Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to both Marvel and Vertigo. We are making no money off this. "Catch My Fall" and "Sweet Sixteen" are Billy Idol. "Baby, I Love You" is the Ramones. Sue us, and we'll do something quite bad to you…

Rating: R (strong language, violence, sexual situations, and demons. Did we leave anything out?)

Summary: An AU fic with Pete Wisdom and John Constantine (Vertigo's Hellblazer). That's all I'm saying… *wink*

Author's Note: Both of the authors are well aware that this story varies from actual cannon for both Excalibur and Hellblazer. This is why it is an AU. Don't send any emails saying how something "didn't happen that way." We know. We just don't care. Thank you.

Feedback and Archiving: Both are appreciated, just please ask permission before reposting this story anywhere. All feedback and archiving requests can be sent to Addie: addie_logan@yahoo.com

Shameless Website Plug: Addie Logan would appreciate it if you visited her website. Thank you. https://www.angelfire.com/scifi/addielogan

 

Catch My Fall

By: Addie Logan and GambitGirl

*** *** ***

I have the time so I will sing yeah
I'm just a boy but I will win yeah
Lost song of lovers fellow travelers yeah
Leave me sad and hollow out of words

It could happen to you so think for yourself

If I should stumble
Catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble
Catch my fall
Catch my fall
If I should stumble
Catch my fall
If I should stumble

I've traveled and unwound my own truth yeah
I've laid my head on the rock of youth yeah
I've trusted and then broken my own word
Just to keep me free in this mad, mad word

It could happen to you so think for yourself

If I should stumble
Catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble
Catch my fall
Catch my fall

It could happen to you so think for yourself

If I should stumble won't you catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble catch my fall yeah
If I should stumble would you catch my fall
If I should stumble catch my fall

*** *** ***

Pete Wisdom had had a good day at school. Even the school lunch had been relatively edible.

That good day came to a screeching halt, however, the moment Pete got home.

"What do you bloody mean you're not going back to school? Romany Wisdom, you pick that suitcase up right now and go back to the university."

"You can't make me, Da. I'm a grown woman now."

"Yeah, a grown woman that should be out of me house."

"What, you want me to run off like Mummy?"

"You leave you mother out of this, Romany. She'd be bloody unhappy to see what you've become."

"No, she wouldn't! Mum would want me to be a free spirit—not all repressed like you an' Pete."

Pete took offense to being pulled into the argument no more than two minutes after walking through the door. "I am not repressed, you toerag."

"Da, the little brat called me a toerag."

"Pete, don't call your sister a toerag. Even though she's apparently got bullocks for brains."

Romany rolled her eyes. "I'm going to me room."

"It's not your room anymore! I turned it into me study!"

Romany stormed down the hall, slamming the door.

"Are you really going to make her leave?" Pete asked.

Harold Wisdom sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I suppose not. Go do your studies, Pete."

"Yes, Da."

Pete slumped off down the hall.

*** *** ***

"Pete, I need your help."

Pete sighed. In the two weeks since Romany had moved back in, she'd been nothing but a constant pain in Pete's side. Pete leaned over and turned her music up louder, trying to tune Romany out with the musical stylings of Billy Idol.

"Bloody 'ell, Pete! Turn off that garbage and come out here."

"Billy Idol is not garbage, you bleedin' toerag!"

"Da, Pete called me a toerag again!"

From somewhere in the house, Harold yelled, "Don't call your sister a toerag."

"Well she bloody is!"

"Da!"

"Pete!"

"Pete won't come out of the bedroom and talk to me! I'm being nice!"

"Pete, come out of the soddin' room and talk to your sister!"

Pete grumbled, turning down Billy Idol and walking out of the room. "Wot?"

"I want you to go get dinner with me."

Pete raised an eyebrow. Romany did not usually want to spend time with any family member, Pete especially. "Like 'ell you do, Romany. Wot's going on?"

Romany lowered her voice. "I met this bloke while I was off at school, and I want to see him again. His band has a gig tonight, and I need to get out, but Da is watching me. If 'e thinks I'm going to get dinner with you, I can get out of the house."

Pete glared at Romany. "Wot's in it for me?"

"He plays that music you like. Wot's it called again, puke?"

"You know damn well it's punk, you bleedin' psycho."

"Puke, punk, whatever. Anyway, you might like it."

"I like sittin' at home with me Billy Idol albums."

"Pete, you are such a loser. Look, you come with me, and I'll buy you fish n chips."

"Ain't enough, Romany."

Romany sighed. "Fine. I'll buy you fags, too."

"Enough for a week?"

"Bloody 'ell, you trying to bankrupt me?" Pete started to close the bedroom door, but Romany stuck her arm in the crack. "All right, fine. All the fags you and your black lungs can smoke."

Pete grinned. "Then we have a deal."

*** *** ***

Pete looked around the dank club, following closely behind Romany. Although Pete had always wanted to hang out in a place like this, Harold Wisdom's strict parenting style had made it impossible. Until now.

Pete noticed how Romany had her nose up in the air, obviously feeling superior to the assortment of punks that filled the small space. "So where's this boyfriend of yours, Romany?"

"Over there," Romany said with a grin, moving towards the stage where a blond man was bent over an amp. Romany leaned over a table. "'Ello, luv."

The blond man turned, smiling at Romany. "You came!" he said, giving her a quick kiss.

Pete stared at him. He smiled, and Pete blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You look like bleedin' Billy Idol."

The blond man laughed. "Well, thanks, kid. I think. Romany, who's this."

"Pete."

"Pete?" The blond man looked at Pete sideways. "How did you end up with a name like Pete?"

Pete shrugged. "Nickname."

"I should 'ope so. Aren't you a little young to be 'angin' out in a place like this?"

Pete blushed. "Romany's me sister."

"Ah. I can see the resemblance. So you stayin' for the show, uh, Pete."

"I guess. Wot's your band called."

"The Seminal Fluids."

Pete blinked. "That's…um…nice."

The blond man reached out, taking Pete's hand and giving it a good shake. "And I'm John Constantine."

"It's nice to meet you, John," Pete said, blushing slightly.

"Nice to meet you, too." John turned back to Romany. "There's a good seat over there, luv. I'll be sure to wink at you."

Romany giggled. "Okay. Come on, Pete."

Pete trailed after Romany, stumbling a little when trying to throw a look back at John.

Romany gave Pete a dirty look when they got to the table. "Could you possibly put your tongue back in your mouth there?"

Pete looked up. "Wot?"

"You were all starry eyed over my boyfriend."

"I was not!"

"You look like Billy Idol," Romany said in a high-pitched voice. "Toerag."

"Bugger off, Romany."

"And do you know how embarrassing it is to have to introduce you to people as 'Pete?' Bloody 'ell, you are such a freak."

"Pete is a perfectly fine name."

"You're a girl! Girls are not called Pete!"

Pete crossed her arms in front of her. "Well I am."

"You have problems. Now watch me boyfriend scream on stage."

"Bloody wonderful." Pete turned towards the stage as the Seminal Fluids began their set, wishing it was her John Constantine was singing to instead of Romany.

*** *** ***

At the end of the band's set, Romany and John went off to their own table where she sat in his lap and giggled a lot, her silver bracelets clinking as she reached up to play with John's spiked hair. 

 

Pete found herself sitting with the rest of the Seminal Fluids, all of whom, she was sure, her father would have thrown into the lockup if he'd met them. 

 

"So yer Romany's little sister?" asked the drummer, who said his name was Spike.  Pete nodded.

 

"Why're y'called Pete?" asked the bass player, taking a swig directly out of a scotch bottle.  Pete glared at him. 

 

"Just am."  He shrugged.

 

"Fair enough." 

 

"So...Pete," said the guitarist, placing his hand on her thigh a good way under her skirt.  "Have ye ever done it in the back of a van?"  Pete jumped up from the table.

 

"Romany!"  She stormed over to the table where her sister was attempting to shove her tongue all the way down John's throat.  "Romany, we have t'go.  Me curfew's in half an hour."  She hated Constantine knowing she was young enough to have a curfew, but it beat being fondled by the Seminal Fluids.

 

"I'm not goin' home," said Romany.  "Me and John are going to the after-hours club down the block."  Pete put her hands on her hips.

 

"Da's goin' to tear your bloody head off if you don't come home with me, Romany.  This ain't a good neighborhood."  Romany waved a hand.

 

"I'll tell him I slept at a friend's house.  Go home, Pete.  Wouldn't want you to get grounded."  She gave Pete a snarky smile before turning back to John.  Pete fought the urge to beat her sister repeatedly in the head with a heavy object. 

 

"Fine.  I'll just take the Underground home by meself and probably wind up raped and dead by the side of the road." 

 

"I'm just going to the loo, luv and then we can go," said Romany to John, completely ignoring Pete.    She got up and swept away from the table, her long skirt trailing behind her.  Pete sighed.

 

"Nice meetin' you, John."  John smiled at her. 

 

"You, too.  What'd you think of me band?"

 

"Well to be honest, they're sort of crap," said Pete.  John blinked, then laughed loudly. 

 

"Ain't that the bloody truth.  But what did you think of me singing?"  He winked at her, taking a sip of his glass of whisky.  Pete felt color flood her face, and she looked at the floor.

 

"You...um...you 'ave a nice voice," she stammered.  "Y'should sing more slow songs."  Knowing that she was standing in front of him like an idiot, she fumbled in the pocket of her blazer for a cigarette and lit it.

 

"Can I 'ave one?"  John held out his hand.  Pete handed him one from her pack, fingers brushing his palm.  He smiled at her again, a different sort this time.  "So besides Billy Idol, what bands d'you like?"  Pete sat across from him, suddenly glad Romany was taking so long in the lady's room.

 

"Y'know, Siouxsie, Ramones, Buzzcocks, Sex Pistols."  John grinned.

 

"Me too.  In fact, they're me favorite."  He held out his right forearm, displaying a tattoo that said NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS in jagged letters.  Pete stared. 

 

"I think I love you," she said suddenly.  "That's the best bloody tattoo I've ever seen."  John laughed.

 

"Well thanks, Pete."  He looked her up and down.  "Got any you want to show me?"  Pete knew she was even redder than when she'd touched his hand.

 

"Me dad would kill me."  John nodded.

 

"'S alright, I understand about that.  How old are you, anyway?"  Pete looked at her lap.  She wanted to lie about her age, but Romany would tell him the truth if she did, and she'd look like a bleedin' idiot. 

 

"Sixteen."  John coughed loudly, choking on his drink. 

 

"Bloody hell.  I thought you were at least in university."  Pete sighed.

 

"Nope.  Wish I was." 

 

"Come back and see me and the band again some time, if yer da lets you, eh?" said John.  Pete looked up and saw Romany approaching.  She smiled quickly at John before standing up. 

 

"I'll try."

 

*** *** ***

 

The next day was a Saturday, with warm breezes and a sunny blue sky.  It was rare for London, and Pete could hear people on the street laughing and chattering as they went by. 

 

Unfortunately, Pete was stuck in the Wisdom's flat reading Inferno for her advanced literature class.  Harold Wisdom was even more adamant now that Romany had moved back in that Pete stick to her studies and not misbehave.  Pete looked at the detention notice she'd gotten for smoking outside the school yesterday and was currently using as a bookmark.  She decided she'd 'lose' it and hope Romany wasn't the one to take out the trash—she wasn't in the mood for another lecture about her smoking, or the way she dressed, or the volume of Billy Idol on her record player.  And she definitely wasn't in the mood for the Inferno. 

 

But somehow thinking about John Constantine and his scruffy, engaging smile made the entire cooped-in-the-flat situation much more bearable. 

 

"Spirits of air and fire, hear me now and answer my call!"  Pete groaned.  Romany was sitting outside on the Wisdom's fire escape, using the rare sunshine to 'cleanse' her large collection of crystals.  The window leading on to the fire escape was in Pete's bedroom, and it was much too warm to keep the window closed.  "Fire and air, wind and flame, heed my desires!" Romany intoned.  Pete stuck her head out the window.

 

"Shut up, Romany!  Clean your bleedin' rocks somewhere else!"  Romany, who had a scarf wrapped around her head and was weighted down with several long silver charm chains, glared at Pete.

 

"These are precious stones taken from the Mother Goddess earth, not rocks, Pete." 

 

"They could be the crown jewels for all I care, Romany.  I'm tryin' to study so I can get out of this madhouse some day, so if you don't mind could you please summon your dark gods another time?!"

 

"I'm going to tell Da on you, Pete Wisdom.  You're an intolerant little blighter." 

 

"You do and I'll tell him the 'friend' you were sleepin' with last night happens to be male and sings lead in a punk band."

 

"Speak of the devil," said a voice from behind Pete and Romany.  They both jumped.  John was standing in the window of Pete's room, grinning at them.

 

"What are you doing here?!" Romany cried, jumping up and running over to give him a kiss that was, in Pete's opinion, better featured in a porno movie. 

 

"I let meself in," said John with a wink. 

 

"The front door was locked," said Pete.  John shrugged. 

 

"I'm a man of many talents." 

 

"Let's go out," said Romany, tugging on his arm.  "We can go down to Picadilly Circus and check out the new magic shop."  John looked at Pete.

 

"An' leave your sister all by 'erself?"  Romany rolled her eyes.

 

"Pete would rather be broodin' in her dark cave with Dante Aligheri and his blokes than out in the fresh air, Constantine.  Trust me." 

 

"Toerag," Pete muttered. 

 

"D'you want to come with us?" said John, holding out a hand to help her in from the fire escape.  Pete bit her lip.  She did want to go out with John, but she knew Romany would make life miserable for her if she said yes. 

 

"Yeah," she said.  "I can read Dante any time."  Romany glared daggers at her from behind John's back.

 

"John," she said sharply.  "You don't want to get Pete in trouble, do you?  She has to stay 'ere and read, and plus she'll just be dragging after us whining she wants to stop and 'ave a fag the entire time, and she--" 

 

"I think you want Pete to come," said John, locking his eyes with Romany's.  "You can spend quality time with your sister.  It's a fantastic idea."  His voice was soft and level, slightly hypnotic.  Pete felt herself yawn.  Romany blinked once, then smiled brightly at John.

 

"I guess it won't matter if she tags along this once." 

 

"Right," said John agreeably.  "Let's go, ladies." 

*** *** ***

Pete followed behind Romany and John, deciding that John Constantine had a rather cute arse. That was when Romany wasn't grabbing it.

Pete had never really been jealous of her older sister before. If anything, she'd been damn glad that she wasn't Romany. But every time she saw her with her tongue halfway down John's throat, Pete definitely wanted to be her sister. Or kill her. She couldn't quite make up her mind.

"John, I want to go in there."

John frowned. It was a clothing shop, and it seemed to cater more to Romany's taste than his. If he went in there, he'd probably come out looking like bloody Prince Valiant. "Why don't you go on in, luv. I'm gonna stay out here an' 'ave a fag."

Romany kissed his cheek. "All right. Pete, you coming in or blackening your lungs with me boyfriend?"

As if there was even a question… "I could use a smoke meself."

"I won't be long," she said, giving John a somewhat seductive look.

Romany went into the store, and John sat down on the curb, took his cigarettes out of his coat pocket, and handed one up to Pete. "'ere."

Pete took it, sitting down next to John. "Got a light?"

"Of course." Pete put the cigarette in her mouth, and John lit it. Their eyes met for a moment, and Pete felt her whole body shiver. John turned quickly, getting a cigarette out for himself.

"So…do you love me sister?" Pete asked, breaking the awkward silence.

John sputtered. "Love? 'ell no. I mean, I like Romany an' all, but love. I don't think so."

"But you're shaggin' 'er."

John flicked his cigarette. "Well, yeah. Your sister's a bloody goddess in the sack." Pete blushed a deep crimson. "Sorry. Probably shouldn't 'ave said that."

"It's all right."

"So what about you, Pete? Got yourself a lil' boyfriend?"

"No," Pete admitted quietly. She felt like such a loser.

"That's surprising, cute girl like you. No boys at your school puttin' notes in your locker?"

"I go to an all girls' school."

John winced. "Tough break, kid."

"Yeah. Me da thinks it's best. He's been real strict ever since Mum left."

John was quiet for a moment. "Where'd your mum go…if you don't mind me askin'."

"She changed 'er name to Moonbeam and joined some commune. Romany's followin' in 'er footsteps, I think."

"Moonbeam. Yeah, I could see Romany doin' that. So what's your name? Somethin' crazy like that?"

Pete took a drag off her cigarette. "I already told you me name's Pete."

"Yeah, but you also said it's a nickname. Wot's it a nickname for?"

"I don't want to say. It's bloody awful."

John nudged her with his elbow. "Oh come on. It can't be that bad."

"Let me put it this way—I'd rather be Moonbeam."

"So you won't tell me, huh?"

"No bloody way. And don't go askin' me sister, either. That wouldn't be very nice."

"All right, luv. I'll be nice this once then."

Pete felt color creep back up to her face again. She liked the way it sounded when he called her "luv." "So 'ow'd you meet me sister?" Pete asked, wanting to change the subject.

"She an' some of her friends came to one of me gigs. We snogged fer a while, an' I decided I liked 'er all right. She's a nice lookin' bird."

"Yeah. She got all the looks in the family."

John noticed the bitterness of Pete's tone and the harsh way she flicked her cigarette. "'ey. You're pretty, too, Pete. You'll be bloody gorgeous when you grow up."

Pete smiled a little at the first part of John's statement, but frowned again at the last. "Thanks."

They sat in silence for a few more moments until Romany came out. "You two done polluting your lungs?"

John stubbed his cigarette out on the sidewalk. "Yeah." He stood up, glancing at Romany's bag. "Wot you buy?"

"I'll show you later," Romany said with a purr. "I think you'll like it."

John gave her a crooked grin. "We'll see. Right now, I'm hungry. 'ow 'bout we go get something to eat?"

"Sounds all right to me," Romany said, linking her arm with John. Pete sighed as she got up and followed after them.

*** *** ***

Pete poked at the piece of fish with a chip. She'd lost her appetite somewhere around the part where Romany had started feeding John. Pete wished she was older and prettier. It wasn't fair that Romany had an actual chest and she was still flat as a pancake. She ground the chip into a mashed heap.

Romany looked over at Pete, giving her little sister a smug smile. "Not hungry, Pete?"

"No."

Romany leaned over and gave John a deep, lingering kiss. Pete got up from the table. "I have to go to the loo," she mumbled, hurrying off so fast she tripped, hitting her knee on the pavement. She got up without looking back, hot tears stinging her face.

John stood up, but Romany grabbed his hand. "Where are you going?"

"To check on Pete. She seemed upset."

"Oh she's just like this. Throws little temper tantrums. Ignore her, she's being a baby."

"I'll be right back," John said, ignoring Romany. He went after Pete and found her sitting behind one of the shops, crying and smoking a cigarette. "'ey there."

Pete turned around. "Go away."

John knelt behind her. "I'm sorry if we upset you out there. I didn't think about Romany an' me makin' you uncomfortable."

"I don't care wot you do with Romany. Shag 'er silly. Makes no difference t'me."

John signed, running a hand through his hair. "Pete, I know it's 'ard for you, bein' the younger sister an' all, but you don't 'ave to be 'ard on yourself. Yer a pretty girl." He gave her a mischievous grin. "I bet when you grow up, you'll be even prettier than Romany."

Pete looked up at him. "You really think so?"

John looked into her blue eyes, still damp with tears, and swallowed. "Yeah, I do."

Pete smiled. "Thanks, John."

"Fer what? Speakin' me mind?"

"No. For bein' nicer to me than any of Romany's other wanker boyfriends."

John ruffled her hair. "Well, you're welcome. Come on, let's go back to the table. Your chips are gettin' cold."

"I'll be back in a minute. I don't want Romany to see me face all blotchy."

"All right." John stood up. "See you in a bit, Pete."

"Yeah, see you in a bit." John left, and Pete continued to puff on her cigarette.

*** *** ***

"Romany!  Pete!"  Harold Wisdom stood in the center of the living room, hands on his hips.  He had just come in and was still wearing his Scotland Yard badge.  Pete stuck her head out of her room.

 

"What is it, Da?"  Harold glared at her. 

 

"Get in here now, the both of you."  The two girls came and stood in front of Harold. 

 

"What did Romany do now?" asked Pete.  Romany bristled.

 

"Me!  You're the one who's gettin' written up at school for puttin' saftey pins in your uniform!" 

 

"Quiet!" Harold shouted.  "I'm pissed off at the lot of you, for different reasons."  He turned to Romany.  "You--who's this boyfriend of yours?"  Romany bit her lip.

 

"Just a bloke, Da." 

 

"Yeah?  Well, I did some checking on this 'bloke' Constantine--apparently he's been in trouble with the cops up in Liverpool and here, too.  Him and that group of degenerates that call themselves a band are into some sort of cult activity!"

 

"It's 'occult', Da, and there's nothing wrong with it!" Romany shouted. 

 

"I'll be damned if you turn into your mother, Romany!" Harold said.  "I'll not see one of my offspring making a fool of herself with some creepy delinquent who runs around killin' chickens an' chantin' to the forces of hellfire!"  Romany opened her mouth to scream back at Harold, but Pete spoke up.

 

"John's not like that."  Harold and Romany both looked at her.

 

"Do explain," said Harold. 

 

"He's a nice guy," said Pete.  "I've spent plenty of time with him, and he and Romany both believe in that freaky stuff, but he's not going to chain her to an altar an' sacrifice her.  He's not a bad sort."  Pete saw Romany look at her almost gratefully--her word carried more weight with Harold than Romany's ever had.

 

Harold narrowed his eyes.  "That true, Romany?  Because his police record says different." 

 

"Give 'im a break, Da.  He was a kid when he was in trouble.  He's more responsible now."  Romany gave her father her sweetest smile.  Harold sighed.

 

"If he 'urts you, I'm going to break his bloody head in half."  He turned to Pete.  "And you, Pete Wisdom, the next time you decide to gallivant off with yer sister and her degenerate fella instead of finishing yer homework, I'll chain ye to the bleedin' bed."  Pete nodded.

 

"Yes, Da."  Harold slipped off his jacket. 

 

"Now I'm going to 'ave a drink and watch the match, and I don't want to be bothered."  Romany nodded and slipped back to her room, grateful to have escaped the full breast of Harold's wrath.  Pete sat down on the ottoman as her father collapsed into his recliner. 

 

"Rough day, Da?"  Harold nodded.

 

"'Ad a triple murder at one of those bloody clubs in the East End.  Breedin' ground of sin, they are."  Pete felt a sudden stab of worry.  John's club was in the East End. 

 

"Which club, Da?"  Harold shrugged.

 

"One of those little basement jobs, some sort a fringe fetish place.  Didn't have a name."  Pete let out her breath.  She couldn't stand it if something happened to John. 

 

Pete got up and took a beer out of the icebox for her father, popping off the cap and handing it to him.  He grunted his thanks. 

 

"I'm sorry I worried you, Da," she said.  "I just wanted to have a bit of fun with Romany and John."  Harold waved his hand.

 

"Go finish yer studies, Pete, and leave me be."  Pete turned and went back to her room.

 

*** *** ***

 

John Constantine's flat--if you could call a single room with a rusty sink and shower in a closet a flat--was nearly overflowing with the three other members of the Seminal Fluids. 

 

The room wasn't very big to start with, and it was crammed full of books, odds and ends of equipment for the band, and several arcane objects that served John well in his other, less socially acceptable job.  Not that singing with the Fluids was going to get him tea with the queen, by any stretch. 

 

Although it would have brought a crooked smile to his face to hear Pete defending him against being a 'creepy delinquent', John was very much involved in the occult.  It was how he had met Romany Wisdom--she had seen his pentacle necklace, identical to the one she was wearing at the time, and they had struck up a conversation. 

 

John was good with things supernatural--he had a feeling for demons, ghosts, poltergeists and their ilk.  The rest of his band did too--although none of them reached the heights that John did. 

 

Two of them were sitting on his bed, and Rich, his guitar player, was on the floor.

 

"Constantine, would it kill you to buy some bloody furniture?"  John looked up from where he was flipping through one of his thousands of books on all things creepy. 

 

"All I need's the bed, mate.  Why waste yer money on earthly trappings?  We're all goin' the same place when we kick."  Rich frowned.

 

"Speak for yerself, mate."  John flipped the book shut and stood before his three accomplices. 

 

"Alright, gents--we all agree that after last night's happenings this is getting out of hand."  Spike held up a file folder with the Scotland Yard logo, marked OPEN CASE--CONFIDENTIAL. 

 

"'ow'd you get a hold on this?"  John smiled.

 

"Convinced the file clerk to let me borrow it for a spell."  Spike looked at the gruesome photos contained within and shuddered.

 

"Three people--bloody hell."  Rich stood and looked over Spike's shoulder.

 

"They're...torn apart, almost." 

 

"D'you have any idea what this is, Constantine?" said Derek, his bassist.  John nodded.

 

"Yeah, after stayin' up all night with me books.  I think what we're lookin' at here is a terror elemental."  His three sidekicks stared at him blankly.  John sighed.  "Terror elemental--a formless demon feedin' off negative emotion--hate, fear, pain and, well, terror."  He took the file back and looked down at the three murder victims.  He wouldn't have cared about them, except for the fact that the murders had taken place in the basement of his club, which served as a small private fetish parlor with the punk show above as cover.  It was the best--and only--gig the Seminal Fluids had had in some time, and John was determined to keep it. 

 

"So what are we goin' to do?" said Rich.  John sighed, lighting half of an already-smoked cigarette.

 

"Elemental demons are bloody hard to exorcise, bein' formless.  They only take shape to feed, so barrin' usin' one of us as bait..."  He looked around at the band.  "We need some firepower of our own."

 

"What kind a firepower?" said Derek suspiciously. 

 

"The big bad demonic kind," said John with a grin.  "An' I've found just the bloke to help us out."  He flipped open another, much older book to the appropriate page.  Rich took it and looked at it.

 

"Bloody fuckin' hell, Constantine.  What is this thing?" 

 

"Gents, meet Nergal, ancient Mesopotamian war god and a dedicated knight of Satan."  The three others crowded around the book.

 

"'e don't look like the cooperative type," said Spike.  "In fact, 'e looks like the eatin' yer head type." 

 

"Stop bein' a bunch of nannies, you lot," said John.  "Nergal is just what we need to get rid of this thing in the club."

 

"Constatine, have you read all of these nicknames?" said Rich incredulously.  "Look at this one--King of Rage.  Master of Pestilence.  Bringer of Strife."  He closed the book.  "We do not want this tosser summoned up." 

 

"Fine, Rich," said John.  He could have easily made his friend go along, but John had a few--very few--morals about where he used his powers of persuasion.  "Then we can just wait until the elemental gets tired of feastin' on leather-clad perverts and makes 'is way upstairs to eat our fans."  Rich looked down.  "Those people in the file, fucked in the 'ead as they may have been, were innocent," said John.  "We got an obligation 'ere." 

 

"'e's right," said Derek.  "I'm in." 

 

"Yeah, me too," said Spike.  They all looked at their reticent guitar player. 

 

"Fine," said Rich with a sigh.  "Let's do it."

*** *** ***

"'ey, Pete, where's your sister?"

Pete jumped up, her book tumbling to the ground. "John! 'ow'd you get in here?"

"Same way I did the other day, luv. Sorry I scared you."

Pete pushed her hair out of her eyes. "S'all right. An' Romany isn't here. She went with some of her creepy friends to dance naked or some shite like that." She blushed a little when she remembered John was into the occult, too. "No offense."

"None taken. I tend to at least dance around in me pants."

Pete got a mental image of that and blushed even more. "I can tell 'er you were 'ere if you want."

"Nah, that's all right. I was jus' bored an' wanted to see if maybe she'd go to the movies with me."

"Oh."

"I'll be going, I guess." John started to walk out of the flat, but then stopped, turning around to look at Pete again. "You wouldn't want to go with me, would you?"

Pete looked down at her school book, still on the ground. She knew that she should say no. Not only did she have homework, but this was Romany's boyfriend. As much as she and her sister didn't get along, she knew it was a betrayal to be alone with John like this. But then again, what had Romany done for her lately? "I'd love to. Jus' let me change out of me school togs, all right?"

"Sure, luv. I'll wait here," John said, sitting on the couch.

Pete hurried into her room, sudden panic hitting her. What the hell was she going to wear? She tore open her closet, trying to find something that would show John that she wasn't a little girl. She chose a short, red plaid skirt, a Clash t-shirt, and fishnet tights. She wore her biggest boots, hoping to give herself a little more height. John towered over here. She put on her favorite necklaces and spiked bracelets, then topped it all off with a bit of make up. She smiled. This look was much better.

"All right, I'm ready."

John looked up, sputtering when he saw Pete. His gaze traveled up her legs, and he had all sorts of thoughts he shouldn't be having about his girlfriend's little sister. "Right, well, let's go then," John said, standing up.

Pete gave him a coy smile and walked out of the flat in front of him.

*** *** ***

Pete sat next to John in the darkened movie theater, concentrating more on the man beside her than the screen. John was stiff beside her, but she'd caught him glancing at her from time to time.

It was a film involving the undead, and although Pete found it anything but actually frightening, she debated whether or not she should pretend to be scared in order to have an excuse to be closer to John. Then again, he might think she was a baby if she was afraid. She weighed out the two choices, and decided that it was a worthwhile risk if it let her touch John.

A zombie began chasing someone around—a very loud, very irritating girl. In all honestly, Pete wanted her to get her brains eaten. But she fell over on John, burying her head against his chest as the camera zoomed in on the creature's rotting flesh.

John smirked, wrapping his arm around Pete. He could tell the movie hadn't been scaring her one bit, but he was perfectly happy to play along with her little game. He sort of liked the feel of her next to him. He stroked her hair. He leaned down, whispering against the top of her head, "Don't worry, luv. I won't let any of the things that go bump in the night get you."

Pete looked up. "Ta muchly," she whispered, giving him a wink.

John swallowed, his eyes locking with hers. She licked her lips, and John felt drawn to her, all thoughts of Romany leaving him. He moved closer, his mouth almost touching hers.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

Pete and John jumped back as someone in the audience screamed. John shook his head, realizing what he'd almost done. Not only was she too bloody young, but she was his girlfriend's sister. That was all kinds of wrong. He slid a bit, deciding he shouldn't be so close to Pete.

Pete slumped in her seat, cursing her ill luck. She could still feel his breath against her lips. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She wanted to kiss John, but she'd never kissed a man before, and she was sure John would be able to tell. At least if he didn't kiss her, she wouldn't have to be embarrassed by her innocence.

Pete frowned, slumping further. But she still really, really wanted to kiss him…

*** *** ***

Pete looked over at John as they walked out of the movie theater. She could see the couples all around them, and she wished John was her boyfriend. She frowned. It wasn't fair. Romany always got cute boyfriends, and Pete was always alone.

"I'm gonna stop by the loo before we go 'ome. Wait for me here."

Pete nodded. "All right." She leaned against the wall, hoping John wouldn't take too long.

"'ello, poppet."

Pete turned around to see a small, dirty man missing several teeth smiling at her. "Um…hello…" she said, stepping back a little.

"Wot's a pretty lil' bird like you doin' out 'ere all alone?"

"I'm waitin' for me friend. Please, go away."

The man stroked her arm, and Pete tightened her fist. She could feel her fingers burning, the desire to cut this man's arm off with her hot knives almost outweighing her fear of letting anyone know she was a mutant. "Is yer friend as pretty as you, luv?"

"No, actually I'm not much to look at at all."

The man jumped, looking up at John. John put his arm possessively on Pete's shoulder. "She's with me, so bugger off." He pulled Pete closer to him.

"I'm…I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize she was yer girl."

"Well she is. Leave."

The man took off, leaving Pete and John alone again. Pete looked up at John. "Are you all right?" John asked.

"Yeah." Suddenly, Pete felt brave. She reached up, kissing John gently on the cheek. "Thank you."

John froze at the warm feeling of her lips against his skin. "You're…you're welcome."

"So…wot do you want to do now?"

John gave her a mischievous look. "Want to go down to the pub for a pint?"

 "John, I'm not old enough to buy a pint." Pete said with a bit of embarrassment.

"I'll buy it for you. C'mon."

Pete reached out, slipping her hand in his. "All right, let's go."

John grinned and they walked off together.

*** *** ***

Pete sat across from John at a small table, perched on a high bar stool, her legs kicking. She looked up at John and giggled.

"You 'aven't ever drunk much before, 'ave you?"

"Sure I 'ave," Pete said, giggling again. "Wot makes you think I 'aven't?"

"Pete, you're tipsy after barely more than a pint."

"I am not. I'm fine." More giggling.

"Maybe I should take you 'ome."

"I don't want to." She smiled at him. "Let's play arrows," she said, pointing at a dart board across the pub.

"Oh no. I'm not letting you throw little pointy things around when you're pissed."

"I ain't pissed, Constantine. I'm perfectly fine." She stood up, grabbing his arm. "Come on…"

"All right, but if I end up with an arrow in me bum, I'm not gonna be 'appy."

Pete took John's hand and drug him across the pub. He sighed and went with her.

John decided that drunk or sober, Pete would be bloody awful at arrows. "Never played this before, 'ave you?" he asked, hitting the bullseye again.

"No. But I've always wanted to." She stepped up to the line and threw again, the dart lodging itself in the cork beside the actual board.

John sighed, coming up behind her and taking hold of her wrist, stretching her arm out. "It's all in the wrist, luv," he said softly.

Pete shivered. His body was pressed up against his and his breath was warm against her ear. "All in the wrist," she repeated.

He helped her aim, then let her wrist go, his hand running down her arm. Pete threw the dart, still missing the target, but at least hitting the board this time. "Gettin' better, luv," John said.

Pete turned her head around a bit so she could look at him. John swallowed hard, fully aware that he was flush against her. "Get a grip, Constantine," he mentally berated himself. "You know better than to fall arse over tit for some sixteen year old girl. And Romany's sister no less…"

"John…" Pete said softly.

John felt his last bit of resolve slipping. He leaned in, kissing her softly.

Pete felt the whole room spin, the taste of John mixed with cigarettes and lager enough to make her feel lightheaded. She leaned into the kiss, making up for her inexperience with enthusiasm. She wrapped her arms around him as he pulled her closer.

Suddenly John pulled back. "Ow!" he exclaimed. "Bloody 'ell."

Pete looked at him, confused. "Wot?"

"Ya stabbed me, Wisdom."

Pete remembered then that she still had a dart in her hand. She blushed. "Oh. Sorry."

John reached out and brushed her dark hair away from her face. "S'all right." He looked way, the reality of the situation coming back to him. "Pete, I…" He sighed. "I need to get you home. Your da will worry."

Pete sighed. "Okay."

They walked back to the Wisdom's flat in silence. Pete shivered a little, wrapping her arms around her in an attempt to shield herself from the cool evening air. She wished she'd worn a jacket, but it had been warm enough earlier. "'ere," John said, taking off his leather jacket and giving it to her.

"Thank you," Pete said, wrapping herself in it. It was warm and smelled like him.

John tried his best to sort through the mix of emotions he was feeling. He liked Pete, and he was pretty sure she liked him, too. Hell, the first time she'd met him, she'd compared him to Billy Idol, and it was pretty clear that she thought Billy was just about the most perfect man who ever lived. However, John wasn't sure what he could do about it. Her age and her sister were two very big, very complicated factors. And the fact her copper father would have him locked up for sure, even if she was of the age of consent.

Still, John had to admit that he'd felt something when he'd kissed her—something he didn't feel from kissing Romany. He'd had to push back the thoughts of taking her back to his flat and inducting her into the world of womanhood. Despite the fact that most of the world saw him as a complete bastard, John wasn't that bad. He wasn't about to take advantage of a slightly drunk sixteen year old—especially one he liked this much.

That was the part that really got him. He genuinely liked Pete. He felt a connection with her that he hadn't felt with anyone before. It was like she actually understood him. He'd thought he'd had a good bit in common with Romany, but he was starting to realize they couldn't possibly be more different.

He stopped as they reached Pete's door. Pete looked down at her feet, unsure of what to say. She was pretty sure John regretted kissing her back at the pub, and she hated to think she may have killed the friendship that had been growing between them. She took off his jacket and handed it back to him. He took it, slinging it over his shoulder. "I…I 'ad a good time tonight," Pete said in a rush.

John nodded. "Me, too."

She forced herself to look up and meet her gaze. "Look, I'm sorry if wot 'appened in the pub made you uncomfortable around me. I didn't mean for that to 'appen, it's just that, well, I know you're Romany's boyfriend, and…"

John leaned in suddenly, silencing her with a kiss. When he pulled away, Pete's face was red, her breathing shaky. "I want you to come out to the club tomorrow," John said, deciding to hell with the "right" thing. "Just you, luv."

"John…"

"We'll talk tomorrow. It's late now. Just come, all right? I want to see you again."

"I'll be there."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

John smiled at her. "G'night, Pete."

"G'night."

Pete walked into the house, feeling like nothing could kill the wonderful mood she was in. She was wrong.

"And jus' where the blood 'ell 'ave you been?"

Pete jumped. "Da! What are you doing still awake?"

"Waitin' for you," Harold said, narrowing his eyes at his younger daughter. "This sort of behavior I expect from Romany, but you…" He moved closer, sniffing the air. "You've been drinking."

"No, I 'aven't."

"Don't lie to me, child. I'm not daft, you know. You are grounded."

"Wot! No!" Pete exclaimed. If she was grounded, she couldn't see John.

"Yes. An' I don't want you 'angin' out with that Constantine boy anymore either. You're neglectin' your studies an' stayin' out until all 'ours of the night in God knows what sort of place. 'e's a bad influence, 'e is."

"But…but I wasn't with John tonight," Pete lied.

"Again, I'm not daft. Now go to bed, Pete. We'll discuss this more in the morning."

"We won't discuss anything!" Pete yelled. "I 'ate you! I can see why Mum left!" She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Harold Wisdom sunk into his chair and sighed.

*** *** ***

Pete didn't care what her father said. She was going to see John. He wasn't a bad influence at all. He made her feel more alive than she ever had in her life. She was falling in love with him, and she wasn't about to let anyone stand in the way of that—especially not her father.

She finished smearing on her eyeliner, then took a second to look at herself in the mirror. She looked good, and she was sure John would agree. She smiled as she thought of what it would be like to have him kiss her again.

She grabbed a jacket from her closet and opened her window, climbing down the fire escape and to the street below.

*** *** ***

"Are you positive, Angie?"

"Yeah. It was them, Romany. They were snoggin' like mad right there in the middle of the pub an' then they jus' walked out. 'eaven only knows where they went from there…"

"That bleedin' tramp!" Romany exclaimed. "I'll soddin' kill 'er!" She hung up the phone, not carrying what else Angie had to say. She stormed across the hall to her sister's room, banging on the door. "Pete Wisdom, get her arse out here right now!" When Pete didn't respond, she banged harder. "Pete! Open the bloody door so I can kill you!" She sighed, turning the knob and going in for herself.

Romany looked around, spotting no Pete and the window leading to the fire escape still open. It didn't take much to figure out where the younger woman had gone. "That bleedin' tramp!" Romany yelled again. She started to go after Pete and her errant boyfriend herself, but then stopped, deciding she had a better idea. She went to their father's room, kneeling beside his bed and shaking him lightly. "Da. Da, wake up."

Harold Wisdom mumbled in his sleep, but didn't wake. Romany sighed, shaking him a bit harder. "Da!"

Harold snapped awake, sitting up straight. "Romany? Wot you go an' wake me for?"

"Pete's gone again, Da. She snuck out the fire escape."

"Bloody 'ell." Harold wiped at his eyes, getting out of the bed. "Do you know where she's gone?"

"I think so. John's usually playing with 'is band on Friday nights. She probably went there."

"Right. I'm going after 'er, and God 'elp that child when I find her. And 'im, too…"

Romany smiled to herself. That would show Pete and John both…

*** *** ***

"John, you care to explain why Romany's lil' sister is sittin' out in the audience?"

"Go bugger yerself, Rich. It ain't your business."

Rich held up his hands. "Only lookin' out for ya, mate. Romany don't seem like the most stable of women. Might put a bloody curse on ya—make all your teeth fall out."

John rolled his eyes. "Please. Romany couldn't curse me. Besides, we weren't that serious anyhow."

"Serious or not, she's not gonna be happy when she figures out you're shaggin' 'er little sister."

John glared at Rich. "I'm not shaggin', Pete, all right. So just lay off."

"Why not?" Spike asked. "She's a bloody good-lookin' bird, that one."

"I'm just not."

"Well then, can I?"

John turned on Spike, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket at pushing him against the wall. "No," he growled. "You lay one 'and on that girl, and I'll feed you to a demon. Got it?"

Spike nodded as best he could, his face completely white. "Yeah, Constantine. I got it."

John dropped Spike. "Good. Now let's get on stage. We got a set to do."

*** *** ***

I'll do anything
For my sweet sixteen,
And I'll do anything
For little run away child

Gave my heart an engagement ring,
She took ev'rything,
Ev'rything I gave her,
Oh sweet sixteen

Pete couldn't help but grin from ear to ear, knowing John was singing to her. Granted, it wasn't the most romantic song in the world, but for the moment, he was her Billy Idol. He looked at her and made his lip curl, and she laughed. He was perfect.

Built a moon
For a rocking chair,
I never guessed it would
Rock her far from here
Oh, oh, oh.

Someone's built a candy castle
For my sweet sixteen
Someone's built a candy brain
And filled it in.

Despite the less-than-stellar playing of the rest of the Seminal Fluids, Pete liked John's voice. It somehow managed to be smooth and rough at the same time, just like the rest of him. He met her eyes from the stage, and Pete felt her entire world narrow to just the two of them. She never wanted the moment to end. She wanted to stay this happy forever.

Well I'll do anything
For my sweet sixteen
Oh I'll do anything
For little runaway child

Well, memories may burn you,
Memories grow older as people can
They just get colder
Like sweet sixteen

I see it's clear
Baby, that you are
All through here
Oh, oh, oh, oh.

Pete saw a small cluster of groupies at the bottom of the stage, looking up at John was hopeful eyes. She smiled to herself. They could wish all the wanted to, but John Constantine was hers tonight.

Someone's built a candy castle
For my sweet sixteen
Someone's built a candy house
To house her in.
Someone's built a candy castle
For my sweet sixteen
Someone's built a candy brain
And filled it in.

And I do anything
For my sweet sixteen
Oh, I do anything
For run away girl.

Yeah, sad and lonely and blue.
Yeah, gettin' over you.
How, how do you think it feels
Yeah to get up in the morning, get over you.
Up in the morning, get over you.
Wipe away the tears, get over you, get over, get over...

My sweet sixteen,
Oh runaway child
Oh sweet sixteen
Little runaway girl.

My sweet sixteen…

*** *** ***

"So 'ow was I, luv?" John asked, sliding into the booth next to Pete.

"You were wonderful," Pete said, leaning over to give John a kiss. She started to pull away, but John held her close, enjoying the taste of her. A part of him still said that it was wrong for him to be with her, but he didn't care so much anymore. Romany was a big girl. She could handle it. And as for Pete, well, he'd just have to take things slow.

That thought did give John a little bit of a pause. Since when did he want to get into relationships where he had to take things slow? He pulled back a bit, looking into Pete's eyes. Since right then. He liked Pete, and he decided she'd be worth any sort of wait.

That didn't, however, mean that he planned to keep her at arm's length until she was old enough to be in a serious relationship with him. She was a quite pretty girl, and there was a fire in her that called to him. He pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms loosely around her small waist. "I was singin' t'you, y'know," he said, nuzzling her hair.

"I know," Pete said, kissing his stubbled cheek. "And I think I like you even more than Billy Idol."

John laughed. "You better. Wouldn't want to have to go pound the tosser's face in."

Pete looked at him with mock outrage. "Billy Idol is not a tosser."

John ran a finger under the thin strap of her dress. "He would be if he ever stole you away."

Pete blushed. "Don't worry. I wouldn't leave you for anyone. Not even Johnny Rotten."

"Luv, I do believe that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."

Pete smiled. "Kiss me, John."

John pulled her to him, more than willing to fulfill that request.

*** *** ***

It was close to dawn before Pete got home that night. She was tired, but she felt like she could fly. John hadn't left her side all night, and she'd been happier than she remembered being in a long time.

Pete started to jump up on the fire escape and climb back up to her room when she noticed the window was closed. "Bloody 'ell," she muttered, realizing someone had found out she'd left.

She sighed, walking back around to the front of the building. She might as well face the music. No matter what her father said, she was going to keep on seeing John. Harold was just going to have to deal with it.

When she came into the flat, she found Romany sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands. She looked up at Pete, her face streaked with tears. "Romany?"

"Da's dead…" Romany said. "He's dead."

Pete stumbled back, her hand going to her mouth. "No…" she whispered.

"He…'e went to look for you an'…an' 'e was attacked. They killed 'im."

Pete let out a choked cry as she ran to her room, throwing herself on the bed. Her father was dead, and it was her fault. If she'd just stayed home like he'd told her, it never would've happened. And to make it all worse, the last thing she'd ever said was that she hated him…

Pete sobbed into her pillow, wishing she could take it all back, but knowing she never could.

*** *** ***

Harold Wisdom's funeral was held on a miserably rainy afternoon.  Pete huddled inside her school raincoat as the priest chanted over her father's grave.  She'd stopped feeling anything except numb days ago. 

 

She and Romany had barely spoken since she'd come home the night Harold had died.  She didn't have to talk to her sister to know how Romany felt--she could see the resentment threaten to spill over every time her sister caught her eye.

 

Pete's mother was standing between the two girls, wearing a black skirt and blouse, looking for all the world like a normal mourning widow.  She was weeping, the rain and tears soaking her face and the front of her shirt. 

 

Inspector Bainbridge, who had worked with Harold in the homicide division of Scotland Yard, moved out from the crowd of mourners to give the eulogy.  The priest had asked Romany and Moonbeam to do it, but they had both refused.  Pete was glad--none of them knew anything about Harold.  They didn't deserve to speak at his funeral. 

 

"Harold Wisdom was many things--a kind, generous man, a great investigator, at times hard to work with."  There were a few chuckles from the detectives in the crowd and Pete felt her spirits lift for a moment.  "I know he would be heartwarmed to see you all here today," said Bainbridge.  "And heartbroken to know that his two girls must face life without him.  Because above all, Harold was a loving, devoted father.  We all remember that Pete and Romany were the light of his life.  They say the true measure of a man is his family.  If that's true, then Harold Wisdom was the greatest man among us."

 

Everything that Pete had been suppressing in the four days since Harold had died suddenly sprang to the surface, and she felt herself start to sob.  Moonbeam put her arm around her, and the other around Romany.  Pete leaned into her mother's shoulder, grateful for any comfort.  She looked up to see Romany glaring at her with an expression of such unbridled hatred it made Pete shiver.  She ducked out from under her mother's arm and walked away from the graveside, Romany following her. 

 

"Where do you get off?" Romany spat.  Pete blinked away her tears.

 

"I'm sorry, Romany.  I know you blame me for Da getting...you know..."  Pete didn't want to be having this conversation.  She knew nothing she could say could ever make Romany--or herself--believe that she wasn't responsible for Harold's death.

 

"You took me boyfriend," said Romany in a low voice.  "And now you've taken Da.  Are you happy now, Pete?  Do you feel good?"  Pete had never heard Romany talk to anyone like she was talking to Pete now, and it frightened her. 

 

"Romany..."

 

"I hope you lose someone someday, Pete.  I hope you know how I feel right now."  Romany turned on her heel and went back to stand beside her mother.  Pete started to follow her, but she knew she couldn't go back to the funeral.  She had to get away from all of the death.  She'd said her goodbyes to her father--even though she knew she'd never be free of his ghost.

 

"You look a sight, luv."  Pete jerked her head up.

 

"John!"  She fell into his arms, and John held her tightly.  "What are you doin' here?"  He kissed the top of her head.

 

"Figured y'might need a shoulder to cry on." Pete stayed pressed against him. 

 

"I need to get away, John," she whispered.  "Can I stay with you for a while?  I don't think I can go home with Romany."  John hesitated, but then nodded.  Who was he to deny a girl who had just lost her father a safe place to stay?

 

"Of course you can, luv," he said.  "Come meet me at the club tonight with yer things and we'll go on back to my place."  Pete nodded.  John reached up with his shirttail and wiped her face.  "It wasn't your fault, Pete.  I 'ope you know that."  Pete didn't say anything, she just shrugged and walked back to the graveside.  John watched her for another minute with worry, and then left the cemetery. 

 

*** *** ***

 

"Will you lookit this place?" said Rich, turning in a slow circle at the center of the basement.  The lights were off, since the club wasn't yet open for the night, and it was dark except for the flashlights John, Rich, Derek and Spike held.  Rich flashed his light over the various harnesses and contraptions that lined the walls.

 

"Bloody 'ell," said Spike.  "Energy's thick as thieves down 'ere."  John took a deep breath.  Spike was right--the fetish parlor was awash with fear, pain and a thousand other twisted emotional residues willing and unwilling victims.  John fingered his pentacle necklace.  It felt slightly warm.  John felt a shiver travel up his spine.  That was never a good sign--it meant a presence of powerful evil was near.  Get a bloody grip, Constantine, he scolded himself.  He'd need every ounce of his considerable powers to conjure up Nergal and rid this place of its terror demon. 

 

"Oy, John," said Derek.  "Where d'you want me to set this beast up?"  He was holding the portable altar that John and his band used for exorcisms and various other rituals.

 

"Center of the room, mate," said John.  "Let's make this quick--that bloody creepy manager'll be 'ere soon, an' I don't want to 'ave to explain why we're summonin' a demon in 'is basement."

 

Spike and Rich started drawing Nergal's sigil on the floor in chalk while Derek and John set up the altar.  John was nervous--he'd never called someone as powerful as Nergal through before, and he half-wondered if Rich hadn't been right to be worried. 

 

But if he was successful that this, he could do anything.  He'd get as famous as Alestair bleedin' Crowley and he could stop hiding his dirty little secret from the world. 

 

Yeah, dream on, Constantine.

 

His three friends stood around the circle, and John walked slowly to the center.  He clicked off his flashlight so only candlelight remained, gleaming dully on leather and metal.  John swallowed once to make sure his voice came out strong, and then began to speak.  "Hail Nergal, King of Rage..." 

 

*** *** ***

 

Pete stood in a corner of John's club, scanning the crowd anxiously.  The opener band was still onstage, but John and the Seminal Fluids were usually waiting to set up by now.  Pete wondered if he'd ditched her, if she'd made him leave by asking to stay in his flat...

 

"Pete!"  Pete turned to see John come bounding up the stairs from the basement, looking flushed.  The rest of his band followed him.  Pete smiled a little.

 

"Thought you skipped out on me, Constantine."  He grinned, kissing her on the cheek. 

 

"Hardly, luv.  Got your things?"  Pete nodded. 

 

"Brilliant," said John.  "We'll leave right after me set."  He leaned down and kissed her softly.  Pete felt the weight of the day lift off of her.  She was finally going to get away from Romany and the horrible, crushing knowledge of her responsibility for her father being dead.  Maybe in time she could even forget...

 

There was a roar from below--not so much a roar as an avalanche of sound that shook the club and vibrated Pete to her core.  Glasses and bottles fell off the backbar and the opener band's amplifiers blew in a shower of sparks.  In the vacuum left by the massive sound, Pete heard John curse.

 

"Bloody 'ell." 

 

The club erupted in screams and panic as patrons tore for the exits.  Pete turned to see the basement door blown off its hinges and a mass of smoke and light emerge.  The smoke resolved itself into a figure, at least seven feet tall.  It seemed to be made of black vapor except for it's red eyes and it's teeth, which were shiny, sharp, and far too many. 

 

"John Constantine," the figure intoned.  "How dare you presume to enslave me?" 

 

"Fuck!" Spike screamed.  "It's bloody Nergal!"  Rich grabbed John by the arm.

 

"I thought you 'ad him sealed in the basement!"

 

"I did..." said John helplessly.  "I did..."  Pete watched in terror as the huge being took a step into the club, and then another. 

 

"For this insult," said the figure, his voice grating on her ears like fire.  "I demand sacrifice--and you shall give it to me!"  Nergal swept Spike up into a hand that had grown massive enough to encircle the drummer's waist, and held him up, his gullet expanding as he shoved Spike into it and bit down.

 

"No!  NO!  AHHHHGGH!"  Spike's scream tore the air. 

 

"SPIKE!"  John started for the figure, his blue eyes enraged, but Rich held him back.  Nergal walked forward again, the floorboards where he had stepped bursting into flames. 

 

Derek was the next, his death as gruesome as Spike's.  Rich turned to John.  "We 'ave to stop him!" he shouted over Derek's screams and the roaring flames. 

 

"How the bleedin 'ell do you propose we do that?!"  John screamed back.

 

"You're the mage!"  Rich shouted at him, his face contorting in panic.  "This was your idea!  Do somethin--"  The clawed hand impaled Rich from behind, and jerked him back into Nergal's waiting gullet.  John turned to Pete. 

 

"Run."  Pete shook her head.  She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn't about to lose John to an overgrown cloud of smoke. 

 

“I’m stayin’.”  Nergal roared again, seeming to grow larger with each passing second.  Most of the club was in flames, but there was still a clear path to the bathroom door.  John grabbed Pete and pushed her through, slamming and locking the door behind them.  He yanked a piece of white chalk out of his pocket and scrawled a crooked symbol on the wood, then turned to Pete.

 

“Listen t’me,” he said.  “Ye can’t help me.  You have to run--now!”  Pete held on to his arm.

 

“I’m not leavin’ you!”  The door shuddered, Nergal howling on the other side.  John’s symbol flashed with blue light, then vanished.

 

“Fuck!” said John.  The door shattered. 

 

“Constantine...”  Nergal hissed.  “Your time has come.”  John looked at Pete, his eyes calm. 

 

“Go, Pete.  Right now.  Please.  I can’t lose you.”  Pete looked at the thing behind him, then at John’s peaceful face, and nodded.

 

“Y’better get out of here alive, John Constantine, and come find me.”  John nodded.

 

“I promise.  Now run!”  Pete threw open the bathroom window and slid out, easily fitting with her small frame.  She turned back only once.  The last thing she saw was Nergal looming over John, and then something inside the club exploded, throwing Pete to the ground and into blackness.

 

*** *** ***

 

7 years later...

 

Pete couldn't look at herself in the mirror anymore. It made her nauseous. She'd told herself the same thing over and over again: they were terrorists, the bad guys. Scum, the lot of them. But that didn't make them any less dead, nor did it make the blood any less on her hands. When she'd started her career with British Intelligence, she'd hoped it would be a fresh start, something to get her away from the all the death that seemed to be plaguing her life. Instead, it had just brought her closer to Hell.

 

Pete rapped sharply on Michelle Scicluna's door, then walked in without waiting for a response. Scicluna looked up, her expression one of exasperation and annoyance. "What is it now, Wisdom?"

 

"I want to quit."

 

Scicluna sighed. She'd seen this coming. Wisdom had been growing soft, and the Ronsaphan incident was just enough to push her over the edge. "Wisdom, you can't just quit. You're an intelligence agent. It's not like you can just clear out your desk and be gone."

 

"I'm not doin' it anymore. I didn't sign on to be a ruthless killer."

 

"Ruthless killer? Hardly. I guess you're upset about Ronsaphan. Them were useless, Wisdom. The type who would shoot their own mothers for a pound and a pint. Just think of it as a job you had to do, or whatever it is you say." She waved her hand dismissively.

 

"That wasn't a job that needed doin', Scicluna. Sure, they may 'ave been a threat, but the way I did it... It wasn't right."

 

"Right? Morals are not at issue here. This is Black Air, not Clear, Fresh Air. We do what we have to for Crown and Country, and yes, sometimes it might be a little, unsettling, but it's for the betterment of England and the world."

 

Pete frowned, wondering if Scicluna bought into her own garbage. She doubted it. That woman didn't give a damn about the world, only herself. "I'm not doing it anymore. You want a killer, send Scratch. I'm out."

 

Scicluna folded her hands in front of her. "Fine. You want out. You can have out. But here's the deal. One more mission. You finish it, and I'll send you on your merry way."

 

Pete was skeptical. It was definitely an offer that was too good to be true. But what choice did she have? She knew Scicluna. If she tried to leave Black Air without permission, she'd be dead in a gutter somewhere within a month. At least this way she had a chance. "Wot do I have t'do? I'm not killin' anyone else."

 

"No, no killing," Scicluna said. "It's a simple job, really. You just need to be an observer."

 

"An observer?"

 

"Yes. See, there's a bit of a...problem...in Genosha. Black Air has decided that in order to deal with it, we will request the aid of Britain's very own mutant super hero team, Excalibur. However, I do not wish to hand control over to Excalibur completely. Therefore, I would like you to accompany them to Genosha--as a liaison of sorts."

 

"Why me?"

 

"Because you are not only an expert on all things Genoshan, but you are also a mutant. It is my belief that this may allow you to be more accepted by Excalibur."

 

"I'm not the only mutant on the payroll," Pete said.

 

"Who else should I send? Scratch? As you said earlier, he's a killer. I don't wish for bloodshed on this mission, and since you apparently have developed a weak stomach..."

 

Pete cut her off. "Fine, I'll do it. But after this, I want out."

 

Scicluna smiled, and Pete shivered. "Of course, Wisdom." She stuck out her hand. "We have a deal then?"

 

Pete took the proffered hand reluctantly. "Yeah. We got a deal."

 

*** *** ***

 

Shortly after Pete left, a tall, dark-haired man with a stern face entered Scicluna's office. "Wisdom was in here."

 

"Yes, she was. Do you have anything else you'd like to say, Threadgold, or are you just in a mood to tell me what I already know?"

 

"What did she want?"

 

"To quit."

 

Threadgold sputtered. "Quit? Is she daft?"

 

"Again, you're telling me what I already know. Yes, she wants to quit. Apparently she has moral issues with killing. Pathetic, really."

 

"Well, you're not going to let her, are you?"

 

"Of course not. We can't have agents just running off like that. It's bad for business. No, I'm going to kill her."

 

"Good. Never liked her. So should I send an assassin..."

 

"No. I have it all taken care of. For now, she thinks she's getting a walk."

 

Threadgold frowned. "And why would she be under that impression?"

 

"Because that's what I told her again. I can't very well tell her I'm going to kill her. Takes away from it. Besides, I needed her on this Genosha thing. So I told her that it could be her last mission. We'll get her guard down and kill her when she comes back."

 

"I don't like it."

 

"You never like anything. Now go away. I have work to do."

 

Threadgold left, keeping his remaining concerns to himself.

 

*** *** ***

 

Pete didn't like Excalibur. They were looking at her like she was something strange, an anomaly. Like people who would be pathetic enough to squeeze their arses into bright yellow spandex should judge her. She could hear Scicluna rambling on about something, but she'd long since stopped listening. She took out a cigarette.

 

"Och, excuse me, ma'am, but this station is no smoking."

 

Pete glanced up at the woman who'd just spoken to her. She was older than Pete, with a conservative bob and round glasses. Pete scowled. "Sod off."

 

The woman balked and said something angrily. Pete didn't listen to that or whatever excuse Scicluna made for her behavior. She didn't care about these people. They were just pawns for Black Air, the same as she was. Pete wasn't surprised when Excalibur agreed to help. They seemed like the type. A bit idealistic, as Pete had once been.

 

"Miss Wisdom?"

 

Pete looked up at the tall, blond man who had just spoken to her. She didn't like him. He looked like a wanker. Called himself "Captain Britain" or "Britannic" or some sort. "Wot?"

 

"I asked if you would like to be shown to the room you'll be using while you are a...guest of Excalibur. We won't be leaving until the morning."

 

Pete shrugged. "Might as well. I'm a bit knackered."

 

"Kit, would you show Miss Wisdom to one of the guest rooms?"

 

A man with brown hair stood. Pete looked him over. He was a bit taller than her, with dark eyes. Pete decided he'd be attractive if he wasn't so young. He couldn't be over eighteen. "Come with me, Wisdom."

Pete glanced over at Scicluna, who gave her a nod. Pete sighed, figuring she could put up with these people if it gave her even a slim chance of getting out of Black Air. She followed Kit out.

As soon as they were in the hallway, Kit reached out and grabbed Pete's cigarette from her mouth. "As Moira said earlier, this is a no smoking station. That's a disgusting habit."

"'ey! Pete exclaimed. "Give me back my cigarette, you body fascist, or I'll rip you head off and spit down your neck."

"Well, that's real witty. You think that up all by yourself?"

Pete glared, snatching the cigarette out of Kit's hand. "Look, ya bloody little wanker, I don't want to be 'ere any more than you want me here. But life sucks like that. So you just stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours, an' we'll all be 'appier."

"Don't disrespect Dr. MacTaggart like that again. She's doesn't deserve it."

"Wot, is she your girlfriend or something? Got a thing for older women—Kit, was it?"

Kit rolled his eyes. "No." He stopped at a door. "This is your room. I'd advise you not to leave it for the rest of the evening. No one here trusts you, and who knows what might happen if someone finds you and thinks you might be snooping around."

"You know, you're bloody awful at making veiled threats."

"I wasn't trying to make it veiled."

Pete waved the wand holding her cigarette, making sure some of the smoke blew into Kit's face. "Whatever. Look, mate, it's been fun, but I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow when we crash in on the lil' Genoshan party."

"I'll be counting the hours," Kit said through gritted teeth.

Pete winked at him just to rile him a bit more before going into the guest room and shutting the door in his face. "Tosser," she muttered, taking off her jacket and slinging it on the bed. It was a nice room. Not much to it, but definitely nicer than any place she'd ever lived in, and most of the hotels she's stayed in, too. She'd heard that Braddock wanker had money, which probably explained the posh furniture.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, burying her head in her hands. She wanted more than anything in the world for everything to go her way, but she knew it wouldn't. Nothing ever did.

*** *** ***

Kit Pryde sat in Muir Island's computer center, running a routine systems check. It didn't really need to be done, but Kit wanted the comfort that computers could provide him. They were organized, something he understood.

"Having a hard time sleeping, mein Freund?"

Kit jumped. "Kurt! I didn't see you there," he said, turning around to face the blue-furred mutant.

"I've been here for several minutes," Kurt said. "And I did not even teleport."

Kit smiled wryly. "I guess I was distracted."

"vould our new visitor have anything to do with that distraction?"

"That creepy Wisdom woman? No way. Did you hear the way she talked to Moira?"

"Ja. And I also saw how you vere looking at her during the meeting vith Scicluna and Threadgold. She is a pretty voman."

"If she wasn't scowling and didn't smell like an ashtray, maybe. But only maybe," Kit said, trying to conceal his blush.

Kurt knew it probably wasn't the wisest thing in the world to encourage a relationship between Kit and the mysterious Black Air agent, but he also knew that Kit needed to begin pursuing relationships again. Kurt had to admit he had been happy to see his friend checking Wisdom out. Maybe it meant he wasn't as emotionally dead as he'd like everyone to believe. "You don't have to be ashamed of having an attraction to another voman," Kurt said. "Illyana vould understand."

Kit slammed the keyboard in front of him. "I am not going to sully her memory by screwing some woman like that. If I ever do let myself fall in love again, it's going to be someone good—someone Illyana would have approved of."

Kurt frowned, deciding not to bring up the fact that Illyana herself had been the half-demon queen of Limbo. "I only vish you to be happy."

"I know, Kurt, and I am. Really."

Kurt didn't believe him, but decided not to press the issue. "I am going to bed. I suggest you go as vell. Ve have a big day ahead of us."

Kit gave him a smile. "I will. Good night, Kurt."

"Good night." With a puff of red smoke and a BAMF, Kurt was gone.

*** *** ***

Pete wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten to where she was at this particular point in time. The Genoshan mission could've gone better, but it also could've gone worse. Scicluna had insisted that Pete stay with Excalibur a little while longer as an observer for Black Air, and she had reluctantly agreed. Then she'd found out an old friend of hers had been killed by Black Air, and she'd gone back to London, avenged his death, and turned in her resignation to Black Air—in the form of blowing up one of their bases.

So how that had led to her waking up next to that tosser Kit Pryde was beyond her. But she had. The first rays of morning sunshine were coming in through the window, falling on Kit's face. Pete reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair away from his eyes. Somewhere among the gun fights and extraterrestrial threats, she'd fallen for him. He was stronger than she'd originally given him credit for, already living more in his eighteen years than most people did in a lifetime. But he still managed to maintain a bit of innocence, and Pete knew that was something she needed in her life.

Kit opened his eyes, blinking a bit when he saw Pete. Pete held her breath. Here it was, the moment of truth. Would he still want her, or would he see last night as nothing more than a mistake?

Kit smiled at Pete, stroking her face with his thumb. "Good morning."

Pete smiled, relief washing over her. "Good morning."

"Y'know, Wisdom, you're really rather pretty when you're not angry."

Pete laughed. "Thanks, Pryde. You're not so bad yerself." She looked down. "Did you mean wot you said last night—about me stayin' on Muir to be with you?"

"Yeah. Did you mean it when you said you want to?"

"Yeah."

Kit leaned down and kissed her. "Good. I've grown a bit attached to you."

Pete kissed Kit lightly before pulling back. "I want to warn you now, though, life with me ain't goin' to be all moonlight an' roses. I've got some demons in me past, luv. Done some pretty ugly things."

Kit pulled her against his chest, running his hand through her hair. "I don't care about any of that, Pete. I want to be with you, no matter what. I'll be here for you, give you someone to lean on, all right?" He tilted her head up, wiping away the tears from the corner of her eyes. "I won't let anything hurt you ever again."

Pete's eyes were wide and full of hope. "You really do want to be with me, Kit?"

"More than anything." He kissed her quickly, then pulled away. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." he said, getting up and going to the bathroom.

Pete lay in the bed, thinking how lucky she was. She'd never thought she'd find a man like Kit—so open and caring. Sure, she was five years his senior, but it didn't matter. What they had was real all the same.

Suddenly, Pete felt something bite her foot. "Ow! Bloody 'ell!" she yelled, sitting up to see a small, purple dragon glaring at her. "Wot the 'ell did you do that for?"

"I don't like yoo."

Pete glared at her. "Well I don't like you either, you ugly little bugger. Wot you go an' bite me foot for?"

"I'll kill yoo. I'll burn your clothes and your cigarettes, an' I'll kill yoo."

Kit walked out of the bathroom, and Lockheed flew over to him, perching on his shoulder. "Pete, are you okay? I heard you scream."

"That winged rat bloody bit me!"

"Lockheed bit you?" Kit gave Lockheed a look. "Bad, dragon." Lockheed gave him puppydog eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked Pete.

"I think so. Didn't draw blood. That bloody thing doesn't have rabies, does it?"

Kit smirked. "No. And I don't think he meant it maliciously."

"'e did, too! Said 'e was gonna take me clothes an' me fags, an' then 'e's gonna kill me."

Kit blinked. "Pete, honey, Lockheed can't talk."

"Yes 'e can! I 'eard him. He sat right there down at the end of the bed and threatened me life, 'e did."

Kit looked over at Lockheed. "Can you talk, dragon?" Lockheed cooed, looking innocent. "See, Pete, he didn't talk to you. I don't think he even has the right kind of vocal cords…"

"But 'e did! Kit, I'm not lying!"

Kit sat down on the bed next to Pete. "Maybe you thought you heard him talk, sweetie, but he didn't. You're probably just overly tired. It's been a long few days, and well, you didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night." Kit gave Pete a look that made her blush.

"I'm not crazy," she said quietly.

"I know," Kit said, kissing her forehead. He moved his lips down, kissing her jawline and behind her ear. Pete moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair. She glanced to the side and saw that Lockheed was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching them. She pushed Kit up. Kit blinked. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Your 'pet' is watching us."

Lockheed quickly curled up in a ball, feigning sleep. "No he's not," Kit said.

"Yes, he is. An' I'm not shaggin' you with it in the room."

Kit sighed. "Fine." He picked Lockheed up and carried him towards the door. "Sorry, buddy, but the lady insists."

Lockheed snorted as Kit set him outside the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. Kit looked back at Pete. "Better?"

"Much." Pete crooked her finger at him. "C'mere, luv."

Kit wasted no time rejoining her in the bed.

*** *** ***

Pete wrapped her arms tightly around Kit as he kissed her, feeling as if everything in her life was finally going right. They'd just gotten back from the pub with the rest of Excalibur, and Pete had been relieved to discover that the team was going to accept her—and her relationship with Kit. Now she was feeling lightheaded from the ale and her lover's kisses.

That was until she looked up to see a very tall, very shiny man standing over them. Pete jumped back, letting out a quick scream. "Am I smashed, or are you the bloody Terminator?"

"Who is this?" the large metal man demanded to know.

"Um, this is Pete Wisdom. Pete, this is an old friend of mine, Piotr Rasputin."

"This is your friend?" Pete asked. "He doesn't look happy to see you."

"My sister is barely dead and buried and you have already found someone else?" Pitor bellowed. "How dare you dishonor her memory in such a way?"

Pete looked over at Kit. "Who's his sister?"

"Illyana. We…we were in love."

Piotr glared. "Were? So soon you forget your pledge to love her forever!" He charged at Kit, who quickly phased out of the way. Pete cried out as the blow hit her instead.

Pete reached up, wiping blood away from her mouth. "That soddin' hurt, you bleedin' loony!"

"Piotr, don't do this," Kit said, running to Pete's side. "Yana wouldn't want me to be miserable."

"She would not want you to soil her memory with this…this woman either."

"All right, I really don't like the way you said that," Pete snapped.

"Piotr, please. Pete's a nice girl. And I haven't forgotten Illyana. I've just…moved on."

Piotr's shoulders slumped and he changed back into his normal form. Kit helped Pete to her feet, wrapping an arm around her. "She loved you," Piotr said softly.

"I know. I loved her, too." Kit looked over at Pete. "Come on. Let's get you in and have Moira take a look at your cut."

Normally Pete would protest profusely at the thought of having to see Moira, but at the moment she wanted to get away from the angry Russian man with the ability to become metal. She nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll let Kurt know you're out here," Kit said to Piotr before taking Pete inside.

*** *** ***

"Och, I've seen worse," Moira said, dabbing roughly at Pete's lip with a cotton ball.

"Yeah, well, I've had worse, too," Pete muttered.

"You're gonna need a stitch or two, though," Moira said. "I'll be right back."

"Are you goin' to be nice an' numb it first?" Pete called after her.

"Maybe," Moira said as she disappeared into another part of her lab.

Kit came over at sat next to Pete on the examining table. "I'm really sorry about this. Piotr's usually not like this, it's just, well, he was always so protective of his sister. He trusted me with her heart, and I guess he felt like I betrayed that."

Pete dabbed at the blood on her lip. "Why didn't you tell me about her, Kit?"

Kit looked down at his tennis shoes. "It still hurts…to talk about her. It really wasn't that long ago."

"I'm not some sort of rebound, am I?" Pete asked.

Kit looked up, startled that she'd ask that. "No!" he said. "Pete, loosing Illyana made me feel like I could never love again. But then I met you, and well, I did."

"Kit, are you saying…"

"Yes. I love you, Pete Wisdom."

"I love you, too, Kit Pryde."

Kit leaned down, kissing her. "Ow!" Pete exclaimed, pulling back.

Kit blushed. "Sorry. I forgot about your lip there for a moment."

Pete chuckled. "That's all right. So did I."

Moira came back into the room with a needle to stitch Pete's lip. "All right, Wisdom. This won't hurt a bit."

"How come I get the feeling you're lying?" Pete muttered.

Kit took her hand. "It's all right. I'm here."

"Avenge me if she's poisoning me?" Pete asked.

"Shut up, Wisdom, and let me do my job," Moira said.

Pete sighed, gripping Kit's hand tightly.

*** *** ***

Nightcrawler and Colossus were sitting on the sofa watching television when there was a commotion from the hallway.  Lockheed came scampering through the living area as fast as his legs would take him, closely followed by Pete, who was wielding a fire extinguisher. 

 

“Come back ‘ere, you bloody scaly rat!” she shouted.  Lockheed gave a squeal and took flight, disappearing out a window.  Pete stopped and hunched over, panting.  “Bloody ‘ell.” 

 

“And this is the woman Kit chooses after my sister,” said Colossus, plenty loud enough for Pete to hear.  Nightcrawler gave him a dirty look.

 

“You got a problem, with me, tin man, then I suggest y’stop tellin’ the blue boy about it an’ take it up with me directly,” Pete said, coughing as she attempted to light a cigarette.  Colossus had the decency to turn slightly red.

 

“I meant no offense.”  Pete gave him a skeptical look as she exhaled. 

 

“Yeah.  Right.”  Kit came into the living room. 

 

“Moira’s asking everyone to meet her in the lab.  Apparently there’s a code-red situation,” he said.  Colossus and Nightcrawler jumped up and jogged out.  Kit raised his eyebrow at Pete.  “Honey, what have I told you about smoking in here?”  Pete rolled her eyes.

 

“Aw, give me a break, luv.  The window’s open.  Entirely too much fresh air.  I’m just balancin’ it out.”  Kit took the cigarette from Pete’s hand and gave her a quick kiss. 

 

“Come on, Moira’s waiting.”  Pete followed him, digging another cigarette out of her pack but not lighting it.  The last thing she wanted was both Moira and Kit on her case.  It was worse than when she’d been at school. 

 

In the lab, Moira was standing with Rhane, Meggan and Brian, looking very concerned.  Pete sighed.  “Who’s tryin’ to take over the world this time?” 

 

“We’ve had several reports of…supernatural activity around London,” said Brian.  “Attacks on civilians, general mayhem.”

 

“It looks like someone’s opened some sort of door,” said Moira.  “An’ we’re the only ones equipped to combat the sort of creatures it’s lettin’ through.” 

 

“No offense,” said Kit.  “But what exactly is this ‘supernatural activity’?  Are we talking ghosts here, or full-blown Second Coming?”  Pete thought back to some of the things she’d seen in her life.  She had no desire to encounter more demons. 

 

“Creatures,” said Moira, “believed to be demonic in nature.  All MI-5 will tell us is that bullets don’t kill them, and that there’s a bloody great lot a them.” 

 

“Bloody wonderful,” muttered Pete.  Nightcrawler clapped his hands together. 

 

“You know vhat to do, everyvun.  Let’s move out.” 

 

“One more thing,” said Moira.  “MI-5 is having a special consultant on the occult meet ye in London.  Not my idea, but be polite to him, or I’ll skin the lot of ye.” 

 

“Just what we need…some skinny bloke in glasses tagging after us,” said Pete. 

 

“Put a cork in it, Wisdom,” said Brian.  “This is serious business.”

 

“And you just define the word ‘serious’, Captain Britain.”

 

“Och!  Get movin’, you two!” Moira ordered, shooing them out of her lab. 

 

*** *** ***

 

Out of all the dank, dingy, disgusting and disreputable places Pete Wisdom had visited in her life, the London sewers definitely topped them all.  They were never pleasant, even under the best of circumstances.

 

When they were infested with demons, they were positively unbearable.

 

“So where’s this ‘consultant’ of yours, Kurt?” Pete demanded.  Kit shushed her. 

 

“We don’t know how many of those things are down here, waiting to pounce on us.”

 

“Well as a rule mate, demons don’t pounce.  They tend to leap on ya and tear all of the flesh off yer bones.”  All the members of Excalibur started, turning as a group to face the shadows the voice had spoken out of. 

 

“Who’s there?” demanded Brian.  Pete felt Kit tense beside her and readied a volley of hot knives, just in case it was a particularly well-spoken denizen of Hell waiting in the dark. 

 

“You lot are Excalibur?” said the voice.  The owner stepped forward a bit, and Pete was disappointed to see it was a rather normal-looking man in a ratty trenchcoat.  His face was shadowed, but he was definitely human.

 

“Are you the consultant from MI-5?” asked Kurt.  The man nodded.

 

“Y’might say that.” 

 

“Just who are you, exactly, Mr…?” said Kit.  The man fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.

 

“Constantine.  John Constantine.”  Pete felt herself stop breathing as he stepped fully into the light.  It couldn’t be.  This man was too old, too well-dressed, his face holding none of the life that John’s had.  Had, because John Constantine had died seven years ago… 

 

He flicked his lighter against the end of the cigarette, and Pete knew for sure it was him.

 

“John?” she said.  Her voice came out a tiny squeak.  John squinted at her.

 

“Who’s that?”  Pete swallowed and forced the floor to stop spinning under her.  The shock of seeing John was nearly overshadowed by the knowledge that he wasn’t dead. 

 

“It’s me, John.  Pete…”  John’s bright blue eyes grew wide, and it was his turn to gape.

 

“Pete?!” he cried.  “Fuckin ‘ell…” 

 

“Excuse me,” said Kit.  “I’ll thank you not to use that language in front of the ladies.”  John turned to Kit. 

 

“Shut up,” he said levelly.  Kit blinked once and grew quiet.  John looked back at Pete.  “Is it really you?” he asked softly.

 

Pete never got a chance to tell him, because there was an angry screech from behind them and Excalibur and John were set upon by four or five creatures that looked like dogs.  Large, scaly, dogs with big slobbering fangs. 

 

"Scatter!" Nightcrawler yelled, bamfing out of reach.  Kit phased through one of the demons as it leapt at him and the rest of the team turned and ran for their lives.  Pete fired a volley of hot knives at one that was about to take a bite out of Meggan's retreating backside.  It screeched with pain until it was silenced by Colossus, who put a metal-covered fist through its head. 

 

"Meet us up top!" he snapped at Pete as more of the creatures poured in from the surrounding tunnels.  Pete turned to find John staring at her, his mouth open slightly. 

 

"Y'never told me you could do things like that, luv." 

 

"I'm a mutant," said Pete shortly. 

 

"Ah," said John.  "In that case, would you mind killin' the one who's blockin' our way out?"  Pete turned to find a particularly large demon dog advancing on her, its improbably large jaws hanging open.  A thin trail of saliva leaked out as it snarled at Pete. 

 

"Toerag," she said as she blew its head off.  Seeing their leader downed, the rest of the hounds took the opportunity to get a free meal of their own.  Pete grabbed John's arm and started to run.  "How the bloody hell do you get out of this place?!" she shouted at him. 

 

"No soddin' idea," John replied as they rounded a sharp corner.  Pete stopped short as she came face-to-face with three men in black coveralls, armed with machine guns. 

 

"Shite," she muttered.  The men looked surprised, to say the least, but one had the presence of mind to aim at her and John. 

 

"Orders are to clean the tunnels," he said.  "Of anything livin'." 

 

"They look pretty alive t'me," sniggered the second one.  Pete felt panic roil her stomach for her first time.  Three men with high-velocity rifles were probably evenly matched against her mutant powers.  Plus she had John to think of...

 

"Say, gents," said John, stepping in front of her.  "I've got a bloody fantastic idea.  Why don't you all forget about us, put those peashooters down and go say hello to that lot down the tunnel?"  His smile grew sadistic.  "I'm sure they'd love t'meet three strapping lads like yourselves."  Pete watched in amazement as the three men's eyes grew glassy.  As one, they set down their guns in the dank ankle-deep water and walked slowly down the tunnel towards the hounds.  Pete winced as she heard screams and the sound of tearing flesh.

 

She turned to John.  “How did you do that?” 

 

“Power of persuasion, luv,” said John.  “Now come on…that lot will only be a light snack to what’s behind us.”  He grabbed a ladder and started to climb.  Pete started to follow, but heard a sound from the dark.  She reacted a moment too late.

 

“John!”  One of the demons jumped out of the darkness from the other direction, swiping at John with its massive paw.  He cried out and fell, three broad scratches in his left arm.  “Fuck,” Pete cursed.  She aimed a stream of hot knives at the beast, trying to ignore the screams from both it and John and the smell of searing flesh.  She helped John up.  “Can you climb?”  His face was pale, but he nodded.

 

“I’ll manage.” 

 

Pete had never been more happy to see the overcast skies of London than she was when she shoved the manhole cover off and climbed into the open air.  She leaned down and gave John her arm, pulling with all of her strength.  He flopped out of the manhole and lay prostrate on the pavement, bleeding quietly.  “I’m not gettin’ paid enough for this shite,” he said, before his eyelids fluttered and he passed out.

 

“Bloody…” said Pete, shaking him.  “Constantine.  Wake up, mate, I can’t soddin’ carry you.”

 

“Pete!”  Pete turned to see Kit and the rest of the team running towards her. 

 

“’es hurt,” she said when they reached her.  Colossus reached down and picked John up. 

 

“Let’s get him back to Muir Island, ja?” said Kurt.  “Moira will take care of him.” 

 

“No…hospital…” John muttered, pushing feebly against Piotr with his good arm. 

 

“Chill, Mr. Constantine,” said Kit.  “You’re in good hands.”  John rolled his head towards Kit and gave him a skeptical look.

 

“Bloody wonderful,” he said, before passing out again.

 

*** *** ***

 

“It’s only a wee scratch,” said Moira.  “Ye’ll be back on yer feet in no time, Mr. Constantine.”  John winced as she sewed him up.

 

“Bloody ‘ell, woman, didn’t they teach you not to manhandle yer patients?”  He yelped as Moira shoved the needle through an un-numbed patch of skin.  “Yer a bleedin’ sadist, you are!”

 

Pete could hear his yelling well outside the med lab door, and smiled to herself.  Same old John.  She stopped before going in.  It had been a long time.  She was a child when she’d last seen him.  How much had they both changed?

 

“Yer friend is as big of a baby as ye are, Wisdom,” said Moira by way of greeting. 

 

“And that woman should have her license revoked,” said John, rubbing his arm dramatically. 

 

“Moira, you ‘ave a license to do this?” said Pete in mock incredulity.  “And here I thought you just sent away for courses over the internet.”  Moira narrowed her eyes.

 

“Any hope ye had of me ever likin’ ye just flew out the window, Wisdom.”  She flounced out, slamming the door behind her.  John raised an eyebrow.

 

“Your friends just get weirder and weirder, Pete.”  Pete sat on the edge of his hospital bed.

 

“How’s the arm?”  John shrugged.

 

“Clawed on.  I’ll live, I reckon.”  Pete nervously reached for a cigarette.  Moira’s rules be damned, she was too nervous to function without her fags.

 

“Bloody hell, Constantine.  I ‘aven’t seen you in…seven years, I guess.”

 

“Long time,” John agreed shortly.  He reached for his coat, which was draped over the end of the bed.  “Well, Wisdom, thanks for yer ‘ospitality, but I’d best be on my merry way.” 

 

“Wait!” Pete protested.  “You only just got here.”

 

“Yeah.  And now I’m leavin’,” said John.  “Guess I’ll see you in another seven years, Pete.”  He stood, a bit unsteadily, and left the lab.  Pete exhaled a long stream of smoke as she watched him go.

 

“Well, shite.”

 

Kit came in as John was leaving.  “Pete?  What are you doing in here?”  Pete puffed, trying to conceal her confusion at John’s exit.

 

“Just sayin’ ‘ello.  Constantine and I used to be…friends.”  Kit raised an eyebrow.

 

“Isn’t he kind of old for you, Pete?”  Pete nodded.

 

“Eight years older, to be precise.”  Kit’s face grew an expression of horror.

 

“You two didn’t…”  Pete waved a hand.

 

“I was a kid, Kit.  No, I didn’t shag him.”  Kit blanched even more.

 

“I didn’t mean that.  I meant were you two…you know…boyfriend/girlfriend?” 

 

“Oh yeah.  Guess you could say we were that.”  Kit scuffed his sneaker against the floor.

 

“Oh.”  He looked at her with irritation.  “Pete, for the last time—what have I told you about smoking?”  Pete rolled her eyes.

 

“It’s a filthy ‘abit and I’ll die an agonizing and ‘orrible death well before my time if I keep it up.”  Kit looked down at Pete’s perfect recitation of his oft-given speech.

 

“I guess I’m just one big annoyance to you, huh Pete?”  Pete sighed, stubbing out her cigarette.

 

“Luv, I didn’t mean that.  I’m really sorry, okay?  Just a bit of a start to see John after all this time.”  She stood and kissed Kit on the cheek.  “Don’t be cross.  I love you, you know.” 

 

“I know,” Kit muttered.  “I’ll see you later.  I have to go help Moira compile the data we gathered in the sewers.” 

 

“Just tell me you aren’t mad at me, please,” said Pete in a pleading tone. 

 

“Okay.  I’m not mad at you.  Bye, Pete.”  Pete muttered.

 

“Bugger.”  She headed for the balcony to smoke in peace, stopping when she saw John was already there.  She didn’t know what his problem was, but at least she could have one of the men in her life not angry with her.  She walked over and leaned against the railing next to John.  “Got a light, sailor?”       

John sighed, flicking the end of his cigarette. "I jus' want to stand out 'ere and 'ave a smoke."

"That's what I want, too. They don't like it when I smoke inside. Kit's already given me one of his speeches."

John reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his lighter, handing it to Pete. "Kit that skinny one who tol' me not to curse in front of ladies?"

"Yeah."

John snorted. "Tosser. Jus' blow the smoke in 'is face the next time he gives you trouble."

"I can't do that."

"Why not? Probably be pretty funny to watch, now that I think of it."

Pete looked down. "'Cause Kit an' I…well…we're together, John."

John's eyebrows raised at that. "You're with 'im? Bleedin' 'ell, Wisdom, wot you do, pick 'im up after school?"

"You're one to talk, John!" Pete exclaimed. "I was sixteen when you moved in on me."

"Moved in on you? Hardly. Besides, wot you an' me had, that was different."

"Different? How?"

"It just was."

"How can you know a bleedin' thing about my relationship with Kit? I'll 'ave you know that we're in love."

John took a long drag off his cigarette. "That's bloody wonderful. Invite me to the wedding. I won't come, but I might send you a tin of biscuits or something."

"You're a bastard, John Constantine."

"That's the general consensus, luv. But really, if that wanker makes you 'appy, then good on you both. Guess you got yourself a nice, respectable guy now." John added to himself, "If you can call a bloke in yellow spandex 'respectable.'"

"Wot's that supposed to mean?"

"Take it 'ow you want."

"John, you don't think…"

"Wot, that you just tossed me aside like I was as worthless as they said I was?"

"John, I have no bleedin' clue wot you're talkin' about."

John looked over at her and met her eyes. What Pete saw there made her feel cold. "I thought you were something special, someone who could actually understand me. But you weren't. I don't know wot was goin' through your 'ead, if you jus' wanted a thrill, or if you wanted to stick it to your sister. Either way, you fooled me good, girl. I 'eld on to the hope you'd come to me for the longest time, but I wised up an' accepted wot you really were—wot you are."

Pete looked at him, her expression one of hurt confusion. "But, John, I…"

"Save it," John snapped, throwing his cigarette down on the ground and stubbing it out under his shoe. "I don't want to 'ear any of your bleedin' excuses."

"But…"

Before Pete could say anything else, Nightcrawler appeared in front of them with a puff of smoke. John wiped the smoke away from his face, coughing. "Bloody 'ell, mate, that smells awful." His nose wrinkled. "Are you a demon?

"No, Herr Constantine, I am not," Kurt said with annoyance. "I, like most of Excalibur, am a mutant."

"Well, you smell like a demon. An' you look a bit like one, too."

Kurt chose to ignore John. "I vould like us all to meet for a quick debriefing before bed. I vould also appreciated your presence, Herr Constantine, if you are not too injured."

John had no desire to take place in the spandex-clad board meeting, but he figured he probably should. If his theories of what was really going on were right, then the entire world was in danger, and he'd hate to leave that in the hands of Excalibur. He had to live there, after all. "I'm fine."

"Good. Then let's go before it gets any later."

"Lead the way, mate."

*** *** ***

John followed Pete and Kurt through Excalibur's base. He'd wondered before if maybe he'd been too harsh on Pete over her betrayal. After all, she'd been not much more than a child at the time. But seeing where she'd ended up, he didn't think so. She's signed on with high-minded, over-idealistic wankers. She was even shagging one of them. John shuddered at the thought at that little pair. He did take a bit of comfort in the fact that he was yet to see Pete in spandex.  Maybe she'd retained a bit of self-respect…

By the time they got to the meeting, the rest of Excalibur was already there. Pete immediately sat down beside Kit, and John felt his blood rise. He told himself that it was his extreme dislike for self-righteous blighters that made him hate Kit and not any residual feelings he had for Pete. John had effectively quashed those years ago.

John took a seat beside a blonde woman with pointy ears as Nightcrawler sat at the head of the table. The blonde smiled at him, and John gave her a nod. She seemed like a nice person—had a very bright aura. John wondered what she was doing mixed up with this lot.

Kurt cleared his throat and all of Excalibur immediately turned to look at him. John rolled his eyes. There were like trained monkeys.

"As you all know, ve had a little…trouble in the sewers of London earlier this evening."

John snorted. "That's an understatement, mate." Kit gave John a look, and John had to restrain himself from "convincing" Kit that he wanted to put rocks in his pockets and walk off the side of the island.

Kurt continued speaking. "Our mission vas not successful. Not only did ve not manage to eradicate the threat completely, but ve do not know who has sent it."

"Black Air."

Excalibur all turned sharply to look at Pete. "Are you sure?" Kit asked.

"Yes. When John and I were trying to get out of the sewers, we ran into some agents. They were wearing the Black Air insignia."

"Why is Black Air working with demons?" Brian asked. "Did they when you were with them, Wisdom?"

John was a bit started by that. Pete had been a Black Air agent? Maybe he'd have to reexamine his previous assessment…

"I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't doubt it. Michelle Scicluna seems like the type who'd make a deal with the Devil. Hell, sometimes I was almost convinced she was the Devil.

"Nah, she's not," John said. "I've met the guy. Flipped 'im the bird an' tol' 'im 'up yours.'"

Most of Excalibur gave John a look that made it clear they didn't believe a word he said. But somehow, Pete did. If any man would flip off the Devil, it was John Constantine. "Anyway," Pete said, pulling the attention off John and back on her, "I'm not sure wot those bastards are up to, but it's Black Air. I might be able to see if I can get any of me old contacts to…"

John cut her off. "No need for that, luv. I know wot's going on. I've been noticin' all the phenomena recently, jus' didn't know who was doin' it. Now I do."

"Well do you care to fill us in or are you going to keep this information to yourself?" Kit asked.

John shot him a look that clearly said "shut up or I'll rip your bleedin' head off." "There's been a lot of paranormal activity recently that suggests that someone is opening the door to Limbo. I believe those buggers we fought tonight were a test run before Black Air pulls somethin' bigger through."

"Whoa, back up," Kit said, all the color draining from his face. "Did you just say Limbo?"

"Yeah, you 'eard of it?"

"Yes."

Piotr began to fidget at the end of the table. He turned to Kurt who was beside him. "Tovarich, this door to Limbo…could they bring Belasco back out?"

"It is a possibility, mein Freund," Kurt said. He put his hand on Colossus arm. "Ve von't let it happen. Don't vorry."

"Am I correct in assumin' you blokes 'ave dealt with demons from Limbo before?" John asked.

"Ve have indeed," Kurt said. "Colossus's sister was taken by Belasco and raised as the Queen of Limbo, the Darkchilde."

"Bloody 'ell," John muttered. "Well, at least I won't be havin' to pull off whatever it is we're gonna have to do with a bunch of amateurs."

"No offense, Herr Constantine, but if this is vhat ve think it is, it is a matter for Excalibur. Your services are no longer required."

"No offense, mate, but if someone has opened a door to Limbo, I don't exactly feel comfortable leavin' the fate of the world into the hands of people runnin' around in blue an' yellow knickers. Got to 'ave a sense of self-preservation, you know."

"Funny to hear that from a man who's apparently hellbent on giving himself cancer," Kit said, gesturing to the cigarette John had lit at some point during the meeting.

John's expression became positively frightening. "You want to know about cancer, boy? I've got plenty of stories I could tell you…"

"I think we should let John help us," Pete said quickly, wanting to prevent any of her boyfriend's blood from being spilled. "He knows his stuff when it comes to this sort of thing."

Brian crossed his arms in front of him. "I noticed back in the sewers that the two of you had some sort of past connection. Care to share what that is to the rest of us before we just take your word on it, Wisdom?"

"I knew 'im when I was younger. He was…my sister's boyfriend."

John narrowed his eyes. So that's what he'd been. Nice.

Brian raised a blond eyebrow. "That's it? We're supposed to take your word on him being valuable to this mission on that?"

"Brian," Meggan said, speaking up from the first time since the meeting had begun. "This is Mr. Constantine's area of expertise. Granted, most of the people here have dealt with Belasco before, but he's always caused a lot of trouble. If it is him who they're trying to bring out of that door, then we'll need all the help we can get."

John turned to Meggan and smiled. "Thanks, luv." Meggan smiled back.

"You know, Fuzzy, Meggan and Pete have a point," Amanda said, turning to Kurt. "He is an expert on this sort of thing. I think it would be unwise to not include him in this."

Kurt sighed, realizing his girlfriend was right. "Fine." He turned to John. "We can give you temporary accommodations on Muir Island."

"Whatever, mate."

"I can show him to one of the guest rooms," Pete said.

Kit glanced over, giving her a look. Pete shrugged.

"Good." Kurt sighed. "Let's get to bed. Ve have a long day ahead of us, I believe."

Pete walked over to John as Excalibur began to file out of the room. Kit grabbed her arm before she could say anything to him. "I'll be waiting for you back in our room," Kit said, giving Pete a hard kiss. He shot John a look before walking out of the room.

"Well, someone's insecure," John muttered.

Pete rolled her eyes. "Come on. I'll show you to one of the guest rooms."

*** *** ***

"Nice place you got 'ere, Wisdom," John said, looking around the room. "So are you gonna leave me alone now?"

Pete frowned. "John, about, well, about what happened seven years ago…"

John held up his hand. "Like I tol' you back on the balcony, I don't want to 'ere it. You made your decision back then. If it hurts now, well good."

Pete felt tears forming in her eyes, but told herself she couldn't cry. She wouldn't give John the satisfaction. "Go to Hell, Constantine," she said, running out of the room.

"Already been there, luv!" John called after her as he got up and slammed the door.

*** *** ***

Kit was back in their room, sitting on the edge of the bed. Pete sat behind him, kneading his shoulders. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

"Kit, please, don't be this way, all right? John's just an old friend."

"You said in the medlab he was more than that."

"Was, dear. He's me past, you're me present—and me future."

Kit turned to look at her. "I saw the glances he was giving you in the debriefing. I didn't like it."

"He can glance all he wants, Kit. Only you get to touch." She gave Kit a slow smile.

Kit smirked, running a hand through her hair. "Do I get to touch right now?"

Pete took hold of the collar of his shirt, pulling him back onto the bed with her. "Yes."

*** *** ***

"Remind me why I'm going back to this bloody place," said Pete.  Excalibur was standing around a sewer grate in a back alley of London.

 

"To close zhe door to Limbo and save zhe vurld," said Kurt.  Pete took one last puff of her cigarette before stamping it out. 

 

"I was looking for a good reason, but I guess that'll 'ave to do." 

 

"Are you absolutely sure this is where the gateway is?" said Brian to John.  John shrugged.

 

"Not at all, mate.  But it's as good a guess as any."  Kit frowned.

 

"Well, Mr. Constantine, you'd better hope your 'guess' doesn't get anyone hurt."  John grinned around his unlit cigarette. 

 

"'Fraid of mussin' your hair and tearin' your spandex, son?"  Kit made a move towards John, but Pete put a hand on his arm.

 

"If all of ye are through flexin' yer muscles," said Rhane.  "This place reeks of demons.  I think Mr. Constantine guessed right."  Colossus hauled the grate off of the hole in the ground. 

 

"Then down we go," he said.  "I am not letting that bastard Belasco get through the gateway again."  One by one, the members of Excalibur filed down the ladder.  Pete and John were the last ones left. 

 

"After you," said John, bowing sarcastically.  Pete glared at him.

 

"Sod off, Constantine."  She climbed quickly down the ladder and went and stood next to Kit.  John followed her somewhat less gracefully, his long coat tangling around his legs. 

 

"Smooth," commented Kit. 

 

"Shaddup," John muttered, picking himself off the ground.  He reached into his pocket and fished out what appeared to be a bunch of tangled string and bits of wood.  "Put these on, all of you." 

 

"Vhat are they?" asked Kurt, putting one around his neck. 

 

"Bits of a cross used by the Romans to crucify a heretic," said John.  "They should keep anythin' nasty from gnawing on yer ankles when we get into the shite." 

 

"I'm really not comfortable wearing this," said Kit. 

 

"Then I guess you'll get eaten, won't you, lad?" said John.  Kurt gave Kit a look. 

 

"Put it on, Kit."  Kit grumbled, but slipped the charm around his neck.  "Alright," said Kurt.  "Ve split up--two groups canvassing the tunnels.  Try to avoid being spotted by Black Air.  Once ve find zhe doorway, ve must close it before anything else can come through.  Can you do zhat, Herr Constantine?" 

 

"Easily, mate," said John with a smirk.  Pete made sure she was in the group that didn't go with John.  She didn't know what had crawled up his arse since he'd shown up again, but she didn't want to have to deal with it now.  She felt Kit take her hand as they walked through the damp, close darkness. 

 

"I'll be glad when this is over and that guy is out of our lives," he said. 

 

"Yeah," said Pete, although she wasn't entirely sure she meant it.  "Me too, luv."

 

*** *** ***

 

As far as sewers went, John Constantine had seen worse.  He felt more at home in the shadows than the light, anyway.  If it wasn't for the bunch of secret agents and demons running about, he might have almost been enjoying himself.  He looked at the group he had been sorted with--the Braddock wanker, the shiny metal guy, and the blond woman with enormous tits, and sighed.  Or maybe not. 

 

At least he didn't have to watch Pete hang all over her boyfriend.  It was one thing to dip into the younger dating pool, but another thing entirely to be shagging a bloody escapee from a daycare center.  What in the seven hells did Pete see in the little bastard?  When he knew her before, she would have told Kit to sod the fuck off and given him a boot in the arse to help him on his way. 

 

Maybe that was the problem--Pete had obviously changed in ways that were deeper than John could see at the moment.  He had carried the image of her as a sweet little schoolgirl for seven years, and that obviously wasn't the case any more.  Although, he had to admit, some aspects of the change weren't entirely bad.  A slight smiled played around John's face.  She had filled out rather nicely...

 

John felt a prickle over his skin, and looked up to see runes scrawled over the tunnel walls in chalk.  They were the equivalent of a supernatural electric fence--no one who wasn't human could get in--or out.  "'eads up, you lot," he said.  "We're gettin' close."  The three members of Excalibur became almost comically alert, and John sighed.  How could Pete live with these people?  They were driving him over the sodding edge and he'd only been acquainted with them for two days. 

 

Well, he wasn't going to stick around to find out.  After he'd closed the gateway--or not, he didn't really give a shite--he was done with Pete Wisdom.  She was one less ghost to haunt him.

 

*** *** ***

 

When Pete, Kit, Kurt and Rhane came upon the convergence of tunnels that was home to the Limbo gateway, Pete thought at first they were too late.  Michelle and a phalanx of Black Air agents stood around the perimeter of the small circular area, while in the center a bunch of sods who looked like escapees from her mother's old commune chanted over a dead body whose throat had been cut.  The blood had run over the slick stones and towards a circle drawn on the floor, which was glowing, already beginning to open.

 

"Disgusting..." Kit whispered next to her.  Pete saw John, Colossus, Brian and Meggan appear at the tunnel entrance across from them.  "What do we do now?" Kit was whispering to Kurt. 

 

"Herr Constantine says to scatter the agents, but under no circumstances touch the circle," Kurt whispered.  "Is everyvun ready?"  Pete let her hot knives glow to life on her fingertips. 

 

"Ready."

 

The Black Air agents were considerably less tough than the demons Pete had faced the day before.  At least when you put them down, they stayed down.  But there were a lot of them, and they were all well-armed. 

 

"Keep chanting!" Michelle screamed at the figures around the dead body as she pulled her gun and fired at Excalibur.  Pete knocked the gun out of her hand and grabbed Michelle by the collar. 

 

"I've waited too bloody long to do this," she said, drawing back her fist.  Michelle snarled at her.

 

"You're a friggin' dead woman, Wisdom!  You all are, whether you know it or not!"  Pete punched her, and Michelle stumbled backwards--into the circle.  There was a hiss and the smell of cooking meat, and one of Michelle's arms came cleanly off as it touched the ring of light.  John turned at her scream.

 

"Aw, fuck it," he said.  The circle glowed brightly, and bright flashes of light began to shoot forth.  Each flash became a demonic creature, some of whom actually helped Excalibur by feeding on the Black Air agents that hadn't had the sense to run. 

 

"This is bad," said Kit as the portal grew larger and larger, sucking in air and anything lying lose in the tunnel. 

 

"The blood sacrifice has been given," a disembodied voice boomed.  "And now...I am released."  The light and wind abruptly stopped, and a tall man with long black hair and a black beard stood before Excalibur in front of a still-open but calm portal.  Kit stopped breathing next to Pete and Colossus growled.

 

"Belasco."

 

"Oh, shite," said John.  Belasco smiled thinly. 

 

"So good to see my dear friends again."  He inclined his head towards Colossus.  "Your sister sends her regards, Piotr Rasputin."  Colossus lunged for him.

 

"Bastard!  Murderer!"  Belasco grabbed Colossus by the throat, and Piotr screamed as his metal skin started to melt off under the demon's touch.  Kit leapt forward and grabbed the larger man, phasing them both away from Belasco.  Belasco chuckled.

 

"Intangibility only goes so far, Mr. Pryde."

 

"I'll kill you!" shouted Kit. 

 

"Boy has absolutely no sense of self-preservation, does he?" said John. 

 

"As much as I would enjoy tormenting Illyana's only love in his own private Hell, time presses," said Belasco.  He swept out his long arm and caught Kit off guard, the force of his blow slamming Kit into the wall hard enough to crack brick.  Belasco tsked.  "So sad when that happens."  Pete started to run to Kit, but John grabbed her arm, holding with surprising strength when she struggled.

 

"He's playin' with you, luv.  Don't fall for it or you'll end up worse than them."  Pete looked at John, her eyes enraged. 

 

"How do we kill 'im?"  John shrugged.

 

"Beats the bloody 'ell out of me.  I favor screamin' and runnin', actually."  Pete turned back to Belasco.

 

"Well, I have a few ideas..."  She started to walk towards the demon.  As long as he didn't start shooting fireballs out of his hands, she wanted to be as close as possible when she took her shot.  John saw what she was trying to do and put a hand over his face. 

 

"Stupid bloody woman..."  The rest of Excalibur was standing tensely, not wanting to end up like Piotr and Kit.  "You lot!" John snapped at them.  "Best clear out--there's going to be a fairly spectacular explosion in about ten seconds."  They blinked and stared at him.  "Friggin' move!"  John shouted as Pete released a volley of her hottest knives at Belasco.  Brian picked up Kit and Nightcrawler bamfed Colossus away. 

 

Pete's knives would have melted a man's flesh off his bones from the inside out, but they merely knocked Belasco backwards into the open gateway.  Belasco made a sound matched only by the terrible noise Nergal had made in the club seven years ago as he was sucked backwards into Limbo.  His features contorted and his form began to discorporate.  "This...isssss....AHHH...not...the end!"

 

"Die, you bloody wanker," said Pete, and shot him again.  John dipped his fingers into the mingled demon and human blood on the floor of the tunnel, drawing out a hasty symbol on the floor. 

 

"Blood fer blood, let the gateway be shut eternally and..."  The walls began to shake as an unearthly rumble came from the bowels of the ground.  "Oh, sod it," said John.  "Run!"  He grabbed Pete and they both ran for their lives as a wall of fire ripped from the closing portal and the tunnel began to collapse. 

 

"Is it shut?!" Pete shouted over the noise of the explosion. 

 

"Shut as I can make it!" John yelled back, panting as they rounded a corner.  Pete pressed herself against the wall as the cloud of dust, smoke and fire shot by, the noise dissipating as the fire quickly went out in the damp tunnel.  Pete let out a shaky breath, reaching for a cigarette.  John did the same.  "Got a light, Wisdom?"  Pete felt for her lighter, realized it had gotten lost in the battle, and lit John's cigarette with the tip of her finger.  He grinned.  "Yer bloody useful to have around...in certain situations at least."

 

"Go bugger yourself, Constantine."  She exhaled, her breathing returning to normal.  "We'd better get topside.  The others'll be waiting for us."

 

"Yeah.  Better go make sure yer little boyfriend didn't get 'imself an owie."  Pete glared at John. 

 

"Lay off me'n Kit.  You don't know the first thing about real relationships, John."  John dropped his cigarette and started to walk. 

 

"Fer once you're right, Wisdom.  Guess when it comes to the true an' undyin' love you and Kit 'ave, I'm bloody clueless."  Pete started to retort, but instead just muttered a curse and walked after him.

 

*** *** ***

John had planned to leave as soon as they'd sealed the door, but when Meggan has asked him to go with them for a celebratory drink at the pub, he figured what the hell. After all, it wasn't every day that you managed to stop the world from being run by demons.

Okay, well, maybe it was as far as John was concerned, but still. He had to spend his evening somehow. Might as well be the Excalibur lot.

He watched Kit and Pete from over the edge of his pint. When she looked at Kit, it was with that same kind of adoration she'd once looked at John with. He slammed back the rest of his drink and ordered another.

Pete snuck a glance at John. She wondered why he'd even come out with them. He obviously wasn't having a good time. He'd said a few words to Meggan, but mainly he'd been just drinking and glowering. She looked back at Kit. He didn't seem happy either. Pete sighed inwardly. Shouldn't people be in better spirits than this after saving the world?

Kurt stood. "I hate to cut the evening short, but Amanda and I have decided to return to Muir. It's getting late, and ve are both tired."

"Do ye mind if Douggie an' I come with ye?" Rhane asked.

"Me, too," Kit said.

Pete looked at him. "You want to leave?"

"Yeah. You can stay if you want to, sweetie. My head just really hurts. Probably from Belasco throwing me through that wall…"

Pete gently kissed his forehead. "Yeah, I can see where that would do it. Go on 'ome and get some rest. I'll be along soon."

Kit glanced down the table at John. "Don't let him give you any trouble," he said quietly.

Pete smirked. "Don't worry, luv. I can handle meself."

"Well, Brian, Meggan, and Moira are all still here if you need them."

"I know. Go 'ome, Kit."

Kit stood, then leaned down to give Pete a lingering kiss. He glanced up at John, making sure the other man had seen it. John discretely flipped him the bird. Kit smirked and kissed Pete one more time before leaving with the others.

*** *** ***

Pete sat picking the label off her bottle of Bass. She figured she probably should have gone home with Kit, but she really wasn't ready. John would probably be leaving in the morning, and she would never see him again. After spending so many years thinking he was dead, that thought gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

John had moved to a booth alone as soon as the others had left. Brian and Meggan were off in a dark corner somewhere. Moira was singing loudly at the bar with some people she knew but Pete didn't. Pete sighed. This was ridiculous. She didn't know what had happened in the past seven years to make John so bitter, but she was going to find out.

She walked over to the booth where John was sitting and slid into the bench across from him. "That seat's taken," John slurred.

"I don't see anyone."

"'e's invisible."

Pete wasn't in the mood for games. This could be her last chance to talk to John, and she wasn't going to waste it. "Enough of this, Constantine, wot 'appened to you seven years ago?"

John sneered. "Don't act like you don't know."

"I don't! The last thing I saw of you, that…thing…was standin' over ya about to make ya 'is dinner!"

"You know wot happened after that," John snapped. "You jus' didn't care enough to do anything about it."

"I thought I knew what happened after that, but seein' as you're sittin' 'ere, apparently I didn't."

John's eyes flashed angrily. "No? Does the word 'Ravenscar' ring any bells?"

Pete's eyes grew wide and her hand went to her mouth. "John, you weren't…"

"Yeah, I was. An' don't play the innocent either, actin' like you didn't know I was there."

"I didn't! Bloody 'ell, Constantine, I thought you were dead!"

"Dead? Wot, you think jus' cause some bloody demon tries to eat me, that I'd be dead? Takes more than that, luv." John's voice got quiet. "Besides, I tol' you I'd get out of it an' come find you. I promised…"

"I know. But, well…" Pete sighed. "After I left the club, I ran 'ome. I didn't know where else to go. I tol' Romany wot 'ad 'appened. I thought maybe with her knowledge of the occult, she could help or something, I don't know. She left, and when she came back a bit later she was crying. She told me you were dead."

Anger flashed in John's eyes again. "That bloody whore!" he yelled, loud enough for a couple of the pub's other patrons to give him a glance. He lowered his voice again. "I saw Romany that night, after it all 'appened. I was a mess, an' the cops wanted to take in for 'questioning,' but I got a few words in to her. I tol' her to let you know I was okay, and I'd send word for you. An' I did, too. After a couple months, I was able to smuggle a letter out. Didn't say much, just that I was still breathin', and that I wanted you to wait for me it ya could. I got a reply fairly quickly. Said you weren't interested in someone in the looney bin, and that you didn't want to ever 'ear from me again."

Pete reached across the table, placing her hand on top of John's. "I never would've said that, John. Romany must've gotten the letter. I didn't stick around home long at all after I lost you."

John looked up, meeting her eyes. "Would you 'ave waited for me, luv?"

Pete felt her breath still. What could she say? That she would've waited a lifetime for him if she had to? That she wanted him to take her into his arms and make her feel sixteen and alive again? But she had Kit now, and she loved him. "John, I…"

John could tell what she was going to say. She was going to remind him of that wanker she called a boyfriend. "Dance with me, luv," he said quickly, cutting her off.

"Wot?"

"Dance with me. I think I can see a jukebox in the other bar."

"John, why do you want to dance now?"

"Jus' do." He finished his drink. "C'mon."

Pete got up, deciding she did want to dance with John. She wanted to feel his arms around her, just for a moment, and this way she could do it without being disloyal to Kit. "All right then, let's dance."

Pete and John walked back to the jukebox. Pete leaned over, resting her arm on in as she assessed the choices. She frowned. "God, this jukebox is out of the ark." Her eyes scanned down a bit further, and then lit up. "Oh, here's the Ramones." She dropped in her money and made her selection, smiling as the song began. "This is the sound of being in love when you're sixteen and forget everyone else…"

She stopped when she realized what she was saying. John just nodded, taking hold of her and swaying slowly to the music. Pete felt herself melt. His arms felt so strong.

Have I ever told you
How good it feels to hold you
It isn't easy to explain

And though I'm really tryin'
I think I may start cryin'
My heart can't wait an other day

John pulled her a little closer, and Pete rested her head on his shoulder. He breathed in the scent of her hair, loving the way it felt to have her next to him. He'd been telling himself ever since he'd seen her again that those old feelings were gone, but it was clear to him now they weren't.

He figured he could blame it on the alcohol, but he knew that would be a lie. Sure, he'd had more than his fair share that night, but he couldn't blame wanting her on that. This woman had taken hold of him seven years ago, and when he was honest with himself he had to admit that had never gone away.

When you kiss me I just gotta
Kiss me I just gotta
Kiss me I just gotta say:

Baby, I love you
Come on baby
Baby, I love you
Baby I love, I love only you

I can't live without you
I love everything about you
I can't help it if I feel this way

Pete let herself just relish being with John. She knew it was only a fantasy, and that the love that they had was long gone, but that didn't mean she couldn't pretend for a little while. She let herself get wrapped up in the scent of cigarettes and alcohol that she never got to smell on a man anymore. It was a dark, almost forbidden sort of scent, and she'd always liked it. She had since she'd first kissed John when she was sixteen…

Oh I'm so glad I found you
I want my arms around you
I love to hear you call my name

Oh tell me that you feel
Tell me that you feel
Tell me that you feel the same

"Um, am I interrupting something?"

Pete and John jumped out each other's arms. Pete looked back, brushing the hair out from in front of her eyes. "Brian! Hi! No, John and I were just dancing. Everything all right?"

"Yeah," Brian said, frowning. "Meggan and I are going to bring Moira back. She's starting to get…violent."

"Hit the bartender again, did she?"

Brian sighed. "Yes. That woman is one mean drunk."

Pete laughed. "I'll go on back with you." She turned to John. "Are you coming back with us?"

"Probably should. I doubt I could find me way back to London in this state."

"Yeah, you'd probably end up face down in a bog somewhere," Pete said. "C'mon. I'm sure you can stand one more night on Muir."

John smirked. "I've slept in worse places," he said as he followed Pete and Brian out.

Baby I love, I love only you…

*** *** ***

John fell asleep on the trip back on the Midnight Runner. He woke to feel Pete shaking him gently. "Get up, Constantine. We're 'ome."

"Home?"

"Well, mine, anyway."

"Right." He tried to stand, but had to grip the seats for support. "I'm 'avin' a bit of trouble, luv. Seems the world is spinnin' a bit faster than normal."

Pete shook her head. "I think you may be smashed, Constantine."

"Really?"

Pete put her arm around him, letting him rest some of his weight on her. "I'll 'elp you back to your room."

"Thanks. You're an angel."

"Wotever."

Pete helped him slowly off the plane and into the building, down the hall and to his room. She opened the door, guiding him over to the bed. John lay down, putting an arm over his head. "I do wish the bloody room would be still."

"That'll teach you to drink that much."

John raised her arm. "Why aren't you tipsy? You were drinkin' a bit, too, and the girl I remember couldn't hold a pint."

"Well, I'm not anywhere near sober," Pete admitted. "But somewhere in the past seven years I managed to turn into a human sponge."

John chuckled. "Good. I like me women to be able to hold their liquor."

"John…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You got a wanker waiting for you back in yer room. Be a friend, though and take off me shoes. I don't think I can." Pete rolled her eyes as she knelt beside the bed, taking off John's shoes and socks. "And me tie?" John asked. "Don't want to be chokin' in me sleep now."

Pete got up and sat beside him on the bed, carefully undoing his tie and placing it on the bedpost.

"Belt? Sort of uncomfortable for sleepin'…"

Pete undid his belt, sliding it off slowly and letting it fall to the ground.

"Shirt?"

Pete looked at him, her eyes wide and her breathing shallow. She carefully undid each button, then spread the shirt open with her hands, running her fingers along John's chest. He let out a shaky breath, shivering at her touch. She looked up to meet his eyes, and John reached up, threading his fingers through her long, black hair. "I was right when I said you'd grow up to be beautiful," he said softly. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He pulled her face down, kissing her gently at first, but then with more force. Pete moaned, letting herself sink into the kiss.

John pulled her to him, and Pete straddled his waist, never breaking contact with his lips. John slid his hands under her shirt, caressing her back. Pete whimpered against his lips. John moved his hands up, starting to take off her shirt. It was then that Pete snapped up, her eyes wild.

"John, I can't…I…Kit…"

"Pete, please…" John said softly, reaching up for her but not touching her.

Pete scrambled off him. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, making a dash for the door.  John sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Bloody 'ell."

*** *** ***

Pete felt horribly guilty as she got back to her own room where Kit was already asleep. She undressed and slipped into bed, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Kit opened his eyes. "Pete?" he murmured sleepily.

"Any other women crawl into bed with you?"

Kit smirked. "No." He kissed the top of her head. "You're the only woman I could ever want."

Pete felt her guilt grow tenfold. "I love you, Kit. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Kit mumbled, already drifting back off to sleep.

Pete lay in his arms until sleep finally came for her.

*** *** ***

John woke up with a terrible headache. But he felt good despite of it. Most of the night was fuzzy, but he did remember kissing Pete. Sure, she'd run back to her little boyfriend, but John knew it was only a matter of time until that little union went bust. Especially with him there to speed things along.

John felt almost giddy as he took out a bottle of whiskey for a little hair of the dog. The knowledge that Pete hadn't just abandoned him to Ravenscar after all was the best thing he'd ever heard. And the way that she'd been acting the night before let him know that she still wanted him. And wanted him bad at that. If he stuck around, he could have her in no time. Hell, if things went well, they could be heading back to London together by nightfall.

John smiled to himself. Yes, that was what he wanted. He'd been bleedin' lonely lately, and Pete would definitely fix that. And if the only obstacle in his way was a skinny little boy, it wouldn't even be a challenge.

John made himself look as presentable as he ever looked, then left his room to see if he could find some breakfast.

*** *** ***

"Good morning, Mr. Constantine," Brian said as he walked into the kitchen.

"Mornin'," John replied, his mouth full of food.

Brian made a pitiful attempt to hide his disgust. "The Midnight Runner's ready whenever you're ready to go back to London. Just let me know and I'll fly you back."

"Oh I'm not going back today," John said, waving his hand.

Brian raised an eyebrow. "And when are you goin' back."

"Not sure. I'll let you know." John finished his breakfast and got up from the table. "See you around, Cap'n."

Brian called after him, but he was already gone. Pete walked into the room, and Brian grabbed her arm. "Wisdom, you have to talk to your friend."

"Wot friend?" Pete asked, confused.

"Constantine."

"He's still 'ere?"

"Yes. And apparently he's not leaving today."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"When is 'e leavin' then?"

"Don't know that either."

"Then wot am I supposed to do about it? Clunk 'im on the 'ead an' drag 'im outta here?"

Brian sighed. "I don't know. Go talk to him or something. Find out why he isn't running for the door and then point him in that direction. One snarky Londoner running around is more than enough."

"Gee, thanks, Braddock, I love you, too," Pete said, rolling her eyes. "Fine, I'll talk to John, but I'm not makin' any promises. John can be a stubborn bastard when he wants to be."

"Whatever. Just make him leave."

Pete walked out of the kitchen, going towards John's room. Although she certainly couldn't tell Brian the truth, Pete knew exactly why John wasn't leaving—and it infuriated her. She banged hard on the door. "I know yer in 'ere, Constantine!"

John opened the door, giving her his nicest smile. "'ey there, luv."

Pete pushed past him, slamming his door. "Wot the 'ell are you pullin', John?"

John managed to look innocent and devious at the same time. "Wotever are you talkin' about?"

"Oh you know damn well what I'm talkin' about! Braddock says you're not leaving."

"So? I've decided the Scottish air is good for me constitution."

"Sod yer constitution. Yer here for me, and I don't like it."

"Oh aren't we the self-absorbed one."

"Stop being a wanker."

"Fine, you want me to leave? Go pack your bags, luv, an' we'll leave right now."

"Wot! John, I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Why not? We make a good pair, y'know."

"We do not!'

John moved in on her, pushing her against the wall and effectively pinning her there with an arm on either side of her. "No? Then explain last night."

Pete blanched. "That was the alcohol, John! Nothing more!"

"Oh? You seemed to be pretty 'ot 'fore you flew outta 'ere the way you did. C'mon, luv. You know I can fuck you better than that tosser Pryde ever dreamed of doing."

Pete reached up and slapped him hard across the face. John stumbled back and Pete got away from the wall. "Leave Muir, Constantine," Pete snapped. "I don't want you 'ere." She left the room, slamming the door hard behind her.

John rubbed his sore cheek and sighed. Maybe this would be a bit more difficult than he'd originally thought.

*** *** ***

Inside the collapsed tunnels under the city of London, something was stirring.  It started as a low vibration through the fallen brick and mortar, growing louder and louder until an explosion ripped forth and Belasco stood from under his prison of rock. 

 

He surveyed the carnage left behind by Excalibur and smiled.  They had left him plenty of bodies for what he had in mind. 

 

Belasco realized he had been fortunate that the man Constantine cared too much about his own skin to make sure the gateway was really closed.  Of course, Belasco had helped the illusion along by faking a rather spectacular death.  It had been painful to cross back through the doorway and out again, and for that Belasco was going to make sure that all of the parties responsible paid, starting with John Constantine and that woman who had helped him.   

 

Belasco yanked a dead body--half of one, anyway--from under a chunk of masonry and dropped it in the middle of what had once been the summoning circle for him.  He sighed as he steeled himself for the ordeal ahead.  He had been the ruler of Limbo long enough to make the aquaintance of some truly fearsome creatures of Hell--and from them he knew exactly what to do to make sure John Constantine paid the price for what he had done in full.  Plus, it would be a nice bonus for when he delt with the rest of Excalibur.

 

Belasco focused on the body, making the blood from the cauterized wounds flow again, filling the circle with the dark red sheen of dead man's blood.  Without tools, without aides, this would be the most difficult ritual he had ever accomplished.  But Belasco's need for vengeance was stronger than the fear of the pain this would surely cause.  He began his chant, in the ancient tongues that no human could speak or understand.  "Hail Nergal, King of Rage..."

 

*** *** ***

 

John was rather enjoying himself on Muir Island.  No rent to worry about, plenty of food, and Pete.  Well, whenever she stopped pretending she was mad at him.  At least John had almost convinced himself she was just playing hard to get, and would show up at his door with her bags packed any minute.

 

There was a knock.  "Speak of the devil," John muttered.  He opened it, expecting to find Pete, or maybe the Braddock wanker again. 

 

It was Kit.  "We need to have a chat, Mr. Constantine," he said.  John smirked. 

 

"Do we now?  Wot about?"  Kit stepped into the room and shut the door.

 

"You know damn well what about."  John crossed his arms. 

 

"If it's about you being a git, I'm sorry mate, but there's no known cure for that."  Kit's eyes narrowed. 

 

"You stay the Hell away from Pete.  I'm only going to tell you nicely once."  John tried unsuccessfully to keep from laughing at Kit's attempt to be intimidating. 

 

"An' if I don't?"  Kit took a step towards him. 

 

"Then things are going to get ugly."  John abruptly stopped laughing and advanced on Kit, until he was nose-to-nose with the shorter man. 

 

"Listen up, son, an' listen well.  The only reason I 'aven't convinced you to do the world a favor and remove yerself from the gene pool is because Pete still has some daft notion that she's in love with you.  You're not good enough for 'er, and if you hurt her, then 'eaven help you, because there won't be a corner of this bloody world where you can hide from me."  Kit swallowed. 

 

"Y-you have no business threatening me.  I'll tell Moira..." 

 

"Go tattle to the good doctor, then, an' leave me in peace," said John.  He opened his door.  "Don't let it hit yer arse on th' way out."  Kit crossed his arms.

 

"I'm not letting you have Pete."

 

"Good.  Always did enjoy a challenge, mate.  Ta."  John shut the door in Kit's face and smiled to himself.  This was going to be fun.

 

*** *** ***

 

"Tell me again, Belasco, why I've agreed to throw in with an imbecile like yourself."  Belasco swallowed and looked at the figure before him.  In Limbo, Nergal hadn't seemed out of place, but on Earth he was terrifying. 

 

"Because I have given you a chance for what you desire most," he said, forcing his voice to be strong and regal.  He was the King of Limbo, after all, and Nergal was just Satan's flunky. 

 

"And how, exactly, do you know what I desire?" 

 

"It's common knowledge," said Belasco.  "How you fought the man Constantine seven human years ago and how he--"  Nergal's eyes glowed.

 

"Stop there, Belasco, if you value your body and your sanity."  Belasco took in a deep breath. 

 

"Shall we go some place more hospitable?"  Nergal looked around the tunnel, which was now devoid of bodies, except for a few bones and scattered limbs. 

 

"You brought me back, and gave me a fine meal.  For that reason, and only that, I will listen to what you have to say."  Belasco let the air out of his lungs.  The hardest part was over. 

 

"Very well."  He turned himself to a normal-looking man, and Nergal did the same.  "Come with me." 

 

Walking the streets of London, Nergal took in a deep breath, almost as if he were sniffing out prey.  "It's been too long, it has." 

 

"Well, work with me and you can live here if you like," said Belasco.  "In here."  They turned into a pub that Nergal could sense was frequented by magicians.  Like Constantine.  The fucking bastard...

 

"Now," said Belasco, settling himself in a dark booth in the back, "here is my plan.  We lure Excalibur to their deaths, and with them and Constantine out of the way, we can systematically destroy this island and spread like a plague."

 

"Sounds so simple," said Nergal, casting a smile at the barmaid.  "And yet, I detect a note of the desperate rantings of a petty tyrant who has no idea what he's doing."  Belasco slammed his fist on the table.

 

"Do no disrespect me, demon.  I am the ruler of all Limbo.  I could crush you."  Nergal motioned the girl over and ordered a pint. 

 

"Of course, Belasco.  Of course you could.  So we will implement your plan, but I have one condition--leave Constantine to me."  Belasco nodded.

 

"I have no interest in a petty mage."  Nergal smiled thinly as he drained his pint.

 

"Petty.  Yes.  Very."  He swept his glass to the floor, shattering it.  The barmaid ran over.

 

"Best let me get that sir, don't want to be 'urting yourself."  Nergal touched her head with one hand.

 

"No, my dear, I don't.  But you, on the other hand..."  The reached down obediently and took a large shard of glass from the pile, methodically slicing across both of her wrists. 

 

"Let it be known," she said in a dull, robotic voice as Nergal's lips moved.  "The human race is not long for this world."  She walked slowly through the pub, blood dribbling down her hands as the patrons either ran forward to help her or scrambled out of the way.  Nergal turned to Belasco.

 

"You wanted to send a message to Excalibur?"  Belasco nodded dumbly, having no idea what was going on.  Nergal stood.  "Consider it sent."  In the subsequent explosion and death of the nearly thirty patrons in the pub, no one noticed the two men leaving the scene, and the fact that as soon as they were out of the firelight, they both vanished into thin air.     

*** *** ***

"Good morning, luv."

Pete froze, feeling John's body press up against her, his breath on her neck. "John, get off me this instant."

"Why, luv? We were both late gettin' down to breakfast. Bet no one would come in if we just…"

Pete turned around, pushing John forcibly away from her. "Look Constantine, get it through that think skull of yours—I'm not bloody interested."

"How can you not be interested? After shaggin' that Pryde bloke, I'd think you'd want a real man for a while."

"Let me know when you find one."

"How bloody original."

"Look, either eat breakfast or go away. I'm not in the mood for you, Constantine."

"Fine," John said, helping himself to the leftovers from what Excalibur had eaten earlier. He sat down at the table, watching Pete as she fixed her own plate. She sat the plate on the table across from John, then went back to the counter, pouring two cups of coffee. She handed one to John with a smile.

"Coffee?"

John took the cup from her and took a sip. He spit it back into the mug immediately. "Bloody 'ell, Wisdom, are you trying to poison me?" Pete just smirked.

"Gave him Moira's coffee, I see," Brian said, walking into the kitchen.

"Figures that woman would've made that vile stuff," John muttered, poking at his egg with a fork.

Brian leaned back against the counters, regarding John for a moment. "Constantine, no offense, but we defeated Belasco almost a week ago. Why are you still here?"

John looked up at him. "I'm not here," John said calmly. "I left already."

Brian blinked, then looked over at Pete. "So, when did your friend leave?"

Pete threw down her napkin, getting up from the table. "I can't take this anymore, Constantine," she snapped, storming out of the kitchen.

"Aw, c'mon, luv, I was only having a bit of fun with the Captain!" John yelled after her. He sighed, going back to his breakfast. "Bloody woman."

*** *** ***

Pete spent the next of the morning avoiding John. She didn't like the way she felt around him. It was if she always had to be alert for his next move, but never quite able to stay on her toes enough to keep up with him. She felt off balance.

"Och, there you are."

"I'm not in the mood for any of your freaky tests, Moira," Pete said, not glancing up.

"It's not that, Wisdom. It's Kit."

Pete did look up then, her eyes full of worry. "Kit? Is 'e all right? He's not hurt, is 'e?"

"No…well, physically at least…"

"What's going on MacTaggart?"

"Well, he's stolen me nightgown an' he's wearing it while dancing down the halls singing 'I Feel Pretty.'"

Pete dropped her head into her hands. "John Constantine, I will bleedin' kill you," she muttered. She stood up. "Thank you, Moira. I'll handle it."

"If you can help me get him into the lab, I can…"

"No need for that. I can take care of it just fine."

"But…"

"I've got it, Moira," Pete said, walking out of the room. She stormed down to John's room, beating on his door.

John opened it with a smile on his face that made Pete want to slap him. "Come for a shag?"

"No, you bleedin' wanker, I've come to tell you to take the soddin' mind whammy off me boyfriend."

"Mind whammy? Wot are you talking about, you crazy bird?"

"You know, that bloody Jedi mind trick knock-off you do."

"Luv, in case you 'aven't noticed, I'm not Luke Skywalker."

"Stop bein' daft, John. Moira says Kit's dancing around in her night clobber, an' I know you 'ad somethin' to do with it."

"You know, luv, your little boyfriend might jus' finally be showin' his true colors. Any of your knickers gone missin' lately?"

"Constantine…"

"Look, I didn't do a damn thing to Kit, so…"

Pete grabbed John by the collar, pushing him against the wall with her hot knives in his face. "I'm not playin' around 'ere, John."

John sighed. "Fine, where is 'e?"

"I feel pretty, oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and gay. And I pity any girl who isn't me today."

John shook himself off as Pete let him go. "Well, I guess that answers me question."

John and Pete followed the sound of singing down the hall. John stifled a laugh at the sight. "Never pegged Moira for havin' anything that frilly."

Pete bit her lip. As much as she hated to admit it, it was an amusing sight. Kit did a pirouette.

"Who's that pretty girl in that mirror there? Who can that attractive girl be? Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty me!"

"Want me to see if he knows anything from Cabaret?"

"Make him stop, John."

"You are no fun these days, Wisdom." He walked up to Kit taking him by the shoulders. "You are not Maria. You no longer want to wear Moira's nightgown or dance around an' sing. Instead, you want to flee the room in complete and total embarrassment and stay locked in your room for at least a good two or three hours."

Kit blinked, looking at John, Pete, then himself in complete and total horror. He ran from the room.

"John!"

"Hey, you said make him stop dancing. I did that."

"You are such a wanker."

"You know, your boyfriend's going to be busy for the next few hours. Why don't we…"

Pete gave him a look that would scare some of the demons he had met. She stormed out of the room.

John pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "Bugger."

*** *** ***

"John, we have to talk."

John sighed. "Again, Kit? I've already heard your whiny little voice to last me a bloody lifetime."

"What did you think that little stunt you pulled earlier was going to accomplish?"

"Dunno. Jus' felt like doin' it for a lark. You looked bloody hilarious in Moira's little frilly nightgown."

"I don't care what you do to me, Constantine, you are not getting Pete."

"Oh yes I am. I'm gonna get 'er, and then I'm gonna shag 'er. A lot."

"Pete is mine. Not yours. Mine."

"Oh you are such a baby." John smirked. "I don't know why Pete even bothers with you. You can't possibly be satisfying."

Kit narrowed his eyes. "I have no problem in that area, Constantine."

"Tell yourself wot you 'ave to, mate. I'm still gonna get her in the end."

Kit had had enough of this man. He pulled back, his fist balled. John caught the punch in midair, twisting Kit's arm around. Kit stared up, too surprised to phase.

"Now you listen 'ere you fuckin' piece o' shit, you don't mess with me. I can kill you, and I wouldn't mind doing it one bit. Pete is out of your league. Go find a nice little thing to play your Dungeons and Dragons with, and leave the real women to the real men."

"You…you can't have her…" Kit said, his voice trembling.

John grinned psychotically. "I can make your nightmares come true, y'know. I know a few demons that would love a new chew toy…"

"I…"

"John, If you don't get your bleedin' hands off me boyfriend, I will kill you. Slowly."

John blinked. "Pete! When did you get in here?" He let Kit go.

Pete walked up to John, shoving a finger in his face. "I'm going to get one thing straight right now, John Constantine. I don't want you. As a matter of fact, I don't even like you. I think you are a pathetic, disgusting excuse for a human being. I am sick of your shite, an' I want you off this Island by morning or I will personally rip off yer bullocks and feed them to something 'orrible. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," John snapped.

"Good." Pete turned to Kit, giving him a long, deep kiss. "Come on, luv. Let's go back to our room."

John glared as he watched them walk out of the room. If that was what Wisdom wanted, fine. She wasn't the same woman he remembered anyway. At least he could take comfort in the fact that she'd end up miserable with the Pryde blighter. She wanted him off Muir Island, then fine. He'd go. Her loss.

"Herr Constantine?"

"WOT?!" John snapped, turning around to give Nightcrawler a menacing look.

Kurt stumbled back. "There is…a phone call for you." He pointed to a phone on a table near John.

John sighed, wondering who in the world could have tracked him there. He picked up the phone. "Constantine."

Kurt watched all the color drain from John's face. The blond man said only a few words to the person on the other end of the line before hanging up. "Vhat vas that?" Nightcrawler asked.

John ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Belasco ain't dead, mate," he said. "He jus' 'it a pub last night, killed everyone in it."

Nightcrawler's eyes grew wide. "But vhy vould he destroy a pub?"

"It was a message," John said. "A lot of me mates would go there."

"I am sorry…" Nightcrawler said.

"Yeah, wotever. Look, I need to get to that pub. Wot's left of it, at least."

"Ve vill go vith you."

"No need for that."

"Yes, there is. If Belasco is involved, so is Excalibur."

John sighed heavily. "Fine. Jus' be quick about it."

*** *** ***

"I don't like this place one bit," Meggan said, moving closer to Brian.

"There's been a lot of death here, that's for sure," Amanda said. "It feels really, cold…"

John looked around, frowning. Something about this being the work of Belasco didn't ring true for him. He didn't doubt that he'd been there—John could still feel residual traces of his presence. But there was something else, too. Something worse.

"John!"

John snapped to attention at the sound of Pete calling for him. He went over to her, where she was standing beside the only wall still standing. John paled at what he saw written there. Large, bloody letters spelled out the message: "John Constantine, I have returned for you."

"Oh bloody 'ell," John said softly.

"Do you know who wrote it, John?"

John nodded slowly.

"Who?"

John met her eyes. "Nergal."

*** *** ***

“I don’t understand,” said Kit.  “Who’s Nergal?” 

 

“A demon,” said Pete.  “A big, nasty demon with a taste for human flesh.”  Excalibur was sitting in a booth in one of the better restaurants in London, Brian having gotten them all in for lunch. 

 

“So how exactly do we get rid of this Nergal?” said Amanda.  Everyone turned to John, who fidgeted a bit in his chair.

 

“Well don’t look at me, luv.”  Kit sighed.

 

“You’re all missing the point—that we wouldn’t be in this situation if the expert over here had done his job.”  There were mumbles of agreement from the other members of the team. 

 

“’ey, lay off,” said Pete.  “’e did the best he could, under the circumstances.”  Kit turned on her.

 

“Why are you defending him?!” he demanded.  “This is all his fault!  For God’s sake, Pete.”  Pete grew silent, poking at her lunch with her fork.  Kit was right—if John hadn’t been so concerned with getting out of the tunnel, Belasco would have been sealed back in Limbo.  Why was she defending him?  He was a selfish bastard who had caused her nothing but trouble.  Pete looked up to meet John’s eyes across the table.  He shot her a quick smile before looking away, and Pete sighed.  Maybe it would be easier to hate him if he wasn’t so cute. 

 

“Arguing about personal problems is not going to help us,” Kurt said sternly, making sure to look at both Kit and John.  “Vhat ve need now is a plan.” 

 

“Belasco will be weak,” said John.  “Summoning a demon as powerful as Nergal is ‘ard even for someone like ‘im.  If you weaken a denizen of Limbo enough, ‘e won’t be able to hold a corporeal form.” 

 

“Come again?” said Kit patronizingly.  “In English this time, perhaps?  I thought your country gave birth to the language…”

 

“’urt Belasco enough an’ he goes ‘poof’,” said John.  “Is that simple enough for you kiddies?” 

 

“It’s decided, zhen,” said Kurt.  “Ve go after Belasco, and zhen we find and destroy zhe other one—Nergal.”  John’s expression became shielded, and he stood up from the table. 

 

“Where are you going?” demanded Kit. 

 

“T’the little boy’s room, mate.  Wot’s the matter—you want to join me?”  Kit shot John a glare, which John smirked at and walked away from the group.  Pete stood up. 

 

“Where are you going?” said Kit.  Pete looked down at him. 

 

“Does it matter, luv?”  Kit frowned at her.

 

“Yes Pete, it does matter.  I’ve had just about enough of your strange behavior.  Either you start letting me in on what’s going on in your little head or we need to have a serious talk.”  Pete felt the color rise in her cheeks as she realized that Kit was scolding her like a naughty child in front of the rest of Excalibur.  Suddenly, the events of the past week became too much for her. 

 

“Excuse me,” she muttered, practically running out of the dining room.  In the hallway to the loos, she leaned against the wall and pressed her hands over her face, willing the tears not to come.  She wasn’t a person who cried, hadn’t been since she was a child.  If only John hadn’t come back, hadn’t stirred up all of her old feelings…

 

“You know I can’t stand to see a pretty woman cry, luv.”  Pete sniffled and looked up.

 

“Go ‘way, Constantine.”  John produced a handkerchief from his coat pocket and held it out silently.  Pete took it and dabbed at her eyes, her eyeliner leaving black streaks.  “I’ve ruined it.”  John shrugged.

 

“’ad worse than that smeared on it.”  He tucked the handkerchief away.  “You alright?” 

 

“No, John, I’m not alright,” said Pete.  “You’re ruining me life.  Kit’s mad at me an’ it’s your fault.”  John fought the urge to nail Kit to a wall and let imps feed on his liver.  Somehow he thought that wouldn’t endear him to Pete. 

 

“Y’know, Pete, you’re not goin’ to find redemption in ‘is arms,” said John.  “Point of fact, redemption’s overrated.  Take it from me.”  Pete rubbed her temples.

 

“After we kill Belasco, John, I want you t’leave.  I don’t want to see you again.  Ever.”  John looked down at her, touching her cheek lightly with one hand.  His fingers were rough and made her skin prickle.

 

“You really mean that, luv?”  Pete met his eyes. 

 

“Yes.  I do.”  She expected a smirk and a witty retort, but John just dropped his hand to his side and looked away.

 

“Alright then.  I’m goin’ back to the table before the Braddock wanker leaves me with th’ check.”  He turned and started to walk, his shoulders hunched.  Pete spoke before she could stop herself.

 

“John.”  He looked over his shoulder.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Nergal…are we going to be able to kill ‘im?” 

 

“Doubt it,” said John.  “You don’t kill what Nergal is, not in the ‘uman sense of life an’ death, anyway.” 

 

“Then how did you do it before?” Pete asked.  “’ow did you survive the club?”  John laughed once, rather bitterly.

 

“Tricked him, luv.  Got one over on ‘im.  The same way I’ve done all th’ other suckers in me life.”  His mouth curved upwards in a crooked smile.  “But I’d reckon ‘e’s gotten a lot smarter since last time I saw ‘im.  If we’re lucky, ‘e’ll be long gone when we find Belasco.”

 

“And if we’re not?  Lucky, that is?” said Pete. 

 

“Then you’d best pray you’re not conscious when ‘e gets ‘is hands on you, luv,” said John before going back to the table.  Pete slumped against the wall again. 

 

“Well isn’t that bloody encouraging…”

 

*** *** ***

 

Belasco shifted nervously in the door of a posh room in a posh flat in a posh area of London.  “Nergal…”  Nergal looked up from what he was feasting on, which Belasco thought was the mother of the family that had until recently lived there.  He couldn’t be sure, though. 

 

“What is it?” the larger demon demanded. 

 

“Excalibur…they’re getting close to us.”  Nergal grinned widely.

 

“Good.”  He dropped the body and stood.  “I hate to eat and run, Belasco, but you know how it is.”  He went to the pile of bones in the corner and picked out one of the smaller ones, a child’s.  “Thighbone of a virgin boy.  These used to sell for a pretty penny, back in the day.  Worth their weight in gold.  Do you know what they were used for?”  He broke the bone in half, leaving a sharp, pointy end. 

 

“I have no idea,” said Belasco, backing out of range of Nergal, who had begun to smile in a most unsettling way. 

 

“’uman sacrifices, mostly,” said Nergal.  “But they were used for the odd exorcism as well.”  Belasco’s expression went dark.

 

“You’re betraying me.” 

 

“Finally he catches on,” said Nergal.  “You really thought I’d go along with some mad scheme a demon—if you can call yourself that—from Limbo came up with?  Do you really think I’m that daft, Belasco?  And while we’re on the subject—did you really thing that 'kill everyone and take over the world' was a good plan?”  Belasco bumped into a wall.  This couldn’t be happening—he couldn’t be outwitted by some lowly spawn of the pit like Nergal…

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you outright,” said Nergal.  “I’m using you to send a message.” 

 

“I will do nothing for you!” Belasco spat, his eyes blazing in one last spate of defiance before Nergal plunged the bone through his heart. 

 

“Oh, you silly sod,” said Nergal, as he opened the door to the flat and left, ignoring Belasco’s screams.  “You already have.”

 

*** *** ***

 

The tracking spell that John had cast lead Excalibur to a brick building of flats with ivy growing up the side in a very expensive part of London.  John looked up at the building and thought that the tossers inside probably deserved whatever Belasco had done to them. 

 

Or maybe that was just the mood he was in.  He snuck a glance at Pete.  She was holding Kit’s hand loosely in her own.  John grumbled a creative curse.  He’d just have to let her go.  Obviously, she didn’t want him, and John Constantine didn’t spend his time chasing after women who weren’t interested.  He had plenty who were.

 

Even to John’s mental ear, that sounded like bollocks.  Excalibur climbed the stairs of the building single-file, John trailing behind them.  Pete was in front of him, and he decided to just appreciate the view of her arse while he still could.  She caught him looking and glared.  John grinned broadly.  Despite their moment outside the loos, he could tell she still thought he was a wanker.  If that was the case, so be it.  He’d act like one.

 

Brian opened the door to the flat, and immediately reared back.  “Oh, dear God.”  Kit looked in and retreated, a hand clapped over his mouth.  John chuckled. 

 

“Take it easy, son, I don’t think the place needs any more repaintin’.” 

 

“Screw you,” Kit mumbled, leaning against the wall.  John was a bit gratified to see that Pete ignored him to look into the flat herself.  She drew back.

 

“Bloody ‘ell.  Come ‘ere, Constantine, and take a look at this.”  John poked his head into the bedroom.  The first thing he saw was Belasco nailed to the wall with a bone through his chest, his black blood pooling under him.  John realized he was standing in it.

 

“Oh, of all the fucking luck…”  Pete stood next to him quietly.

 

“What does this mean, John?”  John took out a cigarette and lit it, flicking ash at Belasco. 

 

“Means Nergal made our job a lot easier, luv.” 

 

“Vhat needs to be done?” said Kurt.  “To ensure Belasco does not come back?”  John dropped his cigarette in the blood and watched it fizzle out. 

 

“Not much, really—don’t suppose anyone ‘as a dead cat handy?”  Excalibur looked at him as if he were insane.  “Never mind,” he muttered.

 

“Make sure you do it right this time, huh?” said Kit.  John turned to him. 

 

“Sod off, or next time it’s Moira’s bra and knickers.”  Kit turned on his heel and left the room.  “A little privacy, eh?” said John to the rest of the team.  They filed out, all except for Pete. 

 

“What about Nergal?” she said.  John shrugged.

 

“Obviously gone on ‘is merry way.  An’ trust me, luv, you want ‘im gone.” 

 

“Is he going to come back for you?” said Pete.  John smiled at her. 

 

“Why, luv—you worried about me?  ‘ow touching.”  Pete’s lip curled.

 

“As a matter of fact, I ‘ope he finds you and finishes the job.  You’ve turned into a real fuckoff these past seven years, Constantine.  You’re not the man I knew.”  John crossed to her in two swift strides and grabbed her by the shoulders, feeling how small she still was as he pressed himself against her. 

 

“You’re right, luv, I’m not.  I’m a right bloody bastard—but you know what?  I think you like it.  Sod that—I know you like your men with a dark side to ‘em.  You can pretend all you want, Pete Wisdom, but you’ve got a bit of the devil in you, an’ I’ve got more than that in me.”  He leaned down, his cheek brushing hers as he whispered in her ear.  Pete shivered under his grip.  “So when you’re ready, luv—I’ll be waitin’.”  He released her, noting with satisfaction that her cheeks were red and her chest was moving rapidly up and down.  “Now if you don’t mind—I’ve got me work to do.”  Pete’s face lost its confused expression, and she glared angrily at him.

 

“Sod you, John Constantine!  You’ll be waitin’ for the rest of your bleedin’ life!”  She stormed out, slamming the door.  John chuckled.

 

“Doubt that, luv.”  He hummed to himself as he set about sealing Belasco back in Limbo. 

*** *** ***

"Well, that's it ladies and gents. The door to Limbo is sealed. No more things that go bump in the night will come to bother you."

"Are you positive this time?" Kit asked, crossing his arms in front of him and glaring at John.

John had a hard time being intimidated by a scrawny boy several inches shorter than him. And in spandex, no less. "Yes. But if I chop up a little American blighter and spread 'is body parts around I can be extra sure. Sort of like adding a deadbolt to the door, y'know. Have any suggestions of anyone I can use?"

Kit glared, his jaw set tight. Pete put a calming hand on his arm as she shot John a look.

"Kit has reason to be concerned, Herr Constantine," Kurt said. "Last time…"

"Look, I sealed the bleedin' door, all right? Get off me back."

"What about that Nergal character?" Brian asked.

"Gone," John replied. "Probably jus' 'angin' around until 'e got the chance to get rid of Belasco. Trust me, you lot are safe now."

"So will you be going back to whatever hole it is you call home?" Kit asked.

John looked over at Pete and Kit. "Yeah. She's all yours. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

"Vell, then let us all get back to Muir, have a debriefing, and then I vill give Herr Constantine a ride home."

"A debriefing. Bloody wonderful," John muttered, walking behind Excalibur.

*** *** ***

"So you're finally leaving?"

"Looks like it." John leaned against the Midnight Runner. "This is your last chance, Wisdom. You better shag me now before you loose it."

"John, what about Nergal?"

"Well, I tend not to go for demonic threesomes, luv, but I guess if you're into that. Might want to find someone a little more friendly than Nergal, though…"

"John, be serious. He wrote a message to you in blood on the wall of that pub. Or at least what used to be a pub. You can't honestly think he's not going to make good on that?"

"It's my trouble, Wisdom—not yours."

"John…"

John reached into his pocket, getting something out and placing it in Pete's palm, curving her slim fingers around it. She opened her hand as he pulled away, seeing a small, five-pointed star on a silver chain. "Wot's this?" Pete asked.

"It's a pentacle. One I was wearing when I met you, as a matter of fact. Anyway, wear it. For protection, an' all. Just in case."

"John, I…"

"Are you ready to go, Herr Constantine?"

John looked over Pete's head as Kurt came into the hangar. "Yeah." He looked back down at Pete. "You take care of yourself, now. And let me know when the wedding is. I'll send you those biscuits."

Pete felt her chest grow tight, and she knew this time it wasn't from her cigarettes. "You're such a sod."

John mussed her hair. "Maybe I'll see you around, Wisdom."

"Yeah, maybe, Constantine."

Pete watched as John followed Kurt onto the Runner, then turned around, going inside without letting herself look back.

*** *** ***

"Hey, what's this?" Kit reached over, picking up the pentacle that hung around Pete's neck and examining it.

Pete pulled back, taking her necklace with her. "Nothing."

"I've never seen you wear much jewelry aside from earrings…" Kit said. He frowned. "Constantine gave it to you, didn't he?"

"Kit, it isn't a big deal."

"Yes, it is! He gave you jewelry, and you're wearing it. That's a big deal."

"It's just for protection, Kit."

"From what?"

"We were just attacked by demons. And Nergal could still be out there somewhere…"

"It's just a piece of metal, Pete."

"Then it shouldn't be a big deal that I'm wearing it."

Kit let out a deep breath. "It's from him. Take it off."

"No."

Kit got up, heading for the door. Pete sighed. "Wait!" she said, reaching up to take off the necklace. She opened up the drawer on the bedside table and threw it in, slamming the drawer shut again. "Are you 'appy now?"

Kit came back, looking down at her, his eyes angry. "I don't want to ever be reminded of him. I don't want to hear his name or see anything from him ever again. You're with me, dammit."

"Kit…" Pete reached up, stroking his cheek. Kit leaned into her touch, giving a shuttering breath. "I love you, Kit Pryde. I promise you I always will."

Kit wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "I couldn't loose you. I love you too much. If you left…"

Kit rested his head on her shoulder, and Pete stroked his hair, cooing softly. "It's all right, luv. I'm not going anywhere. I'd never betray what we have."

Kit turned a little, kissing her neck. "Let's go to bed," he said softly. "I need you."

Pete reached down and took hold of his hand, giving it a light squeeze. "Let's."

*** *** ***

John sat on the floor of his flat attempting to get too pissed to be conscious. He felt lonely and sorry for himself, and he didn't like that. Went against his philosophy of "fuck all."

He cursed Pete Wisdom for still having a hold on his heart after all this time. One look into her eyes, and he'd fallen all over again, like some daft kid. And he'd worked so hard to shut his heart off again after…

John shut his eyes. He hadn't thought about her the whole time he'd been on Muir, but now that he was home and miserable again, the memory of Kit Ryan came back with a vengeance.

He threw his mostly-empty bottle of whiskey across the room, letting it smash against the wall. As if having one woman break his heart wasn't enough.

He stood up, smashing a lamp that sat on a pile of old books. He wanted to break something, to make everything around him look the way he felt. Kit had told him she couldn't live with his "lifestyle." Pete had gone for the safe, comfortable relationship.

He hit the wall, plaster cracking beneath his fist. Did they think he wasn't good enough? That he didn't deserve someone with him, someone to love him? He was as good as Pryde, that was for sure. Hell, he was better. And if Kit had found someone new back home in Belfast, well, he was better than him, too.

John slumped back to the floor, opening a new bottle of whiskey and taking a long drink. Sod 'em both. He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone.

*** *** ***

Pete lay stomach-down on the bed, her face resting in her hands, watching Kit pack. "I wish you weren't going."

Kit gave her a small smile. "I know, but S.H.I.E.L.D. needs me."

Pete pouted. "I need you, too."

"I'll be home soon, baby, I promise. It'll be a week. Two at most."

Pete got up, waking over to Kit and draping her arms over his shoulders. "I'll be so lonely without you…"

Kit grabbed her waist, pulling her closer. "I'll be lonely, too. But it will make it that much better when we're in each other's arms again."

"You won't spend your nights in anyone else's arms, will you luv?"

"Of course not. You're the only woman for me."

"I love you, Pryde."

"I love you, too, Wisdom." Kit kissed her forehead. "Don't worry your pretty little head about this. I'll be home before you know it."

"I'll know it," Pete muttered. "I'll know it every night I lay alone in a cold bed…"

Kit hugged her again. "I'll call you every night. It won't be the same, but at least you can hear my voice before you go to sleep…"

Pete sighed. "I guess it'll 'ave to do."

"That's my girl." Kit kissed her cheek.

Pete lay back down on the bed as Kit went back to packing.

*** *** ***

"Um, hey Pete. I didn't expect you to call."

"You haven't called me in three days, Kit. And you said you'd be back already."

"I'm sorry," Kit said. "I've been really busy here."

"I miss you."

Kit sighed heavily. "I'll be home as soon as I can, Pete."

"I know, but…"

Kit cut her off. "Look, I have to go."

"Oh. All right. I love you."

"You, too. Bye."

Pete heard the phone click. "Bye," she said softly, hanging up herself.

*** *** ***

Pete waited anxiously as the Midnight Runner came into the hangar. Kit had been gone almost a month, and she had spent the last half of it afraid he was slipping away. He kept telling her it was just the stress of what he was doing with S.H.I.E.L.D., but she needed him to hold her in his arms while he told her that.

Pete smiled when she saw Kit walk down the ramp only to have all her joy fall away when she saw a young, blonde woman walk off behind him. She shook her head, trying to convince herself that it wasn't what she thought it was. She was just paranoid…

Kit walked over to her, blonde in tow. He stopped when he reached Pete and didn't touch her. Pete swallowed hard. She knew what was coming.

"Um, I'd like you to meet Renée Fallon," Kit said. "Renée, this is Pete Wisdom."

"This is Pete?" Renée asked. She giggled. "I thought your friend Pete was a guy."

"Um, no," Pete said, glaring at Renée. "Did he tell you we're shagging?"

Renée blanched. "No. Kit…"

Kit ran a hand through his hair. "Wow, this is awkward."

Pete forced herself to be angry and not shattered. "Wot's going on here, Pryde?"

Kit looked down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't mean to, but, well, I fell in love with Renée."

"And you're just now telling me this! You couldn't say anything before, like when I tried to call you?"

"I'm sorry!" Kit said. "I didn't think it would be right to do it over the phone like that…"

"Oh, so bringing the little bint 'ome and rubbin' 'er in my face is?"

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm not a bint."

"You shut the fuck up," Pete snarled.

Kit looked up sharply. "Don't you talk to her like that."

"Oh fuck you," Pete snapped. Kit blinked, and Pete suddenly couldn't hold her tears in anymore. "You said you loved me…" she said, tears streaming down her face.

"Pete, I'm sorry," Kit said. "But you should have known it could never work. I mean, look how old you are…"

"I'm twenty-three, you bastard," Pete snapped.

"Look, I…I'm sorry…"

Pete looked from Kit to Renée and then back at Kit again. She couldn't take it anymore. She ran from the hangar.

*** *** ***

Pete was trying very hard to ignore the knocking at her door, but it was insistent. "Sod off!" she yelled.

"Och, open the door, Wisdom. I'm sick of standin' here."

"Then don't."

"Open the door or I'm having Brian install the most sensitive smoke detectors all that money of his can buy in every room here."

Pete threw open the door. "Wot?!"

Moira frowned when she saw the streaks on Pete's face and the look of total pain and humiliation in her eyes. She knew what that felt like… She handed Pete a glass of scotch. "No ice, no water, just the way you like it."

Pete blinked. "Moira, are you…"

"Bein' nice? Yeah. Now can I come in?"

"It's a bit of a mess in here…" Pete said as Moira stepped past her.

"What happened in here?" Moira asked, surveying the mess of papers, clothes, and other random things strewn about the room.

"I got a bit upset…"

Moira sat down on the bed, patting the space beside her. "Come here."

Pete sat down beside her, taking a drink of the scotch. "Why'd he do it?"

"Because men are self-centered bastards, Pete. And they tend to go for leggy blonde over substance."

Pete started crying again. "I love him so much!"

Moira tentatively wrapped an arm around Pete. Pete fell over, sobbing against her shoulder. "I know, lass," Moira said soothingly.

Pete looked up and Moira frowned at the mascara stain on her blouse. "Do you…do you think maybe this is just a fling? Maybe 'e'll get over the S.H.I.E.L.D. tart and want me again…"

Moira frowned. "I don't know, Wisdom."

"But 'e could, right?"

Pete's tone was so pitiful that Moira almost hugged her again. "He might…"

"She can't love him as much as I do…"

Moira gave Pete an understanding smile, wiping at her tears. "I know."

Pete sniffled. "Thank you, Moira. For bein' nice…"

Moira gave her a smile. "Jus' don't get used to it, Wisdom."

Pete smiled back. "I won't."

*** *** ***

Pete convinced herself that the best thing to do was stick around and wait. The thing with Renée couldn't possibly last forever. Kit would come to his senses soon enough and remember what they had.

Still, it would be a lot easier if she didn't keep walking into rooms to find them all over each other.

She stopped, looking at the scene in front of her in disgust. Kit had Renée up against the kitchen counter, his hands up her shirt. "Fuckin' 'ell, that's disgusting," Pete snapped. "We 'ave to eat in 'ere."

Kit had the decency to pull away from Renée and blush. Renée just rolled her eyes. "Look, Paul, or whatever your name was, Kit and I are together now, and if you can't handle it then just go somewhere else."

"Piss off, bitch."

"Pete, really, that was rude," Kit said.

Pete's eyes widened. "Rude? That was rude? 'ow about you goin' off and fucking some brainless tart while I was 'ere waitin' for you? Wot was that, all nice an' polite?"

"Pete, I didn't sleep with Renée until I'd already talked to you."

"Oh, thank you for your consideration," Pete snapped.

"Pete…"

"Go bugger yourself," Pete said, storming out of the room. She was half way down the hall when she felt someone grab her shoulder. She turned around, glaring at Renée. "Sod off before I 'urt you."

"Why can't you just accept that you've lost?" Renée asked. "You're too old for Kit, and you're certainly not pretty. Besides, Kit wasn't happy with you for a while. He told me. He felt trapped by you."

Pete suddenly felt like some old harpy with her talons digging into Kit. "I hope you two are happy," Pete said, her voice wavering. She took off down the hall, not trusting herself not to cry in front of Renée.

*** *** ***

Pete slammed the door to her bedroom. What was she doing? As much as it hurt to admit it, Kit wasn't coming back. Renée had been right. She was too old for Kit. She was just an ugly, pathetic woman who was sucking the life out of him.

She packed her things quickly, grateful that she didn't have a lot to her name. She wanted out of there as soon as possible. She wouldn't even bother to have anyone fly her back to the mainland. She could still make the next ferry off that god-forsaken rock.

She opened the door, coming face to face with Kit. "Wot the 'ell do you want, Pryde?"

Kit glanced at her bag. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah."

"Will you be back?"

"Depends?"

"On?"

"Dunno, Pryde. It just depends."

"That's not fair, Pete. We parted on a bad note. I was having doubts about our relationship.  Renée…"

"Save it. She's your age, an' she's bloody gorgeous. That's all there is."

"Pete, that isn't it at all. You're beautiful. It's just…" Kit sighed. "I'm not asking you to like it, but can't you at least see my side?"

"Why should I?"

"Pete, if you can't answer that…"

"Then maybe this is for the best," Pete finished.

Pete started to walk away, then stopped, looking over her shoulder at Kit. "You said you loved me."

Kit looked away. Pete turned back around, walking away.

Kit watched her go.

"I thought I did."

*** *** ***

John cursed to himself, shuffling towards the door. "I'm comin', ya impatient wanker," he muttered. "Hold yer bleedin' 'orses."

He threw the door open prepared to yell at whoever had woken him up from where he'd passed out from last night's bender. His head was pounding, and that knocking hadn't been helping.

He stopped short when he saw a miserable-looking Pete Wisdom standing on his doorstep. "Bloody 'ell, Wisdom, wot 'appened to you?!"

"Kit…left…me…" Pete said between sniffles.

John debated between comforting Pete and going to find that wanker and feeding him his own heart. Comforting Pete won out. He led her into the flat, shutting the door behind her. "Wot 'appened, luv?" he asked.

"He…met…he met someone else." Pete began to sob again.

John took her bag from her and set it on the floor before pulling her into his arms and chastely hugging her. He was already thinking of a million ways to get her now that her little boyfriend was out of the picture, but he knew it was not the time. "I'm so sorry. I know you loved him."

"I still do," Pete said weakly, relaxing into John's embrace. It felt so good to be held after she'd been so carelessly tossed aside.

"You got anywhere to stay?"

Pete looked up, her blue eyes so wide and expressive that John felt himself almost melt. Hell, he wanted this woman… "I was 'opin' I could stay with you…jus' until I get back on me feet."

John repressed the urge to dance. "You're welcome 'ere as long as you need," John said.

"Thank you so much. I really don't deserve it after I was so mean to you back on Muir…"

John smirked. "I wasn't a picnic meself…"

Pete chuckled, and John was glad for that. "I won't impose on you long, I promise."

"Don't worry about that, luv. Impose away."

"Thank you, John. I just didn't know where else to go, and…"

John put his finger on her lips. "Shh. It's okay, really. I'm just happy to see you again."

Pete blushed. "I'm happy to see you, too."

John wanted to kiss her, but he used every bit of his small amount of self control to hold back. If he moved in too soon, he'd scare her off. He was sure he could get what he wanted now, but he'd just have to take it slow. "You need anything, luv?"

"I 'ate to be so dull, but I'd really jus' like to rest a bit. It's been a stressful day."

"Of course," John said. "You take me bed. I'll sleep on the couch." John figured he could be a gentleman for a little while at least. Pete would be asking him to join him in the bed soon enough. He was sure of it.

Pete cast a weary eye over John's couch. Dilapidated was an understatement. It was a hideous plaid monstrosity, with several duct tape patches and a cinder block holding up once side. "John, you can't possibly sleep on that."

"Beats the floor. Besides, I can't make a lady sleep on that thing."

"Lady? Bah." Pete was actually somewhat surprised—though grateful—that John hadn't suggested they share the bed. He'd certainly seemed hell-bent on getting her in the sack when he'd been back on Muir. She wondered idly if it had been more a competitive game with Kit on John's part than an actual play for her. Pete knew she wasn't exactly all that desirable. Renée Fallon had made that perfectly clear…

John looked down at Pete for a moment, wondering what he'd done to finally deserve such good fortune. Pete was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen—and feisty, too. He vowed to hold on to this one when he finally got her. He picked up her bag. "C'mon, luv, the bedroom's in here. Sorry about the mess."

"It's all right," Pete said, looking around John's tiny bedroom. "It's sort of refreshing, actually. Kit was such a neat freak."

John smirked. "Well, that's one thing I'm definitely not. So, um, do you need anything before you rest?"

Pete shook her head. "No. I'm fine."

"All right then. Call me if you do."

"Thanks, John. You've been wonderful."

John gave her a nod and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Pete opened her bag, pulling out a t-shirt to sleep in and then changing her clothes. She climbed into the bed, pausing a little when she realized it smelled like John. She breathed the scent in deep for a moment before she realized what she was doing.

Pete curled up and cried herself to sleep.

*** *** ***

John peeked into the room, noticing Pete was asleep. Her face was still blotchy, and he knew she'd been crying. He wanted to go to Muir and hurt that bastard something awful. He could just picture the kind of woman he'd leave Pete for, and it made John sick. But it was Kit's loss. Pete was more woman than Pryde could ever handle anyway.

John smiled to himself when he saw Pete's shirt. It was a woman with a Mohawk and piercings superimposed over the Union Jack with the words "Punk's Not Dead" scribbled in red and blue letters. She looked like the girl he'd known seven years ago again, and John liked that. That was the woman that haunted his dreams, the one he wanted more than he could even tell.

He reached out and pushed her hair out of her face, unable to keep from touching her. He wanted to crawl in beside her and hold her while she slept, but he didn't. If he was patient, there'd be time for that later. He kissed the top of her head lightly before creeping back out of the room.

*** *** ***

Pete woke far too early out of a light and restless sleep.  She got up and crept through the living room where John was snoring on the sofa and went to his tiny kitchen.  It was messy and obviously hadn’t been used in a while, but at least nothing was growing in it.

 

Pete managed to locate a pot and some reasonably fresh coffee.  It felt strange not to be in Excalibur’s luxurious kitchen with Kit, having tea and breakfast like a happy couple. 

 

Pete rubbed her puffy eyes.  She’d have to clean up before John saw her.  She probably looked worse than most of the demons he knew. 

 

“Mornin’, luv.”  Pete jumped. 

 

“John, you scared the bleedin’ hell out of me!”  John smirked at her.

 

“Never pegged you for an early riser, Wisdom.”  Pete realized he was clad only in a pair of boxers. 

 

“Never was one,” she muttered, averting her eyes.  John grinned wider, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Please tell me you make better brew than that MacTaggart woman.” 

 

“I think Satan makes better coffee than Moira.”  John shrugged.

 

“Probably.”  He added a shot of whisky before gulping the mug down. 

 

“Careful, it’s—“  Pete started to say “hot”, but John was already choking.  Pete sighed, patting him on the back.  She noticed most of it was covered by a large tattoo of a Celtic cross.  “You’ve got a nice drawin’ on your back, Constantine,” she said.  John straightened up.  Pete noticed his chest was also covered with several smaller tattoos.  Pete traced one with her fingers.  “What do they all mean?”

 

“Protection,” said John.  “Back when I still believed in that sort of thing…”  He pressed his hand over Pete’s, keeping her fingers against his skin.  “Now they’re just decoration.”

 

“I never knew you had this many,” said Pete, slowly raising her other hand to touch him. 

 

“Never got a chance t’find out, you mean,” said John with a wink.  Pete nodded slowly.

 

“I was always sorry about that, you know.”  John raised an eyebrow.

 

“Oh really, luv?  Not as sweet an’ innocent as you let on?”  He reached out his other hand to draw her closer, their bodies touching along the length.  Pete shivered as he locked his eyes with hers.  She suddenly understood why it was so easy for him to hypnotize people.  “Pete…” he whispered.  Pete dropped her gaze.  She couldn’t end up in John’s arms again.  It would just bring her more pain. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling away.  “If you’re ‘ungry I’ll get breakfast on…”  John shoved a hand through his spiky blond hair, making it stand up even more.

 

“Eh, no thanks, luv.  Gotta keep my girlish figure you know.”  Pete nodded silently.  John touched her arm again.  “Pete, listen…”  The phone shrilled in the living room.  “Sod it,” muttered John.  “I’ll be right back.”  When he left, Pete found a pack of abandoned Silk Cuts on the counter and lit up, puffing deeply to calm her trembling hands and legs.  Moving in with John was probably the worst thing she could have done, but she hadn’t been lying when she said she didn’t have anywhere else to go.  Pete exhaled, feeling calmer.  From now on it would be strictly business, as far as John went.  And once she found a flat of her own, she’d be gone for good.

 

John poked his head back into the kitchen, now wearing a wrinkled shirt, pants and tie.  “’ave to go out for a bit, luv.  Think you can manage on your own for a few hours?”

 

Pete nodded.  “I’ll just have a spot of breakfast and amuse meself.”  John smiled. 

 

“Don’t miss me too much.”  He grabbed his trench coat off the back of the sofa and left.  Pete curled up on the sofa with her legs under her and stared at the flat, wondering what on earth she was going to do.

 

*** *** ***

 

In a dingy tearoom, John was sitting across the table from a woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to the Cryptkeeper.  In spite of that, he was rather enjoying himself.  That is, until she drew a sealed envelope from her bodice and handed it across the table. 

 

“Wot’s this?” John asked. 

 

“Arrived for me by morning post,” said the woman, who’s name was Clarice.  When John had first met her, she had been rather striking, in a Mrs. Robinson kind of way.  Seeing her now, John suspected that had been a rather strong illusion on Clarice’s part.  She was a crafty old witch, after all.

 

John opened the envelope, trying to ignore the smell of camphor and mothballs that clung to it.  It was a scrawl of lines and squiggles on parchment paper.  “Looks like a mad spider got into the inkpot,” John commented. 

 

“It’s runic writing, you bleeding idiot,” Clarice informed him.  “And the message is written in that threatening, authoritative tone that only supernatural beings and arrogant sods like yourself use.”  John frowned.

 

“Wot’s it say?”  Clarice sipped her tea, draining the cup so she could read the leaves.

 

“Basically, it says my time on this earth is limited.  Since I already knew that, I wasn’t terribly disturbed, but the letter-writer is rather rude, and since it’s written in a language few living beings of any persuasion know, I thought I ought to bring it to your attention.” 

 

“Bugger all, Clarice, stop talkin’ in riddles,” said John. 

 

“Since I know no one else who has such a penchant for making enemies and bringing thunder down on his friend’s heads, I deduced this person—or whatever he is—is threatening me because of you.”  She glanced into her cup.  “And I see that I’m right.  I don’t mean to accuse you, John, I just wanted to bring it to your attention in case I die suddenly and unpleasantly.”  John’s mouth tightened.

 

“It won’t come to that, Clarice.”  Clarice shrugged.

 

“You always were incredibly overconfident, Constantine.  But on a new topic—who’s this young lady who’s gotten you so hot and bothered?”  John glared at her teacup.

 

“Anyone ever tell you you put too much bloody stock in a silly granny’s ritual?” 

 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a sod, John?”  John stood.

 

“All the time.  See ya ‘round, Clarice.”

 

“If you curb your natural instincts, you might actually have a chance with this woman.”

 

“Goodbye, you freaky old mummy!” John shouted before he left the tearoom.

 

*** *** ***

 

Walking home, John was considerably less cheerful than he’d appeared to Clarice.  Nergal was trying to rattle him, trying his level best—and John had to confess it was working, somewhat.  He smoked his Silk Cut down to the nub and lit another immediately.  He hated the feeling of looking over his shoulder, and vowed that if he ever caught up with Nergal again he’d make good and bloody sure he sealed the demon somewhere where Satan himself couldn’t get to him. 

 

He climbed the rickety stairs to his flat—the only one he’d be able to afford after Kit left—and unlocked the door.

 

At first he was unsure if he had the right flat. 

 

Then he wondered what kind of horrible joke they were playing on him. 

 

Then he let out a loud, rather unmasculine yelp.  “Pete!  What’s happened to me bloody flat?!”  Pete emerged from the bedroom with a feather duster in her hand, wearing one of his old Sex Pistols t-shirts with a bandanna tied around her head.

 

“I’ve cleaned it, haven’t I?”  John stared in horror.

 

“All me books!”

 

“They’re on the shelves, Constantine.  In alphabetical order, no less.”  John sputtered.

 

“You’ve ruined all me piles!”  Pete rolled her eyes.

 

“Oh fer fuck’s sake, John.  Stop bein’ a baby an’ look at your nice tidy flat.”  John glanced around. 

 

“Bloody ‘ell,” he said after a moment.  “This place is ‘uge.”  He looked back at Pete.

 

“Why’d you do it, luv?”

 

“Well, John,” said Pete with what he could only describe as a maniacal gleam in her eye.  “I’ve discovered that if I’m cleanin’ your flat I’m not thinkin’ about Kit.”  She flicked the feather duster over his collection of shrunken heads.  “An’ besides, ‘ave you seen the state of this place?  It looked like bloody animals lived here.” 

 

“I liked the state of the place…” John muttered, more as a token protest than anything else.  He had to admit that without books and Arcanum scattered all over the floor, the flat did look more presentable.  He sighed, flopping down on the couch and loosening his tie.  “Thanks, Pete.  Really.”  Pete smiled at him.

 

“Just don’t expect it to be a regular occurrence.” 

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John said. 

 

*** *** ***

Nergal sat alone in a dark tenement building in a bad area of London.  He could find another flat with another family to feast on, but he wasn't particularly hungry.  He just wanted to sit, quietly, and wait. 

 

Nergal wasn't what most would call patient, but when it came to things like this he could be persuaded.  He wondered if Constantine had been made aware of the letter sent to Clarice.  Nergal looked up at the wall of the tenement, where he had scratched out all the names of the people John cared about.  The ones still living, anyway.

 

There weren't many.  If Constantine didn't manage to alienate people, he got them killed.  He had a rare talent for shortening the lifespans of those around him.  Nergal sat for several more hours and stared at the wall of names, thinking about how to systematically destroy each and every one of them. 

 

The hardest would be Kit Ryan, Constantine's old flame.  Nergal hated to go out of his way for anything, and she was all the way in Belfast.  Still, it would be worth it to see the look on Constantine's face...

 

Nergal decided that he couldn't bear it any longer—he had to look in on his adversary.  He wrapped himself in his human form and went out, the cold night air biting into his flesh.  He walked for almost another hour, until he came to the shabby building John called home these days.  It was an improvement over his flat from the last time Nergal had met him, but not by much. 

 

The thought of that night still made the rage prickle on Nergal's flesh.  Never had he been so humiliated--not in ten thousand years.  And to think that a mere human had wrought it upon him...well...Constantine would have to pay one-hundredfold.  And this time, he wouldn't let himself be tricked so easily.  He wouldn't let Constantine open his mouth to spit one of his little spells, and he certainly wouldn't make the mistake he'd made last time. 

 

Nergal's teeth ground.  The thought of how he had had Constantine at his mercy, bleeding and near death on the floor of the club, and how the man had had the nerve to taunt him...challenge him to a magician's duel...and tricked Nergal into giving him some of the demon's own blood so he could survive the ordeal--and then he had slapped a sealing spell on the weakened demon and run like the rat he was.  Nergal had to face his failure in Hell and the torture that went with it. 

 

But there would be no running this time.  Nergal would not fall prey to his ego.  And Constantine would beg for death before the demon was through with him.

 

*** *** ***

John stopped short in the doorway when he heard Pete crying softly in the bedroom. He shut the door, taking off his trench coat and tossing it over a chair before walking into the other room. "You wanna talk?"

Pete rolled over on the bed so he couldn't see her face. "No."

"Too bad," John said, sitting down on the bed. He reached over, gently squeezing her shoulder. "Wot's wrong, luv? Still missin' Kit?"

"Yeah. And the rest of me life is crap, too."

"You got London's sexiest mage for a roommate. That's something ain't it?"

Pete laughed a little, and John smiled. That was the reaction he'd been going for. He massaged her shoulders a bit more, glad to see her relax at the touch rather than tense more. He kneaded her shoulders and back for a few minutes, his strong hands working out the knots.

After a bit, Pete pulled away, rolling over and sitting up. She pulled her knees up to her chin. "It's like, well, I didn't just loose Kit. I lost me whole life. I threw away wot I knew before, an' I built somethin' new up around him. After Black Air, I wanted something good and solid in me life, and I created that with Kit as the center. But he left me, an' I lost everything. I couldn't even stay with Excalibur. I wasn't there because I care one way or another about Xavier's 'Dream.' I was there because I loved Kit. Without him, I don't even have a home anymore…"

John reached up, wiping the tears away as the rolled down Pete's cheeks. "I know wot you're goin' through, luv. Lost the center of me life not to long ago, too"

Pete blinked, surprised to hear that John had ever been that much in love. "Wot was her name?"

John smirked. "Would you believe Kit?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. It was Kit. Kit Ryan."

Pete shook her head, chuckling. "Maybe that's a name that we should avoid in the future."

"Probably a good idea." He reached out, stroking her face. "I would say I'd prefer to go for another name these days, but you're the only Pete I'm attracted to."

Pete rolled her eyes, knocking his hand away. "That's nice to know. And stop trying to take advantage of me in my emotional state."

John shrugged. "I'll take it 'owever I can get it, luv."

"Wanker."

"That I am. So wot is your real name anyway?"

"I'm not tellin'."

"That's not fair."

"No, it's not. But I've never been one for fairness. So tell me about Kit."

John shifted uncomfortably. "Why?"

"Because I want to know. I want to know who this woman was that actually got you to care that much, John Constantine."

John frowned as she said that. She really didn't realize how much he really wanted to be with her, did she? He thought back to what Clarice had said, about curbing his "natural instincts." Apparently, Pete really did think he was just interested in a shag. Bugger. "She was younger than me," John said. "Full of life an' all. She didn't much approve of me lifestyle. Tried to change for her, but you are who you are, y'know? But I couldn't, and she wanted out." John sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I fell apart when she left me. I...I lived on the streets. All I did was drink. I wanted to die."

Pete's eyes filled with tears again, but this time it was for the pain in his voice. "Oh, John," she said, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. John let her hold him for a moment. As much as he would hate to admit it, he liked the feel of someone comforting him.  Since Kit had left him, there'd been no one just to hold him…

He pulled away, looking at her eyes for only a moment before shifting his gaze for a moment. "I'm better now, really," he said. He glanced back up, smiling at her. "You'll get better, too, luv."

Pete smiled at him, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. "Thank you."

John swallowed hard as he felt her caress his hand with her thumb. He wondered what she'd do if he just lowered her to the bed right then, and he had a feeling she wouldn't object. But then he thought about what Clarice had said. He wanted to sleep with Pete, but he also wanted a lot more. If he seduced her now, she'd probably regret it when she wasn't feeling so vulnerable, and then he'd be in an even worse position with her than he already was.

He pulled away. "You hungry?"

Pete blinked. "Wot?"

"I'm hungry. I'm going to go get take away from the pub. You want something, too?"

"Uh, sure."

John got up quickly, not trusting himself to sit on the bed with her any more. "I'll be back in a few, luv." He rushed out of the room and the flat.

"Well, bye," Pete muttered as she heard the door shut.

*** *** ***

"It's Petunia."

"No, luv, it's bangers an' mash."

Pete gave him a dirty look. "Not the food, you bloody idiot. That's me name."

John stared for a moment before laughing heartily. "That's your name? Petunia!"

Pete wadded up a napkin and threw it at his head. "Shut up, wanker."

John tried to stop laughing, but started up again. "I'd call meself Pete, too, if I were you."

"Sod off," Pete said, smiling slightly.

"So can I call you Petunia now?" John asked with a smirk.

"No!" Pete blushed. "God, no one ever called me that but me crazy hippie mother. I didn't even tell Kit me real name."

John raised an eyebrow. She'd confided something in him that she didn't tell Kit? John liked the sound of that. Maybe she was falling in love with him. He just had to keep curbing those "natural instincts." Especially the one that said he needed to drag her into the bedroom and stake his claim… "Can I call you Tuni?" he asked with an impish grin.

"Bloody 'ell, I knew I shouldn't 'ave told you."

John reached over and patted her leg. "Don't worry, luv," he said. "I won't call you anything but Pete."

"Ta."

John ate in silence for a few moments before glancing over at her. "How's your dinner, Petunia."

Pete shot him a look. "It's about to shoved up your arse."

John just laughed as they finished their meal.

*** *** ***

Nergal settled himself against a wall across the street from John's flat.  He had been watching the man for a week now, and his routine varied little, but tonight Nergal could sense something different in the air.  He arrived not a moment too soon—Constantine himself came out the front door, his skinny frame hunched into his trench coat and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.  He stopped for a minute, and looked towards Nergal.  The demon knew all he would see was what Nergal was projecting—a homeless man in a dark coat.  Sure enough, after a moment, John walked on. 

 

He came back after a time with a bag of takeaway and went up the stairs.  Nergal followed, slipping the lock on the door.  He went up the stairs, following Constantine's aura until he reached the front door of his flat.  Using a fraction of his demonic powers—because he didn't want John to know he was about, not yet--he placed a hand on the door and looked within. 

 

What Nergal saw made him smile broadly.  John was sitting on his sofa, and he wasn't alone.  There was a woman, a woman with long dark hair sitting next to him.  A demon, Nergal sensed the darkness in people, and Constantine was fairly boiling over with lust towards her.  Nergal was honestly surprised that John hadn't dragged her off by her hair yet. 

 

He took his hand away from the door and left the building, chuckling lightly to himself.  His joy was partly that he didn't have to make the trip to Belfast any more and mostly because he had just thought of an entirely new way to make John Constantine suffer. 

 

*** *** *** 

 

It had been three weeks since Pete had moved into his flat, and John began to get the inkling she wasn’t going anywhere when she began buying him furniture. 

 

“Your sofa is an abomination, John,” she told him, as the movers carted it out and installed a new foldaway. 

 

“I loved that sofa!” he protested.

 

“Oh please, Constantine, you were always complaining about how much it hurt your back...”  John gave her puppy dog eyes.

 

“Well luv, I am an old man…”

 

“You’re thirty-one, Constantine.” 

 

“I’m old compared to you.”  Pete’s eyes fell to the floor. 

 

“You are not, John,” she muttered.  “Y’could ‘ave a girl a lot younger than me.”  John knew exactly why her good mood had suddenly faded, and felt the renewed urge to murder Kit Pryde in an unspeakable and creative way. 

 

“No thanks, luv.  I prefer to stay out of the lockup.”  He lifted her chin with one finger and grinned at her.  She reluctantly smiled back.  “Let’s go out,” he said.  “You bought me new furniture, so I’ll buy you a pint.”  Pete shrugged.

 

“Doubt I’d be much fun.”

 

“Well, maybe not as much as when you used to get pissed and try to play arrows, but I’m sure you ‘aven’t completely lost the capacity to ‘ave a good time.” 

 

“I dunno,” said Pete as she got her jacket.  “It’s been a while.  Usually too much bad shite on me head to ‘ave any fun.”  John slung an arm around her shoulder as they left his flat. 

 

“Well, I’ve ‘ad me share of bad shite as well, an’ I always have a good time.”  Pete shook her head.

 

“How do you do it, John?” 

 

“Because,” said John softly.  “If I didn’t laugh at the madness, I’d go bloody insane.”  Pete’s eyes gave him the sad, sympathetic look that she was so good at, and John abruptly changed the subject.  “Remember when we went t’see Night of the Living Dead, and you got so scared you hid in me armpit?”  Pete bit her lip, trying not to smile.

 

“Yeah.  That was a good time.”  John grinned.

 

“Well if you can remember that, all ‘ope hasn’t been lost.”  He guided her into the pub.  “Let’s get good and pissed, luv.” 

 

“Let’s,” said Pete.

*** *** ***

"Since when were you any good at this game, Wisdom?"

Pete threw the third dart, hitting the bullseye along with the other two. "I've 'ad seven years to practice, Constantine." She winked at him, going to the board to pull off her darts and mark her score. "And it looks like I've just beaten you."

John shrugged. "I let you win."

"Oh please," Pete said, rolling her eyes.

John wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go back to the table. I'm not pissed enough yet."

"'ow can you tell?"

"I can still feel me legs."

Pete laughed, walking back to the booth with John. He slid in beside her and signaled to the barmaid to bring them another round. Pete looked over at John, then slid closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad I came out tonight, John. I am 'aving a good time."

"Glad to 'ear that, luv. I am, too." John put his arm around her, pulling her closer.

Pete nestled against him. "You know, you smell really good."

John blinked. "I smell like cigarettes and alcohol."

"I know," Pete said, her tone bordering on dreamy. The barmaid brought two pints of Guinness to the table, and Pete sat up, reaching for hers. John grabbed her hand, stopping her. Pete glared at him. "Wot?"

"You think I smell good, Wisdom. You're cut off."

Pete giggled. "You do smell good, John." She winked. "And you look pretty good, too."

John blinked. "Are you messin' with me head?"

"No," Pete said, slipping out of his grasp and grabbing her drink. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you've been giving me the brush off since I showed up on Muir, and now, well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting."

Pete took a drink of her Guinness. "I'm just having a good time, is all." She winked at John. "Nothin' personal."

John looked her over for a moment, taking her in. He'd was sick of "curbing" anything. "Sod it," he muttered, grabbing Pete and pulling her to him. She squeaked, freezing in his arms before returning the kiss with a passion rivaling John's own.

After a moment, he pulled back, looking down at Pete. Her lips were slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her breathing heavy. "Luv…" John said softly, leaning back in to kiss her again. He stopped when he felt Pete's hands pushing him away.

"No…"

John's whole body tensed. "I'm bloody sick of this, Wisdom. It's fuckin' obvious what we feel for each other. Why do you keep fighting it?"

"Because I don't just want some fuck, John. Dammit, stop being such a horny bastard all the time!"

"Is that really what you think?" John demanded. "Bloody 'ell, Wisdom, haven't you figured out by now I'm in this for more!" Pete opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut. John glared, standing up. "I guess not." He threw some money on the table. "This should pay for the tab," he snarled, grabbing his coat and storming out of the pub.

"John, wait!" Pete yelled, running out of the pub after him. She chased after him, grabbing his arm. "Stop, please!"

He turned sharply, sneering at her. "Wot the fuck do you want?"

Pete twisted his arm, slamming him against the outside wall of the pub with more strength than he would've guessed she had. She pulled his face down to hers, kissing him hard. John's initial shock wore off quickly, and he grabbed her, kissing her until he couldn't breath anymore.

Pete looked up at him, panting. "I want you, John," she said softly.

"I want you, too."

John cupped her face in his hands. "Let's go home, luv."

Pete took one of his hands, giving it a squeeze, and they walked back to his flat.

*** *** ***

John picked Pete up as they walked into the flat and brought her into the bedroom, dropping her unceremoniously on the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes hooded, and John shivered. He'd been waiting seven years for this moment…

He descended on her, kissing her with the same passion he'd shown her at the club. This time she offered him no resistance, moaning against his mouth. John tugged desperately at her clothes, wanting nothing else between them.

It took him a moment to register the sound of the phone ringing. When he did, he slumped. "Bloody 'ell. Doesn't that just figure…"

"Ignore it," Pete said, nibbling his ear. "I need you right now."

John tried, but the ringing continued. "Sorry, luv, I 'ave to get it. They're obviously not going to 'ang up, and it's breakin' me concentration." He pushed up, kissing the tip of his nose.

"Constantine. Wot? Calm down…Gemma…Gemma, I can't understand you. Slow down. WOT?! I'll be right there. Don't panic. I'll be right there."

John hung up the phone and then peeked his head back into the bedroom. "Pete, I'm sorry. That was me niece. She in a spot of trouble. I'll be back as soon as I can, luv, I promise."

"You have a niece?" Pete asked.

"Yeah." He gave Pete a quick kiss, cursing his rotten luck. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said again.

"I'll be waiting," Pete said.

John whimpered, kissing her again before running out of the flat.

*** *** ***

Gemma Masters threw open her door. "John Constantine, what are you doing at my door at this ungodly hour?!"

John blinked. "You called me, Gemma…"

"No, I didn't. Until just a few moments ago, I was happily sleeping." She wrinkled up her nose. "Have you been drinking?"

John's face grew pale as realization sunk in. "Pete…" he said.

"Who's Pete?" Gemma asked.

"I left Pete at me flat, an'…Bloody 'ell."

"Why is there someone named Pete in your flat at this time of night."

John ignored her question. "Sorry to wake you, Gemma. I'll call later." He ran down the hall, hoping he could make it back home in time.

Gemma shook her head and closed her door.

*** *** ***

"No…" John murmured as he got to his flat and found the door partially open. He burst in, scanning the room for Pete, but finding nothing. He grew cold as he realized that there'd been some sort of struggle there. He glanced towards the bedroom, and what he saw there made all the color draw from his face.

The carcass of an now-unrecognizable animal lay on his bed, slaughtered in some ritualistic form. On the wall, the animal's blood had been used to scrawl out a message:

"She's mine, and soon you will be, too."

John's jaw set tight. He would not loose Pete, not after all he'd been through to get her.

John Constantine would find Nergal.

And when he did, he would have his revenge.

*** *** ***

Pete swam slowly back to consciousness, not remembering where she was.  It was dark, and she was lying on her side on a cold concrete floor.  She tried to move and realized her hands and feet were tied.  She was shivering uncontrollably, being clad only in a t-shirt and her underwear. 

 

Pete rolled over on her back and tried to figure out where she was and what the bloody hell was going on.  She swiveled her head around and discerned she was in a warehouse of some kind, bare of anything except a few dark shapes in one corner. 

 

She willed herself not to panic.  She'd been in worse situations before, with Black Air and Excalibur.  She'd be fine.  She just had to find a way to get herself untied, and she'd be fine. 

 

Something wet, cold and sticky touched Pete's cheek.  She rolled onto her other side and came face-to-face with a dead body that had had its throat torn open.  Its blood was leaking out slowly, soaking the floor where Pete lay. 

 

Pete scrambled back, her stomach rebelling at the sight and the feel of the blood.  Okay, so maybe 'fine' was an overstatement.  She had to get out of here. 

 

Pete used all her strength to sit up and start pulling at her bonds.  They were heavy rope and they bit into her thin wrists.  She felt a bit of her own blood mix in with what was already smeared on her.  Get a sodding grip, Wisdom, she ordered herself.  She had to think, remember what had happened.  John had left the flat, Pete had been drifting off to sleep, and then she'd heard someone come back.  She called out for John, got no answer and then...

 

"Oh, fuck," Pete muttered.  "Fuck it all."  She couldn't walk with her ankles tied, but she could crawl, and so she did.  Panic was slowly but surely overriding common sense, and Pete was nearly to the center of the warehouse in her mad scramble for freedom when the lights blazed on.

 

"Comfortable, my dear?" inquired a voice from the shadows.  Pete froze.  The figure who stepped forward was one she'd never expected to see again, at least in the flesh.  He grinned at her.  "I certainly 'ope you are."  Pete felt her heart stop beating.

 

"Nergal." 

 

"Right on the first try, dear.  Good for you."  Pete spat at him.

 

"Bloody bastard!"  Nergal approached her, reaching out a clawed hand. 

 

"Now, now.  I go out of me way to be nice to you, and this is what I get."  He lifted Pete up by the back of her shirt, turning her back towards the body, which was just one of a pile.  A large, bloody, fly-covered pile.

 

"My god..." said Pete shakily. 

 

"Afraid He has absolutely nothing t'do with this," Nergal said, laughing.  "I'm trying to be hospitable, dear.  I left you friends to play with, and you had to get shy."  He tossed Pete back onto the pile of corpses.  "Now you just sit there and get aquainted.  Or else I might have to spank you."  Pete felt the rotting flesh against her own, smelled the stench in her nose and tasted it in her mouth.  She lost it.

 

"Get them off me!  It's 'orrible!" 

 

Nergal smiled widely, showing his improbable number of teeth.  "That's the kind of appreciation I like to hear."  Pete scrambled off the pile, her chest heaving. 

 

"I'll bloody kill you!"  Nergal tsked.

 

"Little things like yourself shouldn't make those kind of threats."  He examined a burned patch on his chest.  "Not that you didn't try, eh poppet?  You're a feisty one.  I wasn't expecting that."  Pete remembered shooting Nergal with her hot knives.  She also remembered them having virtually no effect.  "It's been a delight getting to know you, dear," said Nergal.  "And I'm sure it will be a delight raping you to death in front of Constantine, when he shows up.  But for now..."  He picked Pete up again and carried her, squirming, into a small room off the main warehouse.  Inside was a variety of bondage harnesses and torture instruments.  Nergal hung her bound hands over a hook and strapped her in securely.  "I just need a little of your blood.  As an impetus for your poor little magus, you know.  I do want him properly out of his head with terror by the time he finds you." 

 

"Fuck you!" Pete spat.  Nergal met her eyes, and Pete felt chilled to the core of her soul.  Nergal's eyes were obsidian disks that held all the life and horror of a raging inferno.

 

"There'll be a time for that, make no mistake dear."  Nergal picked up a knife.  "Now where do you prefer?  The wrist?  Stomach?"  He approached her, and Pete felt her heart threaten to beat out of her chest.  She couldn't keep control any longer.  She started screaming. 

*** *** ***

John had searched for Pete everywhere and every way he could think of, but he'd still found nothing. He knew Nergal was shielding her somehow, but John still felt like a failure.  Kit had left him because he was a danger to be around, and now those fears had been realized--just for another woman.

 

John didn't even begin to consider the possibility that Pete might be dead. While he didn't doubt that Nergal would want to kill her, he figured the demon would want to use her to torment John a bit first. Besides, somehow John just knew she wasn't dead. He could still sense her being alive, could feel it deep in his bones.

 

He paced his small flat, trying to think of anything he hadn't already covered. He'd contacted everyone he knew that could be of help, cast every spell he could think of that might be useful, and even physically searched quite a few places that would be prime candidates for a demonic hideout. He'd turned up nothing.

 

John stopped pacing, clenching his fist tight enough for his nail to dig into his palms. "Where the fuck are you, ya bleedin' coward?!" he yelled out into nothingness. "Don't you even have the guts to show yourself you soddin' piece of shite?"

 

The room grew cold, and John's shelves began to shake, the books seemingly throwing themselves to the ground. "Bloody show-off," John muttered, ducking as a book came soaring towards his head.

 

The door started shaking, making a very loud banging noise as it did. Clouds of smoke billowed from around the door, filling the room with a foul stench. John went towards the door, but stopped short when a piece of paper was slid under it. He grabbed the paper, scanning to quickly. It was a simple message, with only the words "She's here" and an address. John ran to the door, throwing it open to see what he could find.

 

What he saw both chilled and angered him. Blood was smeared on the door, and John knew instinctively it was Pete's. In the center of the blood was a spike, and what John saw dangling from it made him grow pale. It was a pentacle--the one he'd given Pete back on Muir. He snatched it off the door, clutching it tightly in his hand as he made a vow.

 

If it was the last thing John Constantine ever did, he would make Nergal pay.

 

*** *** ***

 

Pete struggled against her bonds, distressed to find that Nergal had fastened her in such a way that she couldn't use her hot knives.

 

Nergal had chained her to an altar, and Pete was smart enough to know what that meant--the demonic bastard intended to sacrifice her. She struggled more, but then stopped with a sigh, realizing that she had no chance of breaking free. She hoped John would hurry up and come for her, though part of her was afraid of what would happen once he did.

 

"Go on, move a bit more," Nergal said from somewhere in the shadows. "I like it. It's especially nice in those pretty new togs I've bought you..."

 

Pete whipped her head towards the sound of Nergal's voice. "Fuck you, arsehole."

 

"Now that's no way to say thank you when someone's bought you a present. I'll have to teach you some better manners." Nergal gave her a sadistic smile. "I do however, have some good news for you. Your darling Constantine should be here soon."

 

Pete narrowed her eyes. "Good. He'll kill you."

 

Nergal laughed. "I don't think so. As a matter of fact, I'm going to kill him." Nergal approached her, leaning over her and rubbing her bare arm. "It's a pity that you won't get to watch, but I'm afraid you'll be long dead by then."

 

Pete sneered. "John will save me. And you will die. He defeated you before, and he's stronger now. You have no chance."

 

"Please. Constantine owes his victory to dumb luck alone. This time, he will not get the better of me." He stepped back. "But in the mean time, why don't you squirm a bit more? It was getting me oh so ready for the main event..."

 

Pete glared at him as she willed her body to go completely still. Nergal simply laughed. He picked up a bottle of scotch, running a thumb over the label. "I'll have my fun with you, kill your little boyfriend, and then have myself a nice drink. What a wonderful evening this will be."

 

Pete said nothing, still glaring at Nergal. John would save her. She knew it…

 

*** *** ***

John looked up at the address Nergal had given him.  It was a rotting warehouse.  "'ow bloody original," John muttered.  He opened the door cautiously, knowing that Nergal would have left a few surprises for him.  Nothing was ever easy. 

 

Sure enough, as soon as he stepped into the dimness two snarling hounds, similar to the ones he'd encountered in the sewers came forward, their jaws dribbling as they sighted a human.  John's every instinct screamed at him to run, but he stood very still, letting the dogs get within sniffing distance.

 

"Take a bite," he told them.  "I guarantee you won't like it."  The closer dog cocked his head, and John took the opportunity to reach out and slice his palm open on a jagged piece of glass that had once been a window.  He held out the wound to the dog, who smelled it.

 

The dogs reared back, whimpering, and John let out a breath he'd been holding.  He'd gambled that Nergal had given him enough blood so he smelled unappetizing.  He was just glad he'd been right. 

 

John walked on slowly, the smell of rotten meat eating at his nostrils.  After another few steps he realized it wasn't meat but human flesh.  "Bloody wonderful," he muttered.  He took his handkerchief out and wrapped up his hand, flicking his lighter so he could see.  A clear trail of blood lead through the warehouse and up a flight of rusty metal stairs to a loft above.  More of Pete's blood.  John felt his anger flare again.  He started up the stairs, his lighter becoming useless as a compliment of candles lit around an altar came into view.  John felt his heart unclench as he saw Pete lying, still alive, strapped to the top of it. 

 

"John!" she cried out.  "John get out of 'ere, it's a trap!"  John stopped at the top of the stairs.

 

"Never stopped me before, luv."  He heard a shuffling to Pete's right, in the shadows, and saw Nergal come forth. 

 

"Constantine," he hissed.  John took out a cigarette and lit it.

 

"'ello, Nergal.  Still a drama queen, I see."  Nergal smiled thinly. 

 

“Do you know what I’m going to do to her, Constantine?”  He reached out a clawed hand and ran it down Pete’s cheek.  John saw panic rise in her eyes as she jerked her head away. 

 

“I ‘ave a pretty good idea,” said John levelly.  Nergal smiled wider. 

 

“And you also know you’re powerless to stop me…right?”  John shrugged. 

 

“You know, Nergal, after all these years I really don’t give a shite what you do or don’t do.  I don’t care about the tart, really.  I just didn’t want to disappoint you by not showin’ up for yer big number.”  Pete jerked against her chains. 

 

“Constantine, you fucking bastard!”  Nergal hissed.

 

“You’re lying.”  John flicked his cigarette. 

 

“You an’ I both know I’m not, mate.  Now if you’re gonna shag ‘er, best get on with it.  I ain’t got all night.”

 

“NO!” Nergal shouted.  “You’re going to suffer!  You hear me?  And so is she!”  He bent down and kissed Pete hard on the lips, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth.  Pete screamed, chained legs kicking wildly.  Nergal jerked back, hand at his mouth.  “You bit me, you little whore!” he yelled, slapping her hard.  He looked down at his palm.  “Blood…I’m bleeding?”  He let out a roar.  “I don’t bleed!”

 

John started to laugh as black blood poured from Nergal’s wounded tongue.  He smiled widely, shaking his head.  “Nergal, you stupid git,” he chuckled.  “’aven’t you learned you shouldn’t kiss people you ‘aven’t been introduced to?”  His grin thinned into the sadistic mask that Nergal had seen before.  “After all,” John said, “you never know where they’ve been.”

 

Nergal gripped his stomach suddenly, and screamed as if his insides were on fire.  He jerked around the altar wildly, scattering candles, knives and the sacrificial items.  John dropped his cigarette and his grin and ran to Pete, who was still trying to get out of her chains.  “Easy, luv,” he said, unfastening her shackles.  She sat up and slapped him across the face, much harder than she had on Muir.  John stumbled backwards.  “Wot was that for?!”  Pete stood up and advanced towards him, hot knives glowing in her hands.

 

“You were gonna leave me for him, Constantine.”  John held up his hands.

 

“No I bloody wasn’t!  I came ‘ere an’ risked life an’ limb, didn’t I?”  Nergal screamed again, falling into the fetal position and twitching.  Pete jerked her head.

 

“Wot’s wrong with ‘im, then?”  John smiled. 

”’e took a dose of the wrong medicine, luv.  Now you ‘ave to run, before anything I ‘aven’t planned for happens.”  Pete’s eyes grew soft. 

 

“I’m not leavin’ you, John.  I won’t.  I just won’t.”  John nodded. 

 

“Guess it’s not a good idea to be runnin’ around the streets of London at this hour…especially dressed like a dominatrix.”  Pete glared.

 

“For yer information, this was his idea.”  John took the bottle of scotch off the table next to the altar and stood over Nergal.

 

“So you thought to kidnap me girlfriend and ‘ave your way with her, did you?” he inquired.

 

“What…have…you…done to me?” Nergal gasped.  Vomit was pooled under his head and blood was still dribbling steadily from his mouth. 

 

“’ow do you feel now that you’ve done that, mate?” asked John.  “Was it everything you ‘oped for?”  He nudged Nergal with his shoe and Nergal moaned, too weak any longer to scream.  “It ‘urts, doesn’t it, Nergal you bastard?” John said softly, his voice like a knife.  “But I assure you, mate…wot you’re feelin’ right now is nothin’ compared to the righteous hell I’m goin’ to rain on you.  You’re sufferin’, sure, but that ain’t enough for me.  Me, I’m a bastard too.  An’ us bastards require somethin’ more.”  Nergal’s hateful glare met John’s icy blue gaze.

 

“Burn in Hell, John Constantine!”  John turned the bottle upside down over Nergal’s body and then took out his lighter.

 

“You first, mate.”  There was a whoosh as blue flames engulfed Nergal’s body, and a gut-wrenching shriek of agony from the demon.  John turned to Pete, wrapping his coat and his arms around her.  “You alright, luv?”  Pete looked up at him, then back at Nergal’s roasting carcass.

 

“How?” she said.  John shrugged. 

 

“’ad a feeling Nergal might come after you.  I put a spell on you, that night after you’d been cryin’ an’ fell asleep.  Make it so anything less than ‘uman that touched you in…that…way would get a jolt of what was comin’ to ‘im.”  Pete frowned.

 

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

 

“Didn’t think it was important at the time, luv,” said John.  Pete pushed away from him.

 

“Well it would’ve been bloody nice to know when I thought that creature was goin’ ta rape an’ sacrifice me!”  John’s eyes grew dark.

 

“I never would’ve let ‘im, Pete.  I’d die before ‘e’d get that far.”  Pete shook her head once, then came back to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, putting her head on his shoulders as Nergal’s flames slowly went out.

 

“You saved me.”

 

“Nothin’ to it, luv.”

 

“I’m tired, John.  I want to go ‘ome.”  John nodded. 

 

“Me, too.  You go wait downstairs an’ I’ll make sure me crispy friend ‘ere is taken care of.”  Pete looked hesitant.  “e’s dead, luv,” said John.  “I’ll be fine.”  Pete nodded and went slowly down the stairs in her bare feet.  John turned back to Nergal, who was now merely smoking.  “Looks like I win again,” John said, coming over to the body and kicking it to make sure Nergal was really dead.  “And you, you old bugger…” 

 

Nergal’s body jolted and John suddenly felt a sharp, hot pain in his left arm.  Nergal’s burned body reared up, still alive, a sacrificial knife in hand.  John was on the floor, no defense within reach, with the charred demon standing above him preparing to drive the knife home into his heart. 

 

“Oy,” said Pete from the head of the stairs.  “Leave me boyfriend alone, you bloody toerag.”  Nergal’s head exploded in a flash of hot knives, showering John with a light mist of blood and brains.  He turned to see Pete standing, hands still poised to shoot.  John smiled broadly.

 

“Luv!  You saved me!”  Pete lowered her hands and let out a breath.

 

“Should’ve done that tosser in seven years ago.”  John started to laugh, then winced.

 

“Ow!  Bloody ‘ell, ‘e cut me.”  Pete hurried over to him, pressing her hand against the wound.

 

“Let’s get you to a ‘ospital.”  John shook his head as she helped him home.

 

“No.  No ‘ospital.  Just me own bed will do nicely, thanks.”  Pete stopped at the top of the stairs, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him hard.

 

“I love you, John.”  John grinned.  He was feeling better already. 

 

*** *** ***

John leaned heavily on Pete as she helped him into the flat and to the bed.  He winced dramatically, clutching his wound.  Pete looked at him softly, pushing his hair away from his forehead.  "Does it hurt?"

John nodded, giving her a pitiful expression. "It 'urts a lot."

Pete kissed him lightly. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" John called after her.  Pete didn't respond, but came back a moment later with a washcloth and a bowl of warm water. She reach up, undoing John's tie and unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it open.  She dipped the cloth in the water, wiping the blood off his chest. John whimpered.

"Does that hurt, luv?" Pete asked.

"It stings a bit," John said. "But don't stop."

Pete finished cleaning his wound, noticing that the bleeding had stopped. She kissed the mark, and John closed his eyes, letting out a ragged breath. "I owe you my life," Pete said, slipping her hand into his.

John opened his eyes slowly, leveling them with Pete's. "I owe you mine, too."

"Wot do you mean?"

John smiled at her. "You've made it worth living again."

Pete gaped. "John…"

"You know, luv, if you really want to make me feel better in me injured state, you could just shag me."

Pete stood, and John braced himself, preparing for her to yell at him. What he didn't expect was for her to slowly slip off the outfit Nergal had dressed her in. John stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Pete grinned seductively. "Like wot you see?"

"Do I ever." John held his arms out, and Pete moved into them, kissing him deeply.

John sighed against her lips as he rolled over with him. Sure, he'd had to fight a demon bent on having his twisted revenge against him, but John had to say that, all in all, it had been a good day. Pete moved, nipping at the spot right beneath his ear, and John groaned.

It had been a good day. And it was just getting better…

*** *** ***

Six Months Later…

"I can't go in there." Pete turned around, walking away from the gothic-style church in front of her.

John grabbed her, pulling her back. "Petunia…"

Pete glared at him. "I told you never to call me that!"

John smirked. "But it always gets your attention. C'mon, luv. I thought you wanted to do this."

Pete pulled her hand away from John and smoothed her dress. "I did, but now I'm not so sure."

John gave her a smiled. "Are you afraid?"

"Afraid! Of a wedding? No."

"Don't make me have to drag you in there, then. I might embarrass you."

Pete rolled her eyes, then sobered. "John, I'm not sure this is what I want. I mean, I thought I needed to do this, but now that we're actually here…"

John smiled down at her. "It's your call, luv. I'm just here for moral support."

Pete smiled back. "And the desire to see the look on Kit's face when I walk in on your arm."

"Well, yeah, that, too," John said with a shrug.

Pete took a deep breath. "I can do this."

"Yes, you can."

Pete took his hand. "Let's go in."

*** *** ***

"Pete!" I'm so glad you could make it!"

Pete smiled at Meggan as the fey woman ran to her, her long white train dragging behind her. Meggan hugged Pete tightly. "When I sent the invitation, Brian said you wouldn't come, but I knew you would."

Pete gave Meggan a smile. "It was a lovely wedding, Meggan. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Meggan returned the smile, pulling away from Pete. "And I see you've brought a date."

John winked. "'ello, luv. Don't you make the beautiful bride."

Meggan blushed. "Thank you."

Meggan lowered her voice. "Don't tell Kit I said this, but I was always pulling for you two. You're meant for each other, I just know it."

It was Pete's turn to blush as John reached down and squeezed her hand. "Thanks, Meggan."

"Well, I can't neglect my other guests," Meggan said as more people began to file into the reception. "I'll find the two of you later, and we can catch up."

Meggan went to greet someone else, and Pete walked with John, finding there seats in the massive reception hall. Pete groaned when she saw who they'd been seated with. "Figures that wanker Braddock would do something like this."

"Wot, luv?" John asked. Pete pointed to the place card across from them. John groaned. "Kit Pryde. Oh bullocks." He frowned. "Want me to go demand Braddock move us?"

Pete shook her head. "No. I can handle Kit. I knew I was going to have to see him tonight anyway."

"And speak of the devil…" John muttered as Kit approached the table.

Kit gave John a startled glance before turning his attention to Pete. "Pete! You came! And what do you know, we're seated at the same table!"

John fought the urge to punch the younger man. The tone in his voice made it obvious that the seating arrangement had been no accident. But it was also obvious that he hadn't been planning on John being there…

"So where's Renée?" Pete asked as the three of them sat down.

Kit blushed, looking down at the table in front of him. "She, um…"

"Dumped him three months ago," Rhane Sinclair said, sitting down at the table.

"Rhane!" Pete said happily, glad to see a familiar face at the table that wasn't Kit's.

"We decided to go our separate ways," Kit said, shooting the weregirl a look. "It was a mutual agreement."

"Right," Rhane said with a patronizing smile. She turned back to Pete. "You look like life has treated you well," Rhane said.

"It has," Pete said with a smile. "I'm very happy back in London." She took John's hand again, gripping it on the table for all to see. "John and I are very happy."

Rhane smiled. "That's wonderful."

Kit unabashedly glared at Pete and John's hands. "Yeah, just wonderful."

John smirked. He liked being on the other side of this for once. He looked over at Kit. "So, you found anyone since you and Renée…mutually parted ways?"

Kit turned his glare up to John. "I've been enjoying single life, actually," he said. "No point in tying yourself down to one woman."

"Of course not, mate," John said with a smile. "More time for your computer that way, right? Maybe the occasional Dungeons and Dragons tournament?"

If Kit had been able to kill John at that moment and get away with it, he probably would have. Pete decided to change the subject. "So, how are things on Muir?"

"They're good," Rhane said, "Although we've decided that it's about time for Excalibur to come to an end. Kurt, Piotr, and Kit are going back to the States next week to rejoin the X-Men."

"Oh?" Pete looked over at Kit. "Are you looking forward to that?"

"Yes." He glanced back at Pete and John's interlaced hands. "Not like there's anything to keep me here…"

John gave Kit a smug smile. "No, I guess there isn't," he said, leaning over to give Pete a meaningful kiss.

Kit opened his mouth to say something when the speaker system let out an awful squeal of feedback. The DJ made a quick apology and then proceeded to announce the new Mr. and Mrs. Braddock and their first dance as husband and wife. Pete was relieved when Kit turned to watch, grateful that he wasn't pursuing any sort of an argument with John. As much as she still harbored some resentment towards Kit, she still didn't want to see him end up a broken pile on the floor. Meggan wouldn't want her wedding ruined like that.

As Meggan and Brian's dance ended, other couples began to join them on the dance floor. Kit turned quickly to Pete. "Dance with me," he said.

Pete stumbled, looking over at John. John winked, "Go on, luv. I don't have anything to worry about with that tosser. You know which one of us is more of a man…"

Kit shot John a murderous look before standing up, reaching his hand out to Pete. "Just one dance."

Pete sighed, figuring she might as well get it over with. Kit obviously had something he wanted to say, and knowing him, he wouldn't leave her alone until he said it. She stood, ignoring Kit's offered hand, choosing to give John a long, showy kiss instead. "I'll be back soon, lover," she said softly, but loud enough to Kit to hear.

Kit led Pete to the dance floor, just as a new song was beginning. It was slow, and Kit wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as they swayed back and forth to the music. Pete was surprised to find that his touch stirred nothing inside of her. Not hate nor lust. Just nothing. She smiled at the thought.

Kit leaned down, breathing Pete's scent in lightly. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and it made his heart ache. "I've missed you," he admitted.

"Have you?" Pete said, looking up at him.

"Yes. I was a complete idiot to throw away what we had. I mean, I thought that I would be happier with Renée because she was, well, younger…and more like me. But I wasn't. And in the end, she left me just like I left you." Kit took a deep breath. "I realized then just how much I still love you, Pete. I want you to come to America with me. I think you could find a home with the X-Men…and me."

Pete looked up, her expression warm. "Oh, Kit, that's so sweet," she said.

"So you'll come with me?" Kit asked.

Pete snorted. "Please. I'd rather spend the rest of my life in a tiny cell with a monkey getting goop poured on my head at random intervals than be stuck with the bloody X-Men. Besides, I already have a home. With John."

Kit narrowed his eyes. "Constantine? Please, Pete. Isn't it obvious all he wants is sex?"

Pete patted his cheek. "Silly little boy. No, what John and I have is a nice, grown-up relationship." She pulled away. "Now why don't you go play with your toys or something, hmm?"

Kit sputtered. "But…you can't honestly be choosing him over me."

"I am." Pete started to walk off the dance floor, but stopped, turning back to face Kit. "Oh, and just for the record, I was never too old for you. You were just too bloody young for me."

Kit stared in shock as Pete walked away.

*** *** ***

Pete flopped back on the bed. "I can't believe I survived that."

John took of his tie, hanging it over the doorknob. "You did great, luv. Showed all those Excalibur blokes just 'ow well you're doin these days."

"I'm glad I went, though. Felt sorta…cathartic."

"I'm glad you went, too," John said, sitting beside her on the bed. "But now we're back home in our little world, and I'm glad for that, too."

Pete smiled. "So am I." She reached up, stroking John's face. "I love you. Always have."

"And I love you," John replied, reaching up and taking her hand, brining it to his lips. "Always will."

Pete smiled as John leaned down, kissing her.

For the first time in her life, she was whole.

*** *** ***