, "So…how've you been?"

"I've been all right," she nodded. "Just the usual hectic life – chasing criminals, hunting demons, that sort of thing." She swallowed.

John raised an eyebrow in interest. "So you're hunting demons now?" He could've used a chewing gum. Unfortunately, as he fumbled on the kitchen table, he discovered that he'd run out. Damn it.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I just figured out that since I've rediscovered my…psychic abilities, why don't I use them?" Was it just her or was it getting really hot in there?

"Angela Dodson the Exorcist," he smirked.

She moved to stand near the window, looking out at the pouring rain. She didn't deserve him, he realized. She deserved someone whose life wasn't messed up, someone who could give her a family and a comfortable home in the suburbs.

"So what brings you here?" he asked. He should stay away from her, he decided. She was a desirable young woman with a good future ahead of her, she didn't need to ruin her chance at happiness by getting involved with the likes of him.

"I…I just wanted to see how you were doing," she said nervously. He thought the fear in her eyes was kind of cute and although he was used to people being afraid of him, he didn't want her to feel that way.

But perhaps that was better; if she feared him then she would avoid him. Did he really want that?

"I'm doing ok," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter. He was a little confused suddenly. Why would Angela show up at his door unexpectedly? Perhaps something was wrong.

"Still smoking?"

"Nope, I quit. I could really use a cigarette right now, though." He watched her body language and facial expressions. "Angela, is something wrong?"

She sighed and buried her face in her hands. He approached her, forehead creasing in concern. "What's going on?" he asked gently.

"Nothing, really," she said, not daring to meet his eyes. "It's just…there's something that I've wanted to say to you for while now."

John's heartbeat fastened. It did nothing to help his present condition. "Okay," he nodded. "Spill. I'm all ears."

Angela looked up at him right them, their eyes locking.

"John," she said slowly.

"Uh-huh." He was hanging onto her every word.

"I'm in love with you."

That was something he hadn't seen coming.