Author's Note: So I have to say I was disappointed last week. It kinda hurts going from 24 reviews in 48 hours to barely ten. (The last two were from people I harassed for them.) I dunno, maybe you're all as busy as I am, but it's really depressing to think I lose as much sleep as I do over this fic for a very small audience. There's not all that much left of this fic, and I'm debating whether or not I should write the sequel I have planned. I want to complete this series, but not if nobody's going to read.

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

The smut fic is up, if you haven't seen. It's called Clichés.

(Hey, check it out…the date of this chapter is today!)

Chapter 22

Precint 33

Eugene, OR

10:26 A.M.

October 22, 2005

"We have Malone in custody," said Captain Morton, throwing down the phone victoriously. The receiver bounced a few inches and came to a clunking rest, knocking over the pencil mug. The contents skittered across the desk like so many loose rats, but Morton didn't seem to notice. "In custody!" he repeated, shaking a meaty paw in Angela's face. She recoiled, feeling more than a bit nauseous. Her heart was thundering in her ears, and she was vaguely aware of Constantine's hand brushing the small of her back. He and Weiss stood behind her, like body guards witnessing a meeting between two military commanders.

"That's um…that's good to hear," said Angela, wishing she sounded more convincing. Wishing she could turn around and ask Constantine for advice before making the next decision.

The calls from the precinct had awakened all three of them, and Angela was still angry that Morton had found it necessary to telephone each separate room. She told herself it would have been better if she'd left Constantine in his forced convalescence, but he'd insisted on coming and she hadn't had the heart to blackmail him again. There was something comforting in his presence, contrary to every rational cell of her brain.

"Since the murderer has been caught," said Morton officiously, "this case is closed. Your services here will no longer be required. Thank you for your time." He nearly spat in her face on "thank you" and Angela felt and overwhelming impulse to wipe her cheek.

"I uh…" Again she wanted to turn around, but knew this wasn't a time she could simply pause for a powwow. "Thank you for all your help on this case. We're…we're greatly indebted to you." She could practically hear Constantine snort behind her, hoped she was imagining it. But the words did their job. The lines of suspicion around Morton's eyes softened just a little, and he picked up the receiver and pencil jar, suddenly seeming to notice the mess he'd made.

"Only doing my job," said Morton, straightening his tie. The look in his eyes suddenly reminded Angela of the field officers of the previous day, and her stomach churned dangerously.

"Well," she said abruptly, at last allowing herself to take a step back. "We'll be getting on the first plane back to L.A."

"Would you like one of my people to arrange tickets for you?" asked Morton, suddenly the picture of courtesy. Angela nearly smiled. It was amazing how little flattery made the falsifications go down.

"No, thank you. If you'll excuse us, we have packing to do." Angela had to force herself not to run from the building. Outside it was cold and clammy, and she cringed at the sound of Constantine coughing again.

"I'll deck him if he so much as looks at my girl again," he muttered in her ear. Classic Constantine deadpan. And you never could tell whether that secret ingredient was a trace of sarcasm or a pinch of truth stirred into the mix. For a moment, Angela seriously contemplated slapping him again, just for being so damn confusing. Instead she settled for simply pretending she hadn't heard.

"So that's it then?" asked Weiss, looking thoroughly skeptical.

"Aren't you happy?" countered Constantine. "Thought you were going home anyway. Now at least you get to add one to your resume."

"And you're perfectly happy with all of this? What about your theory?"

Angela forced herself to shrug, silently praying that Constantine had caught on enough to go along with it.

"I was wrong." As she turned to hail a cab, Weiss stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"I know you, Angie. You don't give up this easily."

Angela frowned, climbed into the cab, and slammed the door in his face. It wasn't until he'd climbed into the front seat that she spoke again.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

Holiday Inn Express

Eugene, OR

12:31 P.M.

October 22, 2005

"You know, 'Morton' is just one letter away from 'moron'," said Constantine, coming into Angela's room and sitting on the bed without asking. Several of the shirts she'd folded to pack fell off, and she found herself resisting the urge to hit him for what seemed like the tenth time already that morning.

"Yes, and 'John' is a slang term for 'toilet'," she said coldly, kneeling at his feet to collect her displaced laundry.

"Ouch." Constantine gave her his best hurt look. Angela snorted and threw a shirt at his head, thinking despite herself that they were acting very much like a bickering married couple. Frightening thought indeed. "I do something to piss you off? More than usual?"

"You should be in bed," insisted Angela, though she didn't really want him to go. "But since you're here, you can help me. Fold that." He was staring at the shirt as if it might bite him.

"I am in bed. Or on a bed. Want to join me?"

"John…I think we've had enough of that, don't you?" Impatiently she snatched the shirt from him and wadded it into a corner of the suitcase, not bothering to fold it. The neat-freak in her only went so far, and now was not a time to be a stickler. "You played along with me earlier," she said at last. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well, Weiss was right. For once. You don't give up this easily. I figured you'd either lost your mind or had some kind of plan I don't know about. So what's it gonna be?"

"I think I'll plead insanity." Angela sighed and sat down beside him, abandoning the packing for a moment. "Feeling better?"

"Does it matter?" he asked roughly. His eyes told her he wasn't used to being asked, and wasn't sure he liked it. Angela smiled a little to herself.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Because we're going to Salem in search of some witchcraft."

Constantine looked at her sharply, suddenly turning serious again.

"Tell me you're not thinking about doing what I think you're thinking about doing."

"We've got to break Malone out. You know it as well as I do. That paper's not specific enough for us to find them all without another lead."

"You know we'll be breaking the law if we do that. You'll lose your job."

Angela sighed again, more heavily this time, and nodded. She knew Morton would be more than happy to send in that damning little report of his, and misspelling or no it would get to the right place eventually.

"I know. But this is bigger than my job. You know it is. And I…" She paused again, bit her thumbnail. She was almost certain she wouldn't have lasted long on the force now anyway, but that was the last thing he needed to know at the moment.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. You with me on this?" She stood up and went over to the other side of the bed, using her suitcase like a shield.

Constantine nodded silently, and Angela slammed the lid shut. In her mind, she heard the doors of a prison cell sliding home.

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