Evelyn Valerious – I'm really glad this story is suspenseful, that's what I'm aiming for! Unfortunately, you won't find out everything that's going on for a while yet…okay, I shouldn't have said that, because now you want to hurt me, right:) Thanks for reviewing!

Angelfirenze – Sorry, no, but Gabriel will be coming into it later. And yes, there is JohnAngela, but not the kind you might expect…I'm sorry you're feeling ill. I was ill every single day of my half-term holiday, which really sucked. And I still had to do homework! Thanks for reviewing!

SleepDeprived07 – I have this weird thing about my neck too. I have this big dark scar there, but I don't know where it came from. Freaky, huh? I only know that if anyone touches it, I scream. I wrote it because I figured if it made me squeamish, it would probably make other people squeamish too. I'm sorry! Yep, you're right, the killer does have an intrinsic connection to Angela. And Ellie's definitely got it in for Constantine, so she isn't going anywhere. It's so much fun writing villains…Thanks for reviewing!

Silverbloodrain – No! Save me from the fluffy fuzzy bunnies! Always blame the sugar, I say. It's responsible for all the evil today…ergo, sugar is the antichrist! Sorry, I think I've had too much sugar ;) Thanks for putting this story on your alert list, and thanks for reviewing!

scarstar – Aw, thank you! It's weird looking back, even four months or so ago to the beginning of this fic and seeing how much my writing's changed since then. It's even weirder looking at Awakening, which I started the idea for when I was thirteen. Ah well. Memories. I'm glad I'm getting Angela down well, and thanks for reviewing!

Quicksilvermad – Thanks for reviewing! I'm sorry I've made you wait so long for an update!

Lady Hawke – I'm glad I got the victim's POV down well, that was the hardest bit of the chapter in my opinion. I'm glad you're on the edge of your seat; if all goes as planned, you won't be off there for a while yet! Does that make sense? I'm pretty sure I gave up making sense quite a long time ago :) Thanks for reviewing!

Hey all. So, I achieved my goal for today. Three updates for three fics. I must say, I'm feeling pretty accomplished.

Thank you all for your amazing reviews. I forgot to say this last chapter, but thank you for helping me break 50 reviews. My New Year's Resolution for 2006 was to break 100 reviews, and I'd love it if I could break 100 by like Chapter 14. So if there are any silent readers out there, please step up and review! I promise I don't bite…but I do ramble. And obsess. But that's another story…

I posted a new My Own Private Idaho fanfic recently, and if anyone's a fan, I'd love to hear from you! It's all Mike/Scott, of course, and if anyone reviews, I promise them lots of e-chocolate and Constantine posters!

Oh, a warning about the pointless use of language in this chapter. Okay, not pointless. But certainly strong language. If that's going to offend…you really shouldn't have watched the movie, it's no worse than anything in that.

Chapter X: Trust

John drained the shot glass, but paused before refilling it. Should he have another? He'd fought demons drunker after all – in fact, it was an ideal state of mind to be dealing with otherworldly beings from Hell. But they'd only been half-breeds and the occasional possessed innocent. Never a full-fledged demon that he should have been able to stop before it killed someone…

Considering the fact he'd only really come back to his apartment to pick up the Holy Shotgun relic, getting pissed seemed a little counter-productive. However, his head was killing him, and the first few edges of guilt were gnawing away at his mind. He should have been able to stop the demon. He should have been able to deport it back to Hell. That woman shouldn't have had to die…

As these thoughts flashed through his mind, he grabbed the bottle and prepared to pour himself another shot of Jack Daniels. He didn't need to be feeling guilt. Guilt was a luxury he didn't have time for.

He groaned, an almost inaudible sound, and drank deeply from the bottle, not even bothering to pour it into a glass first. Guilt was not something he enjoyed feeling, and the self-pitying stage that followed always required a four drink minimum. He usually refused to get pulled into that cycle, and walked away. But right now, getting pissed seemed like a better idea.

There was a knock on the door, which John ignored. Whoever it was, he didn't feel up to talking and pretending to care about what they had to say. He just took another sip from the glass and wished he had a cigarette to go with it. But he'd thrown all of them out after the Devil had removed the cancer from his lungs, and to go out would take time that he could use for wallowing in self-pity.

The person didn't go away though. Reluctantly, John threw out his psychic net, his astral light. Whoever was on the other side of the wall was definitely human, not a half-breed, he could sense that. But who it was…he didn't know, but he had a pretty good idea. And he didn't want to see that person either, so he didn't move and waited for them to get the hint.

Angela checked her watch. It was after six, so she would have expected him to be here. Of course, exorcists didn't really keep predictable hours, and, she thought with a touch of humour, even if they did, she couldn't really picture John doing anything predictable. Everything he did seemed to be a surprise, and she'd given up trying to rationalise it. This whole world, the world of Heaven and Hell behind every door couldn't be rationalised.

She saw that the door was ajar, ever so slightly. It didn't look like it ever closed properly, let alone locked, but there was a serious supernatural alarm system on it, designed to keep demons and half-breeds out. However, Angela was neither, and so, when she pushed the door wide enough for her to enter, nothing happened. Except an assault on her psychic wavelength. It took her a second to deal with it, but she realised that she was picking up emotion; regret and frustration, but mainly guilt. A lot of guilt. The sort of guilt that acts like a black hole, sucking in all it touches and leaving only remorse and desperation behind. It was so deep and so strong that she almost backed out. But her natural stubbornness and curiosity persisted, and she forced herself to walk through the door.

Looking around, she could see Constantine sitting in the window, staring out towards the city. In the flickered light coming in through the shutters, she could see his face. It was set, and hard, as though it was carved out of marble.

"What's wrong?" she asked Constantine as soon as she saw him, before anything else. She asked before she saw the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, which only confirmed her suspicions.

"You know, when someone doesn't answer the door, it means that they don't want to speak to anyone"

Angela was momentarily taken aback by this reply. "And when someone bursts in it means that they need to talk to the person inside" she said caustically, her natural stubbornness and sharpness making her reply so indignantly. "This is important, I need your help"

"Sure" he said, inflicting even more sarcasm on that one syllable. "Okay. Do you need someone to get killed? Because right now I'm doing a two for one deal on that" He hadn't meant to be so cynical, but it had come out without him thinking about it. Right now he was feeling sharp and defensive and destructive, and he needed to take it out on someone else so that he could lessen his own guilt.

"John, what's up with you?" Angela asked, impatience making her blunter than she would normally be.

"Nothing" he replied brusquely, swinging his legs around from the window sill so that he was facing into the room, towards her. In fact, everything felt wrong, but he didn't want to think about that, and the leftover bitterness was clawing at his soul, twisting his words into something cynical and embittered. "So, what's the problem, Officer?"

Something in his voice, and the use of her rank, made Angela distinctly uncomfortable. She could sense his self-destructive mood, and she knew that her being here was only going to get her dragged down.

"A teenage girl was killed in a parking lot by something supernatural" she began to explain, slowly. "She had her throat slit. And there were spiritual wounds – things only I could see. Like stigmata" She deliberately neglected to mention the necklace. "And then there was a woman, who looked like her organs had been ripped out of her stomach, or someone had put immense pressure on them from the inside of her body" Constantine stiffened just slightly, but she barely noticed, the movement was so small. "She had the stigmata things too"

"Was that woman killed on the east side of the city?" he asked, and Angela could hear the mingled curiosity and regret in his voice, as though he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Yeah, in her apartment. It was around eleven in the morning–"

"Yeah, I know. I was there"

"You were there?" Angela asked, nonplussed. "Why – did you see anything?"

"What, other than the demon that broke out of her body?" His words came out sounding hollow and jaded.

"A demon?" Angela repeated incredulously. "At that woman's apartment? Where she–"

John nodded, stopping her before she finished her sentence. Hearing it coming out of her mouth, in her clear, almost innocent-sounding voice would have made him feel even guiltier. He was at the breaking point of this guilt and regret, the point where he would either turn around and try to atone for what had happened, or where he would plunge into a pit of self-destruction and bitterness.

"John…if you don't get out soon they'll find you" Angela said as calmly as possible, though her pulse was thudding heavily in her neck and the words seemed to be sticking inside.

The threat of them, of authority, hung in the air between them.

Constantine didn't turn around, but he didn't move. He knew exactly what she was talking about. Them. Police. For as long as he'd had his gift, for as long as he'd been able to See the other Them, he'd been at odds with the police. He considered himself to have got off lightly, really. A few arrests, speeding tickets and the revocation of his driving license wasn't much for everything he did. If only the police knew about all the relics, some collected without the prior owner's consent, and all the other things hidden back here, behind a bowling alley of all places, then he knew he'd have a lot to answer for.

A sudden thought entered his head; it wasn't a particularly pleasant thought, but now that it had spoken, it couldn't be silenced. Did Angela–?

It wasn't a good thought, but it was a good question. Did Angela tell anyone about him?

"No"

Her voice came out of the silence of his own thoughts like a thunderbolt. He looked up at her, surprised.

"No" Angela repeated. "I haven't told anyone at the station about you. Or anything here. I know that this is something they could…interfere with. But no-one's blind either, John. The victim's husband himself identified you as turning up. He doesn't remember a lot, but he identified you. Weiss is going nuts, he thinks he's finally got you"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, John smirked bitterly. After the incident at Ravenscar, where Angela and John had walked out of the building utterly unscathed and refusing to give a description of what had transpired in there, Weiss had harboured something of a vendetta against John. He was practically convinced that Constantine was the antichrist himself. Ironic that.

Angela continued. "It's just a matter of time. Someone will get wind of this sooner or later. If you can lie low–" She broke off there, and he could see a liquid quality in her eyes. Was she crying? He suddenly felt like a jerk for dragging her into all of this. But she came to me, a voice in his head said reasonably. Still, he couldn't bear to look at her. She was an innocent, and now she was tainted with the same curse as him. He should have refused, when she asked him to help her See. But now there was no going back now.

"Please" she said softly, meeting his eyes, and he could properly see the crystal tears forming. Still, she met his gaze directly "Trust me"

I can't trust anyone.

He didn't say this, but he knew as soon as he thought it that Angela had picked it up from the psychic wavelength around them. She turned her face away suddenly as if she'd been metaphorically slapped, and then, with effort, turned it back to look at him. Her eyes, usually flickering between hazel and green, were a steely grey that was soft enough to betray how wounded she was. How much he'd hurt her. And he hadn't even had to say anything. That was how poisonous, how dangerous he was. A damned one man plague.

Without meeting her gaze, he turned around, picking up the Holy Shotgun from its position on the antique wooden table, and left the apartment swiftly, without looking back. The only indication of his feelings was the slam of the door, causing the bottles of holy water lining the windows to shake violently. One fell, crashing to the ground and spilling its precious contents all over the uneven wooden floor, tainting them. Good. He was fucking tired of suddenly being a saint, when in reality he was a sinner and would always be a sinner. He couldn't fucking help anyone.

Back in the apartment, Angela stood still, even though the no-longer holy water lapped at the toes of her black pumps. Her whole body was perfectly still, rigid even, but her heart was racing inside her body. She felt like she'd tried reaching her hand out, and ended up getting it caught in a mousetrap. In some ways, she wished that she had seen this side of him first. But that morning, she had seen the softer side, the side that couldn't keep up the cynicism and hardness that his waking self wore. And maybe she was crazy to expect that that side of him would still be visible now. But she had wanted it badly. She wanted his help. She wanted his friendship. And she wanted to feel like there was one person in the world who she could rely on.

Still standing, she clenched her hands into fists silently, just to get rid of the tension in them, and let out a long slow sigh, expelling all the air from her lungs. Once she felt as though she had herself under control, she used her hand to wipe away the tears that had spilt down her cheeks.

I'm really sorry! But I have to break them up so I can get them back together (even though they aren't really a couple yet…). Don't worry, I will sort everything out…if you all give me plenty of reviews (hint hint! My subtly amazes me…). This is my deal; more reviews equal more fluff. Sound fair? And if it doesn't…you'll still get your fluff :)

And with that offer in mind, please review!