Disclaimer: I don't own Constantine, and there is no way I'm selling my soul for it. But feel free to sell your soul and then give me Constantine.

And now for something…well, it is Constantine's world. Makes perfect sense to me.

Chapter 2

Besides Half-Breeds, John Constantine believed in Murphy and his ability to fuck everything up on a near constant basis, and his engagement afforded no reprieve from Murphy's wrath. Things got completely fucked up. Not because he and Angela were engaged, but because every half breed of both realms knew it…and so did Papa Midnight. How he found out so quickly was anyone's guess, but when they returned to his apartment after dinner they found a small package inscribed with Aramaic symbols and some of Papa's charms.

"Why am I scared every time he gives me something?" John said, opening the door and stepping over the package, reaching back to give Angels a hand over. "Don't look down at it when you walk over it."

She returned a quizzical look, but did as he said and kept her eyes on his as she stepped over. "What is it?"

"I really don't want to know," he said, grabbing a bottle of scotch and two glasses. Angela folded her arms.

"Enjoy that while you can."

He grinned. "First smoking, now drinking?"

"I somehow doubt that Satan is going to give you a new liver," she shot at him. "And I'd like to grow old with you, not get widowed."

"You're the cop," he said, opening the freezer and pulling out some ice.

She pulled off her coat and sat down. "Maybe I won't be."

"Exorcists don't get paid much," he noted, dropping the ice in the drinks before sitting down beside her.

"So?"

"So bye bye SUV. That thing drinks more than I do," he said with a smirk quickly hidden behind his glass. She scrunched her nose a little at him before picking up the other drink. Generally she hated scotch, but the bottle was from Papa Midnight's bar. It was better than the real thing and had thrice the kick.

"So what is in the package?"

He shrugged. "I don't have a clue."

"Then open it."

He looked at his watch, then shook his head. "Not yet."

She huffed and went over to the door, grabbed the package, and set it before him. He stared up at her.

"You should be feeling a small itch on your right ankle in a few seconds," he said, standing and walking over to one of his cabinets. When he turned around Angela had already taken her shoe off.

"Booby-trap?

"Something like that," John said, and wet a handkerchief with holy water. He pressed it against Angela's ankle, then tied it on. "Come on, we need to get over to your place."

"Why? I didn't curse this place, did I?"

"You broke my bathtub," he said, pulling her to her feet. She wanted to ask what his bathtub had anything to do with whatever was happening to her, but knowing John he wasn't going to tell her till they got to her apartment.

It took half an hour to get to her apartment through all the traffic, which was unusually heavy for this time of night. John kept glancing over at her, and she kept shooting questioning glances back at him.

"Am I supposed to turn purple or blow up or something?" she finally asked as they neared her apartment.

"Nothing that nice," he said, parking on the curb. "They won't ticket you."

"Wanna bet?" she asked as they got out. She managed three steps before her leg started to go numb. "John…"

She almost cried out when he picked her up in his arms and carried her inside. The other people in the hallway gave them odd looks, except for an old lady who just smiled at them…she likely would have grinned happily at a car wreck.

Just as they got to her apartment, he felt his ankle start to itch. That shouldn't have happened. It wasn't like poison ivy. This was something that affected the soul…but their souls were linked. He had helped her See, and that left a link between them, between their souls. But it shouldn't have caused something like this to happen.

"So, do I need to be naked this time?" Angela asked as they got into the apartment and went to her bathroom.

"It's affecting me too," he said, the itching spreading.

"So we'll both going to be naked in my tub?"

"I don't know. It'll require total submersion, and since we're linked…" he set her on the edge of the tub and started the water. He pulled out a vial of salt, once blessed salt water from the Red Sea. He poured it in and sloshed it around some, hoping it would be enough for them both.

"So we have to be in at the same time, submerged…John, this tub isn't that big."

"Lucky for us you're slender and I'm starved," he said, pulling his coat and shirt off. Angela was already removing her shirt when she gasped and grasped her legs.

"Don't stop," he said, pulling off his pants. She undid hers and he helped yank them off. The tub was almost filled now, and she rolled in, her skin stinging.

"It hurts…" she said as he got in as well. They would barely fit.

"Deep breath!" he said, and put as much of himself under as he could. She did the same, trying not to gasp as her entire body seemed to sting. She held onto him tightly as the pain grew worse, for she could feel his pain and he could feel hers. Their mental shields completely failed, and their minds touched as closely as they could, mingling to almost become one.

Then they were completely covered, the tub overflowing. The stinging was replaced with comforting warmth mingling with the urgent need to take a breath. They broke the surface at the same moment, shaking the water from their eyes before staring at each other, feeling the connection they had, more powerful than it had ever been.

"You know," he said, feeling relief and amusement, "I should have said yes that first time."

"Yes to what?" she asked, sensing some mischief.

"I should have had you take your cloths off," he smirked. She rolled her eyes before grabbing his head by the ears and pulling his lips to hers. She wasn't in the mood for talking or for jokes. She had John Constantine engaged to her, naked in her bath, and they had just survived something horrible yet again. She wanted him, and nothing else.

This was the best I could come up with. Too many sunny days kept me from my desk. Oh well. Comments welcome, and any specific suggestions on where to go from here would be helpful. I'm all dried up.

Oh, and as to Papa Midnight's little gift…I'll let you stew wondering what it is.

Laters

Aamon