There was a knock, two loud bangs against the front door. Mary blinked drowsily, raising her head up from the kitchen table. I must have fallen asleep, she thought idly as she yawned and arched her back, stretching. Then that annoying knocking began again, this time louder. Mary glared at the door before sighing in defeat and getting up to answer it.

"How can I help you," she said as she opened the door. Her green eyes widened. "Wha-what are you doing here?" she asked harshly. The man on the other side of the threshold sighed.

"Mary," he said wearily, "please. Let me in. It's been so long since I've seen you. Please, Mary."

Mary's teeth clenched as she opened the door wider, allowing the older man to enter. She stalked over to her abandoned chair at the table, tucking her feet beneath her as she sat down. The man shut the door, standing before her awkwardly. Mary took in his appearance. He was wearing old, weathered jeans and a white t-shirt. A beat up leather jacket and worn boots completed his ensemble.

"Can I sit down?" he asked, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Mary nodded shortly, crossing her arms against her chest as he sat on the chair across from her. "Well," he started, "how've you been?"

Mary suddenly became very, very angry. She had been having a fairly good day, until now, that is. She had woken up, made love with her husband, went jogging, and then spent, after a luxurious bath—she had finally convinced Constantine to get a new bathtub, seeing as how his old one was forever ruined—, the remainder of her afternoon working on unfinished songs she had to write. But now, after all this time, her father had decided to show up out of the blue and pretend like nothing had happened.

Mary looked at him with narrowed eyes. "How have I been?" she repeated. "Don't pretend like you care. It's been years since I've even seen you, Dad. Years, and you never once came for me and you want to know how I've been!"

"You left me," he reminded angrily, "not the other way around. Hell, you didn't even have the decency to tell me or even leave a goddamn note of something!"

"Maybe because you didn't care, Dad," Mary ground out, her hands clenched into fists. "Admit it, I was just another worry to you; another reason not to go drink and party like you always did."

"Now that's not—"

"Yes it is! It is true! You left me with Brian while you went out and look what happened! He raped me when I was seven and didn't stop until I was fourteen. And you didn't believe me."

"I didn't know you were telling the truth! For Christ's sake, Brian's my brother—"

"Yes," Mary said tightly, "and I'm just your daughter." Her father leaned back in his chair, a grim expression on his face.

"Mary," he began, all the anger replaced by weariness. "Mary, I know I screwed up. I know I'm a fuckup dad. I'm sorry I didn't believe you, honey." He let out a shaky breath. "Tell me what to do; I'll do anything, I want you back."

Mary stared at him. "Then maybe you should have tried to look for me when I left. It's been six, seven years and you never tried to find me." He looked at her sadly, and was about to respond when the front door opened, causing both to look away.

"Hey," Constantine said slowly as he shut the door. He looked at the older man seated at his table and then back at Mary questioningly. Mary sighed, folding her arms.

"John," she said, "this is my father." It was almost as if she had to force out the word "father". She looked down at her lap.

Constantine, careful to not let any surprise show, studied the man at Mary's left. He looked around sixty or so, his worn out clothing and rugged appearance a contrast to Mary's clean yoga pants and gray tank top. They have the same eyes, he noted.

"Aaron," Mary's father said, who, during Constantine's short inspection, had stood up, holding out his hand. Not sensing anything "funny", Constantine grabbed it.

"John," he said curtly. He let go of Aaron's hand and started to remove his coat. "Mary," he said gently. "Are you ok?" She nodded shortly.

Aaron glanced at Constantine with narrowed eyes. "This man living with you, honey?" Mary glared at him.

"He's my husband," she said tensely. A funny look spread over Aaron's face.

"You're married?" he asked, his voice taking on a somewhat gentler tone mixed with disbelief.

"Yes," she said sharply. Mary stood up and moved next to Constantine, wrapping an arm around his waist. Constantine returned the favor by draping his arm over her shoulder, holding her firmly against his side in a manner that clearly stated: if you harm her, you answer to me.

"We were married over a year ago," Mary continued, "and we have plans tonight." And I want you to leave, she added silently, but Aaron seemed to understand nonetheless.

"Right," he said, getting up. "It was nice to meet you John."

"Likewise," Constantine said unenthusiastically. Aaron turned his gaze on Mary.

"I want to see you later," he said quietly. "There are things…things you need to know." He looked at her, waiting for any response. She simply nodded. Aaron hesitantly touched her arm in farewell and left, the door shutting quietly behind him.

As soon as she heard the familiar click, Mary moaned and buried her face in Constantine's shoulder as her free arm desperately pulled him closer. Constantine kissed the top of her head.

"Are you alright?" he asked after holding her for a few minutes. He felt her nod against him before lifting her head.

"I'm fine," she sighed, "just…I don't know…drained."

"So, that was your old man?"

"Yeah." Mary pulled away from him, turning to look out a window. "That was him." She wrapped her arms around herself, sighing.

Constantine sat at the table. Popping a piece of gum in his mouth, he asked, "Any reason he stopped by?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," Mary acknowledged, troubled that after so many years without a word from him, her father had just shown up out of the blue. How had he known to find her? More importantly, what did he want? Aaron Draven was a lot of things—alcoholic, drug addict, bum, and he was also very good at getting whatever it was that he wanted. He had a way of manipulating those around him, those he claimed to love and care about, when, really, he just used them for his own selfish needs. It made Mary's stomach churn as she wondered what he could possibly want from her.

"He wants something," she admitted softly. "I just don't know exactly what yet." She sighed, and turned to Constantine, smiling nonchalantly. "No matter; I'll find out in time, I suppose."

Constantine frowned. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked, meaning: do you want me to find out what he's up to? Do you want me to take care of this?

Mary's eyes softened. She moved to stand in front of Constantine, caressing his hair. "No," she smiled, "but thank you." Constantine wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. He rested his chin against her stomach.

"Just say the word," he reminded, "and I'll do whatever you want me to." Mary leaned down and kissed him lightly.

"I know, John. Thank you, but I'll be fine."

(0)

It was late, the street dark and abandoned by human life where she stood. She smiled, turning her head upwards to the building in front of her. She could hear him, smell him, and practically taste him already. He was her utmost desire, her craving. He would be hers soon; it was only a matter of time now.

"Soon, John Constantine," she said into the night, "you'll be mine."

Constantine, four stories above her, paused. He was breathing deeply, trying to keep his body still as he listened closely to his surroundings. There was no doubt he had heard something foreign, something wicked, but, now, all he could hear was his wife's panting and labored breath.

"John," she said her voice slightly whiny. She was underneath him, naked, desperately trying not to move her hips to draw him deeper into her body. "What's wrong?" Constantine shook himself out of his reverie.

"Nothing," he groaned, pushing himself deeper into Mary, causing her to moan loudly. He grabbed her legs, wrapping them around his waist as he pounded relentlessly into her. He knew he would find his release soon, but he was determined to help Mary find hers first.

It wasn't long at all before he felt her first spasm and heard her cry of relief. Encouraged, Constantine pushed harder, pinning Mary to the mattress until he, too, let out a shuddering groan as he lost himself. He had scarcely finished when he heard something strange, a laugh. A soft, seductive ha ha ha that lingered in the air. He froze, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He pushed himself off the bed abruptly, craning his head as he tried to hear whatever, or whoever, that was again.

Constantine was too concentrated that he didn't feel the bed shift as Mary sat close to him, her naked skin pressed against his. "John?" she asked cautiously. "What's going on?"

He shook his head, looking at her. "Sorry," he said honestly. "I thought I heard something." Mary smiled and leaned against him, her breasts pressing against his bicep.

"Oh," she said sounding relieved. "I thought I scared you off or something." Constantine grinned.

"No," he said, "you couldn't even scare me off if you tried." He kissed her deeply. "It's late," he said after he had pulled away. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. "Let's go to sleep." They spooned together in the bed, Mary's back to Constantine's chest, and, long after Mary had fallen asleep, her soft breathing filling the room, he lay awake, holding her close, and wondering what it was he had heard.

Outside, she smirked. Soon, she reminded herself as she stalked off into the night, soon.