Author's Note: So guys. 18 reviews till 200. Think you can do it this chapter? I'll write you some smut if you do. Oh, and I'll also love you forever.

10 reviews, next Saturday, less than 10, a week from next Saturday.

I posted a oneshot called Serenity (no, I wasn't attempting to rip off the movie) around the beginning of last week. Check it out if you haven't. There's also a link to the new cover for this fic in my profile. I'm not sure how long that'll take to update, so if you're looking now and can't find it, you might want to try back a little later.

Finally, there's an XFiles bit in this chapter. Not exact lines, but...well, I want to see if anyone (other than Zelda) can find it and tell me what episode it's from.

Enjoy the fluff.

Chapter 20

Holiday Inn Express

Eugene, OR

4:25 P.M.

October 20, 2005

Constantine woke to the sound of the hotel room door closing. It was unbearably cold in the room, and he felt as if some particularly unsavory creature had settled itself in his chest and was stealing his breath. The sensation sent instinctive cold fingers of panic through him, though the rational part of his mind insisted that his imagination was playing tricks. He was past all that now. A light came on beside the bed and he flinched, barely recognizing Angela among the gold spots that were dancing in front of his eyes.

"Sorry," she muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing her hand to his forehead. Constantine pushed her away, little prickles tingling their way through his body from that point as though she'd sent a current of electricity through him. He couldn't be certain it was because of his fever.

Rearranging the pillows so that he could sit up easily, Angela slipped off her shoes and placed the takeout coffee cup she'd been carrying on the bedside table, then curled up beside him on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with her shoulder not quite touching his. Opening the khaki shoulder bag she'd carried since he'd met her, Angela pulled out two white paper bags and handed one to him.

"Presents," she said glibly. "This one first."

It was from a local pharmacy, and a bottle of antibiotics tumbled out into Constantine's palm. He squinted at the label for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at Angela.

"You've been snooping."

She reached into her bag again and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that Constantine recognized as the prescription Archer had given him back at Ravenscar. He smirked at Angela, glad to know she wasn't above his own tactics when the situation called for it.

"I know how to borrow things too," she muttered, pulling a water bottle out of the other bag and handing it to him. "Take your medicine."

He broke the seal on the bottle clumsily, hating himself for his weakness. The pills were large, and the act of swallowing nearly brought on another fit of coughing. He couldn't seem to stop shivering.

"Shit," he muttered, swiping a hand across his eyes for the tears of irritation that insisted on escaping. He told himself they were simply part of his illness, that they were in no way connected to any emotions. Constantine had built his life around a penchant for facing things most grown men shrunk in fear of, but he'd never been able to deal well with physical pain.

Angela took the pill bottle back from him and set it on the nightstand, then handed him the other bag. This one was warm, and he had the sudden ridiculous desire to curl up with it instead of opening it. Inside was a take-out order—burger and fries—from one of the local diners.

"You're an angel," muttered Constantine, not entirely sure whether he'd intended the sarcasm.

"You're delirious," countered Angela dryly.

"Did you have the fortune of meeting up with our friend Morton?" he asked, suddenly feeling the need for a topic of conversation. Angela narrowed her eyes at him, and he thrust all concentration into unwrapping the burger, all too aware of her gaze burning into him.

"He was all too glad to see me," she muttered, sipping from her coffee cup. She looked drained suddenly, and he was reminded of the fact that she'd been up nearly all night.

"What time is it?"

"Almost five. Weiss is over at the Precinct, working with Morton's crew. Not that it matters." She paused, looked at him, then down into her coffee cup. "You've been out cold. Slept like the dead. Scared me."

"The crime scene—the usual?" Constantine couldn't seem to get full sentences to form in his head, and the food seemed to be turning to rubber in his mouth. Angela looked blank for a moment, then regained her composure.

"Oh—yeah. But um…listen." She took another sip of coffee, set the cup down and began playing with her fingernails, picking imaginary pieces of dirt out from under them.

"What?"

"We've got a more serious problem than we thought. Morton's after Malone. And I think he's closing in. There's an eye witness report from one of the employees at that McDonald's—Malone came barging in a couple of nights ago looking for someone. That someone just happened to be Olivia Marquez, our most recent victim. She wasn't there when he attempted to contact her, and was forced to leave after becoming rowdy when another employee threatened to call the police."

"So?" Constantine had heard the same report himself, but had made very little of it besides the fact that Olivia Marquez was the next victim, a fact he'd already gleaned from Skinner's list.

"There's more. This morning Malone got on a flight to Salem. Morton's already passed along the description to the Salem P.D. They've got a crew waiting for Malone at the airport." She paused again, looked at Constantine to see if he was following. He was having a hard time concentrating on her voice through the pounding in his head. "The minute they arrest him, our trail is gone."

"Shit," muttered Constantine, suddenly catching on.

"Exactly."

"We've gotta get on a plane." Constantine sat up further, swung his legs over the side of the bed, but too quickly. Another fit of coughing brought his hands to his knees, and for a moment he thought he tasted blood. Pain lanced through his chest, and when at last his breath came back he was struck by the sensation of tears in his eyes and Angela's arm around his shoulders.

"We're not going anywhere," she said firmly, taking him by the arms and pushing him back against the bed.

"'Got to," gasped Constantine, still trying to get his breath back.

"Listen to me, John. Malone got on that plane this morning. There is no way we are going to be able to catch up with him. We'll be even more useless if we're too sick to function. Now get some sleep."

She was right and he knew it, but he hated to admit it. He hated being confined to bed, wanted to get back on the road more than anything else. More than anything else, he hated the thought of spending more time alone in the cold room. But at the moment he didn't appear to have a choice.

"So…do I at least get a good night kiss?" He wasn't sure where the words had come from, was sure they must be fever induced, but somehow they slipped out before he managed to stop them. Angela narrowed her eyes at him, as if trying to decide whether he was serious.

"You're sick," she said quickly, then seemed to reconsider. "But I'll take my chances." Angela leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then got up and went out of the room without looking back.

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