Disclaimer: I own everything…really, I do. But I'll let Hollywood keep the stuff if they make another Constantine movie.
Notes: This is in no way related to "All in All." Totally different in all respects…though some things are borrowed. Pick those things out and get a cookie.
Feedback always welcome. Flames will be used to roast Republicans.
Days in the Life
By Aamon
He hated cinnamon, but that was all the clerk had. How could a convenience store run out of every type of chewing gum except cinnamon? He'd sooner expect Lucifer to dance a jig in front of him than a convenience store run out of everything but cinnamon chewing gum.
Despite the fact that he vowed never to smoke again, Angela would shoot him if he smoked in her car. She had been rather touchy of late, chafing under his tutelage on how to be an exorcist. For an independent woman used to getting her way, and a detective on top of that, doing what he told her must have been hell.
He smirked at that thought as he neared her SUV. She was a small woman with a large car, a worse and more reckless driver than Chaz had been, and tyrannical a few days out of every month. Six months he had known her, and he knew the psychic signs all too well. Even before he opened the door he could feel the vibes coming off her. He climbed in quietly and closed the door carefully, throwing his shields up as he came within reach of her.
Angela sat still, eyes staring forward, lips pursed. He opened the gum and offered her a stick.
"I hate cinnamon."
Figures.
"So do I," he said, popping a stick into his mouth and pocketing the wrapper. Angela started laughing.
"Ok, I've been a bitch. I admit it," she said, shaking her head.
"You could say that," he replied. She continued laughing.
"Want to get something to eat? Besides Jim Bean?" she asked him after her laughter had died down somewhat.
He nodded, used to this. One moment it looked as if she would shoot him, the other she was laughing. It was rather endearing, her laughter. It was one of the things he found most attractive in her. Despite everything she had seen and even done, she could still laugh.
They went to a Chinese restaurant, one that she seemed to like; Black Dragon Pool Chinese Restaurant. He wasn't sure if she understood the significance of the restaurant yet. It was filled with old relics, incantations used long before the cross became the symbol it was. God manifested himself in many ways to many peoples, but the concepts of Angels and Demons seemed to be universal in most of them, excepting a few details here and there. An old concept that he was just getting used to was the inability to determine if an Angel or Demon was good or evil. He knew from Gabriel that you couldn't always tell.
The restaurant was run by a half-breed Angel who sold all manner of talismans and spells to other half-breeds and humans. He never came out of his back room, so it was no surprise that Angela had yet to learn of him. Still, she should have picked up on the wards and spells all over the place. A demon half-breed couldn't set foot within half a mile of the place.
The waitress recognized Angela and gave them one of the best seats in the house, secluded and rather romantic in some respects. Tea was brought and they were left to contemplate their orders. The menu didn't have translations, so contemplate was what you would have to do to order something.
"I always love this place," Angela said, opening the menu.
"Do you know why?" he asked her.
"The food. The atmosphere."
"The spells," he muttered under his breath.
"Pardon?"
He raised his eyes to her, and waited. She looked back down at her menu a few moments later, nibbling at her lower lip.
The waitress arrived and took their orders, and as she left he noted something about the table they were sitting at. It contained no spells. Every other table had the general aura of spells, but this one did not. It looked a bit newer than the others, so perhaps no one had gotten around to it before. Then again…
"What are you doing?" she asked as he stood and looked down at his chair. It too was devoid of spells. He sat back down.
"Look around the room."
She frowned at him, but humored him and looked around the room. "What am I looking for?"
"Don't use your eyes," he said. She looked at him, believing he had lost what he had left of his mind, but his piercing look explained his meaning.
Turning back to the room, she unfocused her eyes as he had taught her, seeing not only with her eyes but also with her gift. For the first few moments she saw nothing, then glimmers began to appear around the room.
"What are they?" she whispered. He smirked and sipped his tea.
"Spells. A half-breed runs this place, though you'll never see him. There are enough spells and talismans here to keep Lucifer away, even if I slit my wrists in here."
She turned to him and scowled. "Don't joke about that."
"I'm not joking," he said seriously. "There are spells on every table and chair but ours."
She looked down at their table, then back up at him. "Why?"
"The name Zadkiel ring any bells?" he asked her. Her eyes widened.
"He's one of the Dominions, isn't he?"
He nodded. "The Avenger of Wickedness: He sells spells. Too pricy for me though. But they work well, from what I've heard."
Angela rubbed at the space between her eyebrows. "Why didn't I pick up on it before?"
"You're too comfortable here."
"I will be now," she said, looking around again. "They are quite beautiful."
"Don't look at them too hard. If Zadkiel thinks you're memorizing them, he'll charge you on your bill," he smirked, remembering when he was charged. He put a little trick on the bill and was banned for a month. That had been about four years ago, so it was no wonder they had never met up before.
Their orders came, along with a small scroll. He opened it, whistling at what it contained.
"I think this is the first and only thing Zadkiel has ever given away," John said, turning the small scroll toward her. Her brow furrowed.
"It's blank."
"Look again," he said with a slight smirk. She pursed her lips and looked again, and saw a beautiful sequence of characters and shapes.
"What is it?"
"A very powerful protection spell. If a Demon looks at it or touches it, they'll get deported straight back to Hell in a heartbeat. The writing at the top is a thank you to both of us for busting Memnon."
"Wow, some appreciation at last," Angela smirked.
"Don't get used to it," he said, rolling up the scroll and placing it before her. "You should hold onto it."
"I already have the pendent you gave me. I think you should take it," she said with obvious concern.
He raised one eyebrow, and pointedly looked at her chest. She looked down, and realized that she had forgotten the pendent again.
"Ok, I'll take it…you can stop staring at my chest now John," she said playfully.
He brought his eyes up, smiling just a little. Angela felt her cheeks heat up as he stared at her. This reminded her of that first night, before he helped her see demons again. She had asked him if she had to take her cloths off or if she could leave them on. He had looked at her the same way, quietly admiring her, the ghost of a smile on his lips, as if he was afraid or hesitant to smile fully.
They finished eating in silence, glancing up at each other every now and then. Both of them knew what was going on. It was the same thing that had begun six months ago, but always seemed to just go on and on. She knew they were more than attracted to each other, and equally hesitant to take their attraction past a line that seemed to exist between them, separating them but still allowing them to be close. Maybe it was the reality of what they did, or perhaps it was just their own inhibitions.
She had been a tomboy most of her life, no serious relationships, or anything that lasted beyond a few months. Female detectives didn't make good girlfriends, someone had once told her. Obviously male exorcists didn't make good boyfriends, which meant they were just right for each other if they could get past that line.
John paid for their orders, surprising her. He didn't get much from the Church for his efforts, barely enough to house and liquor himself. It was one reason she kept her job as a detective. The police chief was, fortunately, someone John had helped out once before, so he let her do what she needed to do while letting her keep her job. With the increased demon activity lately, the Police Department was unofficially thankful that it had two exorcists at its disposal. Now if she could only talk them into paying John.
Dispatch had a call waiting for them; strange activity in the North side of town, and reports of things in pools. They made a brief stop at the bowling alley so he could grab a vial of something, then they drove for nearly an hour through early evening traffic.
"What's in the vial?" Angela asked as they pulled up to a rather large and extravagant mansion.
"Holy sea water boiled down," he said, pulling it out and handing it to her.
"Do I throw it into the water?"
"No, you make a circle with it on the ground, large enough for both of us."
"A circle of salt?" she gave him a disbelieving yet amused look.
"You'll see," he said, removing his jacket. "Your jacket expensive?"
"Not really."
"You like it?"
She frowned, and took it off. "Say a thing about my shirt, and I'll throw the salt in your eyes."
He whistled. "I should pay for dinner more often."
As they left the car she had a sudden urge to kick him in the butt, playfully. She had been feeling rather playful lately, in between wanting to shove something down his throat. It was easier than being morbid about what they did. It might also open him up some, though she doubted it.
"Still have that scroll?"
"Yes," she said. "In my jacket."
He stopped, shook his head, and kept walking.
"I know, I keep forgetting things," she said apologetically.
"Duck."
She got down, and heard a quack. There was a mallard duck in their path. She looked up at John as he looked down at her.
"Sorry."
He smiled. "Actually, that's reassuring."
"What is?" she stood up.
"That you listen to me," he sidestepped the duck and circled around the house, Angela in tow. Several officers were standing a good ways away from the pool, the very large pool in the back, right next to the tennis courts but between the house and what looked like a ten car garage. "I hate rich people."
Angela went over to the officer in charge. He was white as a sheet, but putting up a brave front.
"Detective…I think we're on your turf," he said, glancing nervously at the water.
"What did you see?" she asked him, her senses buzzing. She could feel the demon in the water, but it was a feeling unlike anything she had ever felt before.
"When we got here there was a girl walking on the water…god damned walking on water! And there was another guy lying face down in the water. Looked like a pretzel. Then the girl beckoned to Murphy…he dropped his gun and started walking to the pool. He wouldn't stop, so I hit him with the tazer, and the girl vanished under the water. The…body is up there now," he pointed to a nearby palm tree. She could see the pale body in the middle of the fronds.
"Give us a few minutes," she said. The man nodded and hurried away, the other officers with him. Once they were out of sight, she went to John's side and pulled out the vial.
"Not yet. We'll have to get to the concrete," he nodded toward the pool. "If you start thinking about sex, don't look over at me."
She blinked, jaw agape. "That has got to be the strangest thing you've ever said to me."
"Water Demons manipulate sexual urges. Even if your shields are up they can still get to you." He pulled out a cloth and wrapped it around his hand, then pulled out his lighter.
"Is that going to do anything to it?"
He glanced at her and smiled. "It'll piss her off. When I start, stay right beside me but don't look at me, and don't look into her eyes. Spread the salt on the concrete in a circle, then crouch down."
"And then?"
He turned to the water. "My name is John. John Constantine. This is Angela. Angela Dodson. Remember that," he said calmly, then lit the cloth. Muttering a few words, the fire on the cloth became a brilliant light that he held out at the water. As if it were a living thing the water itself recoiled as he walked toward it, hand outstretched. She followed, keeping her eyes down at his feet as they neared.
She stumbled and reached out to him, one hand on his shirt as an intense longing nearly overcame her. She had never wanted sex this badly, never needed it so much. Every instinct told her to look up at John, to rip his cloths off him and make love to him.
The vial cracked, cutting her thumb. It was enough to change her focus back to the salt, back to the concrete they were just about on. Biting her lip, she fought an internal battle to keep her eyes downward on the grass, then on the concrete.
She yanked the stopper on the vial off and poured the salt out in the rough shape of a circle, moving under John's arm and around his body as she went. As the circle was completed John cried out and threw the flaming cloth away, then grabbed her and pulled her down to the ground.
"Deep breath!" he said, but she had looked at him, and instantly she pounced on him, her lips on his. Her hands moved up inside his shirt, ripping it open…
Cold water enveloped them in a wave, tossing them back onto the grass even as a wailing deafened them. Coughing and sputtering, they both sat up suddenly. The circle of salt was smoldering, and half the pool was in the yard. She looked over at him, no longer feeling the maddening urge to make love to him, but she still wanted to.
"I thought I told you not to look," he said, looking down at his shirt. He was missing all but one button, and his tie was nowhere to be found.
"Sorry," she said, and glanced back at the smoldering circle. "What happened to it?"
"Deported. Water Demons can only be vanquished when they're over dry land. As soon as it touched the salt it got burned," he stood, pulling her to her feet as well, wincing. She grabbed his hand.
"Those are second degree burns John," she pulled out her own bit of cloth and wrapped it around his hand. "Come on, they should have first aid kits."
"I'll be fine," he said. She shook her head.
"They become infected, you loose you hand. You loose your hand, you're an easy target." She gave him a hard glare, unwavering until he ducked his head, effectively giving in.
"Point taken," he admitted. Besides, it hurt like hell.
They walked back down to the road. There was already an ambulance there.
"It gone?" the officer asked her.
"Yes, it's gone. Retrieve the body from the tree. I trust you don't have to be reminded to forgo the usual reports."
"Yes Detective Dodson," the officer said, and motioned for the coroner to follow him to the back of the mansion.
She pulled John over to the ambulance. The EMTs took one look at his hand and told him he'd have to come into the hospital. He hated hospitals, and hated being a patient even more. But his hand did hurt like hell, literally, so he gave in and climbed into the ambulance.
During the trip there, he went over what had just happened to him, and Angela. Their first kiss was nothing if not passionate, and it confirmed something to him. Water Demons could only amplify existing feelings, not create them. Essentially they took away any inhibitions and magnified desires. For six months he had been wondering if he should cross that line with Angela, and tonight that line was crossed. He had felt the need in her, the desire. Their shields had both fallen. He had gotten a look at her heart, and saw himself there.
The doctors wouldn't let her follow John into the emergency room. The nurse gave her the standard line, with a twist.
"Don't worry ma'am, your husband will be fine," the nurse had said. She kept staring after him though, wondering. She and John were together every day. Though he still hadn't opened up as much as she wished him to, she knew quite a bit about him. His favorite color was green, his favorite food was beef lo-main, he missed his former apprentice and friend Chas a great deal, and he worried about her constantly.
She found herself thinking about what it would be like to be married to John Constantine. Angela Constantine didn't sound too bad. Neither did Detective Constantine. But should they even get married? Did she want to?
Honestly she didn't know yet. She cared about John a great deal, even loved him, but she wasn't sure if she was in love with him, and she had no idea how he really felt about her. Was she just an apprentice and friend, or something more?
Her cell phone rang; it was the station. She informed them about John's injuries, and her Captain told her to take some time off and tend to him. It would be a paid vacation, and John was now on the unofficial payroll. When she asked, she was told that the human pretzel in the tree had been one of the more successful drug traffickers on this coast, and few million dollars in small bills had been found in his basement. Actually a few million more had been found, but the Captain figured that since "Unofficial" cases involving the supernatural were on the rise, then "unofficial" funds could be held from state confiscation to cover the costs. Even though she was a cop and should have been against it, she agreed wholeheartedly.
Besides, it was Internal Affairs' idea, according to the Captain. If they said it was ok, why would she argue?
Just as she was hanging up, the doctor came to get her and take her in to see John. He had one hand in a tank of water, bubbling hot water, with a look of pain on his face.
"Third degree burn," he said.
"Only a small one on one finger. The other burns weren't as bad as I thought," the doctor said. "We're going to place synthetic skin on all the burns as soon as we're finished sterilizing the wounds."
Angela smiled. "I get to see you in a hospital gown."
"That should make your day," he smiled back at her, making her heart flutter a bit.
"It will," she replied. "Good news. You're officially on the payroll now."
"How did that happen?" he asked. I glanced at the doctor, who was writing on a pad.
"I'll tell you later," she assured him, then turned to the doctor. "When will he be released?"
"The synthetic skin is a new form of cloned tissue, so provided rejection doesn't occur, about noon tomorrow. We'll know fairly quickly if it will take or not, but there's only a ten percent rejection rating." He picked up a pair of medical scissors, the rounded kind with wide blunt ends. "I hope you're not attached to the shirt. We'll need to cut it off."
"The last one that fit well," John said, but nodded. The doctor carefully cut up the sleeve. Most of the buttons were gone anyway, so it was no great loss.
"Alright then. If you wish I'll let your wife handle the rest," the doctor said, handing Angela a blue hospital gown. "He can pull his hand out of the solution just long enough to get through the arm, then back on it goes. He can't have anything else on for the moment. The nurses will be in after a few minutes to finish the prep."
The doctor left the room without another word, leaving Angela holding the gown, faintly blushing.
"Or this will make your day," John said, flatly.
"That doctor is the second person tonight who has assumed we're married," she said, blushing a little deeper. Of all the things she could have started out on, she started on that!
John shrugged, and pulled off his shoes one handed, followed by his socks. "Well then Mrs. Constantine, let's get these pants off."
He actually did it himself, turned slightly away from her. He could actually do everything himself except tie the ties in the back. Angela pretended to look away as his pants and boxers fell, but she was sneaking a peek.
"Done, mostly," he said finally. She pulled the back of the gown tight and started on the ties, pausing at the lower one.
"Are you checking out my ass?" he asked. She started to stutter a reply when he started laughing. "I'm flattered."
"Well you should be. I don't just stare at just anyone's ass," she said, feeling her ears heat up. The kiss and need, talk of marriage, and finally this! She was beginning to wonder if someone was trying to tell her something, but she'd see a half-breed whispering encouragement if that were the case. She cleared her throat. "By the way, I'm on vacation for a while. When was the last time you took one?"
"I don't get to take vacations," he said.
"And if you could?"
"I don't know what I'd do. Time off means time to think, and time to think isn't something that's good for me."
She felt her lips slide upward. "Then how about I let you train my cat?"
He laughed. "I don't think God could train a cat. They're too willful," he said. "Kinda like me."
"I wouldn't say you're beyond hope," she winked as a nurse came in.
"Then we'll see what you can do with me, Mrs. Constantine." He winked again as the nurse showed Angela where to wait while the cloned skin was placed on his hand. She left the room grinning from ear to ear, liking the sound of Mrs. Constantine even more when John called her that.
Applying the replacement skin was rather painless, but testing the sensations afterward were unpleasant. The doctor spent ten minutes poking his hand with a pin. Once he was satisfied, his hand was covered with a blue dye.
"Now if any of this turns pink we'll know there's rejection, but as I said before the odds of that are very low. We'll change the wraps every half hour for the next four hours. If everything looks good by then, we'll leave the wrap in place and check you in the morning."
John nodded, trying not to gag at the smell of the dye. It was about as bad as the funk of some demons he had run into. It stank less after it was wrapped, and by the time he was wheeled into his room he couldn't smell anything at all.
"What is that smell?" Angela asked. She was seated by the window, looking bored out of her mind.
"The stuff they put on my hand to see if this works," he grumbled. His hand was starting to itch, but it was obvious that scratching would be bad. And if Angela saw him do it, she'd do worse to him.
"How does it feel?" she asked, sitting on the edge of his bed. The nurse had propped his arm up on a long pillow, palm up.
"Not bad right now. Numb, but not too bad. But he poked it enough," he complained. Being able to feel wasn't something he absolutely needed. He'd probably have to do the same thing again, or get gloves.
Angela had picked up on his thoughts, reminding him that his barriers were down. He raised them, but still felt his link with Angela. It was completely unchanged.
"That's new," she said.
He nodded. "Guess when you cross a line," he turned and grinned, "there are consequences."
Her heart fluttered again, and she bit her lower lip. "I think we need to talk."
"Yeah, we do," he put his good arm around her waist. She leaned against him, and after some shifting they were both quite comfortable in the bed. He started to get sleepy, likely from something the doctor had given him. Angela gently nudged him to go to sleep. They'd talk later. He was asleep a few moments later.
She sighed and rested her head against his chest. Now she was certain, absolutely certain, that she was in love with him. She had known exactly what he meant by 'consequences,' and he had been happy with them. The line they had crossed that night was one they had both wanted to cross, and now they had.
But she was still left with her other questions whose answers she hadn't discovered before he fell asleep. Was he in love with her? Would he want to marry her? Was it even a good idea to get married?
And why was this happening? It was all so sudden, like some romance novel. Yet their relationship had started out in the same way. She had so quickly grown to trust him, to understand him. Before he helped her See, if he had said she had to be naked she would have stripped her cloths off without a second thought. That was how far she had grown to trust him in so short a time. And he trusted her just as much. He wouldn't have given her the Spear of Destiny otherwise.
Sighing, she tried to get some sleep, but as soon as she started to drift she thought she felt a presence. Jarring herself awake, easy from long years of practice on stake-outs, she brought her senses up fully, reached into her coat, and pulled out the protective amulet. She put it on John, then slipped out of the bed and walked the room several times, senses extended. There was a tremor, very slight, and that was all she could detect.
Preparedness took over, and she pulled out a small vial of holy water and a brush. She wrote protective inscriptions around the door, just like John had taught her, on all three walls, and at the window she wrote inscriptions directly on the glass. She tossed some holy water on the ceiling and under the bed, corked the vial, and laid back down. John's gently breathing began to lull her to sleep when a nurse walked in, and she sat bolt upright.
"Gabriel…" she reached for her gun, but Gabriel held up his…her…it's?...hands.
"I mean you no harm," Gabriel grinned. "Just checking up on him."
"Why?" Angela asked, not trusting the former half-breed at all. Gabriel was human now.
"Because everything worked out so well. John discovered his true nature, and found forgiveness! Not only that, but he earned every bit of it! That is what you humans are capable of." Gabriel said, clearly having lost none of his self righteousness.
She rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest Gabriel."
"Perhaps, one day," Gabriel said, moving over to John. "Right now I am a nurse. Observe me all you wish."
Angela eyed the former Angel as Gabriel removed the wrappings and examined the blue dye. There were no traces of pink, and a new bandage was put in place.
"There now, no harm done," Gabriel said, backing away slowly. "I am proud of you both Angela. You…"
"Will shoot you if you don't leave. I haven't forgotten that you were about to stab me at one point."
"You would have lived," Gabriel winked. "That is, if I was ever going to actually stab you."
Angela rolled her eyes again, and the former Angel was gone. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around John, hoping that was the last time Gabriel ever showed.
But she knew it wouldn't be. And some part of her told her she'd be seeing the former Angel again very soon.
He woke up just as the sun was rising, his hand tingling. He had been told that most of the feeling would come back today, with the rest in a week or so. The synthetic skin would bond to his body and act like any other layer of skin. His fingerprints would come back in a year or so…maybe. Cloned skin was too new to tell how it would work with everyone.
It was a miracle of modern medicine, but it still tingled. He didn't like his hand tingling like this, as if it were asleep and just waking.
"John?" Angela raised her head, blinking away the sleep that lingered in her eyes.
"Morning," he said, looking down at her. She looked beautiful just waking up, her lips widening in a slow grin that seemed to lighten up her entire countenance, like the sun rising above the horizon. "Sleep well?"
She nodded. "Yes, but the waking up is nice too."
"Yeah, it is," he smiled down at her, tilting his head to bring his lips closer to hers.
Of course a nurse would walk in at that moment to check his hand. Angela stood as the nurse unwrapped and then rewrapped John's hand. All the while he and Angela were glancing at each other, both painfully aware of what had been interrupted.
"The doctor will see you in one hour to go over your vitals, then you should be able to go. I've never seen the synthetic take this well before," the nurse, a rotund but kindly looking woman, said with a smile before leaving the room.
They were left with an awkward silence that he finally had to break with a more awkward, "I really need to use the bathroom."
She laughed and helped him to his feet. He was a little unsure at first, the remnants of whatever drugs he had been given still having some effect upon him. Luckily she didn't try to help him in the bathroom. They were close, but that was a little too close for the moment.
Once he was finished and back in bed, she took care of her business then went to search out some coffee.
That's when he picked it up, just in the background…
To be continued…