Part V: You'd Be Surprised

Angela sat mutely at her desk shuffling papers. Marsden had insisted, that, although she appeared to be fine, she take a desk job for a couple of weeks—presumably he was worried that her sister's death would distract her with deadly consequences. Angela had rolled her eyes at this insistence, but agreed to do some paper-pushing for awhile, if only to shut him up. Judy Barnes, the secretary dropped by her desk, "There's someone here to see you, Angie."

Angela looked up, "Oh? Umm, who is it?"

Judy giggled—slightly unbecoming for a woman in her mid-thirties, Angela decided—and replied, "A man. He says his name is Constantine."

Angela smiled, "Oh, well, send him over, then…I need to finish organizing some case files, but I'm almost done."

Judy grinned conspiratorially at Angela, who smiled weakly back, and rushed away. A few seconds later, John's presence was marked by the swish of a coat and a looming presence blocking her light. Angela didn't look up, "I'm almost done, give me about five minutes."

"Dinner." John asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question to Angela. She glanced up and smiled.

"Are you asking or telling me?"

"…Dinner?" He amended, giving her a small smile of his own.

Angela nodded, "Sure, do I need to change?"

John shook his head, "No, it has to be quick, anyway. I have some…business to deal with." The end of his sentence took a bitter twist and Angela cocked her head curiously.

"Business? That sounds ominous."

John gave her a sardonic smile, "Picked up my sister today. Some…stuff going on. Need to talk to Midnite, the usual."

Angela raised one eyebrow, "Sister? I didn't know you had a sister."

"Neither did I." John paused, "Well, I did. But yeah…complications." He didn't appear to want to discuss the topic much further, so Angela didn't press. Filing the last of the cases into her cabinet, she snapped her laptop shut and slid it into her brief case, "Well, Mr. Constantine, I'm ready if you are." He gave her an amused look, and held his arm out mockingly. She grinned at him, and took it.

Jade pulled on a black racer-back tank top and a pair of faded jeans before walking out of the bathroom. Her long brown hair was pulled into a high messy bun, and her face was devoid of any make up. She stepped over to where Chas sat, reading some book, at the kitchen table, "Where's John?"

Chas glanced up, "With…his girlfriend. Detective Angela Dodson."

Jade nodded, "When will he be back?"

"He wants to stop by Midnite's tonight, so probably twelve or one."

"Midnite's?"

"It's a bar," Chas said smugly, "A legendary bar."

Jade looked disappointingly unimpressed at this declaration, "Huh. Food, is there food?" She moved to the refrigerator.

"I doubt it. God knows what John keeps in there, but there's money for pizza."

Jade nodded again, and turned, disappearing back into the adjacent room. When she walked back out, she was zipping up a black cotton sweater. She strode toward the Chas, grabbing the twenty from where it was lying, weighted down with a book, and disappeared out the door. Chas cocked his head, as he watched the door where she had left curiously. Isis meowed.

"Jade? Jade! You can't just leave! What am I going to tell John!" There was no answer. Chas swore under his breath, glared at the cat, grabbed his hat, and rushed after her, slamming the door behind him.

Jade pulled her black sweater tight around her as a gust of uncommonly cold wind whipped past her. She tucked the twenty dollars into the back pocket of her jeans and stopped for the light, closing her eyes and listening to Chas stumble after her. He appeared a couple of seconds later, his breathing a little heavier. Jade regarded him coolly from under dark lashes, "You decided to come."

Chas blinked at her, "You can't just leave…what was I going to tell John!"

Jade shrugged, "Who cares."

"Who cares?" Chas followed her as she crossed the street, "Who cares?"

"Yeah. Who. Cares."

Chas thought for a second, who did care? He was silent.

Jade gave a bitter laugh, "Exactly." She turned, and Chas followed her into a café. The hostess greeted them and asked how many were in their party. Chas held up two fingers and glanced at Jade, "Non-smoking." Jade rolled her eyes, but followed as the hostess led them to a table. Chas pulled out the chair for her and she gave him a blank look before sitting in it, still slightly disoriented as he moved around the table to sit in his seat. The waitress handed them each a menu and assured them she would be back in just a couple of minutes. Chas stared at his menu, hard, trying to think of something to say. Jade held hers in front of her face and observed the café she'd chosen—it was quaint, with a patio and candles, and a lot of couples.

The two teenagers sat in silence until the waitress came back, took their orders and menus, and they no longer had anything to hide behind, "John cares, you know."

Jade's gaze flickered up to his, her brown eyes as surprised as he'd ever seen them—which, granted, hadn't been ever, as he'd only met the girl a couple of hours ago—and she took a sip of her water (obviously, she wasn't that surprised, anyhow) "Excuse me?"

"I said," Chas continued, "John cares. It doesn't seem like it, but he does. I mean, I didn't even realize it until after I died."

"…What?" Jade's voice rose in pitch this time, and something dark glimmered in her eyes—something that looked a lot like fear, Chas noted.

"I mean," Chas lifted his water glass to his lips and thought quickly, "I practically died. And I didn't realize John cared, at all, until then."

"Oh," Jade visibly relaxed.

"Haha, sorry about that, Freudian slip…" the two of them shared a tentative laugh, as the waitress set a sandwich in front of Jade and a hamburger in front of Chas, "Anyway, I just…wanted you to know. That people do care, John does. He took you home, after all."

Jade bit into her sandwich and regarded him guardedly, "No, he doesn't care any more than I do. He just met me, a sister he barely knew he had, he doesn't care about my existence any more than I care about his. I need a place to stay, for about a month. Until I can get a job, get some money, take care of myself. I was on my way to moving out, anyway, before my parents died…it wasn't like they wanted me there, after all…" Jade narrowed her eyes at Chas, who was looking at her with a sincere expression, his hazel eyes wide with concern. She hadn't meant to tell him that much…there was just something very open about this kid. She coughed to cover her momentary lapse of wits, and muttered, "I won't stay any longer than necessary. Then I'll be gone and you and John will have your lives," Chas snorted at this, "back." Jade continued to eat her sandwich.

Chas was still staring at her with a genuine expression, and suddenly filled with curiosity as to why her parents didn't want her around. He mused to himself, John left because his parents thought he was crazy. Could Jade be 'crazy' as well? If that's the case, getting her into Midnite's won't be as hard as we thought. Chas leaned back in his chair and nonchalantly stretched his steel-grey wings as wide as he could in the confines of the café. Jade continued to eat her sandwich.

"Jade?" Chas asked, wondering if it could perhaps be because she wasn't looking at him.

"Yeah?" Jade looked up, nonplussed. He flexed his wings a couple of times for good measure, but her eyes stayed flat—if she saw anything, she was certainly good at not showing it, "Um…can you pass the ketchup?"

Jade handed him the bottle sitting next to her…across the two-foot in diameter café table, "…Sure."

"Won't you come in?" Angela smiled coyly at John under long lashes.

He gave her a lazy grin, as he toyed with the back of her blouse, "I…can't. I have to see Midnite, and then go back to check on Jade and Chas," he sighed.

Angela nodded, understanding, "Alright," she whispered, leaning up and wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him down until her lips were touching his, "I'll be alright in my cold, lonely apartment…"

John groaned, "Angela…you're not making this any easier," he whispered, pressing soft kisses against her neck, "You're really, really not."

She smiled, "I know…I suppose I'm not. But you should get going," Angela pulled away, serious, "And I do want to know what was going on in my bedroom last night."

John grew serious, as well, "Just the regular, Angie, demons. Creatures from the underworld," he said it with a flippant air, but she could tell he was trying not to worry her.

"But…John, they can't cross into our plane…?" She wasn't fooled by his casual manner for an instant.

He paused, "That's a slight fact we shouldn't be overlooking, yeah. Here," John handed her a couple of things—a small matchbox, and an ancient-looking gold contraption—"Take these, if anything happens tonight, these will hold them off until I can come."

Angela turned the contraption over in her hand—dragon's breath—she realized, and glanced up at him, "But what if I can't make it to the phone?"

John sighed and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "If you're in any danger, I'll know," he assured her, "I'll know."

He sounded confident in this, so she didn't question him. Instead, she carefully placed the matchbox and dragon's breath into her bag, and looked up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, "I guess you'd better get going, then."

"I guess," John looked far from ready to move from his current position.

Angela gave him a lazy smile and unlocked her door. She pushed it slightly ajar, and turned back to him, unbuttoning her blouse, "I'll see you tomorrow, John." Her fingers snagged as her bra caught on one of the buttons. She glanced down.

John watched her, silently, until she glanced down and he caught a glimpse of her lacy black bra, "Angela…what are you doing?" His voice was husky.

She looked up at him, innocently, "Undressing." She paused, "For bed. Aren't you leaving?"

John watched as she finished unbuttoning her blouse and shrugged it off, exposing the soft curves of her body. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, quickly—or would have, but he only made it to three. Angela suddenly found herself being swept up in his arms and carried across the threshold of her door, "Romantic, John, I never would have thought you the type," she giggled softly.

John kicked the door shut and set her gently down, dragging her against him as soon as her feet hit the floor, shrugging as he kissed her, hard, "There are laws against public indecency, and I was just ensuring your protection."

Angela smiled against his lips, "Right. Are you going, then?"

John let out a frustrated growl, "Eleven. I have to leave for Midnite's at eleven."

Angela glanced at the clock—nine twenty-three—and placed her bag on the shelf next to the drawer, "Alright, Mr. Constantine, I certainly hope you don't have anything against 'indecency', as you call it," She began divesting herself of the rest of her clothing, and John ran his large hands over her body.

"Certainly not, Detective."