Date: 2007-01-27 01:34 am (UTC)
Adam had mentioned that there was a bar; and as there didn't appear to be any noises disturbances or potentially dangerous situations for him to be smack in the middle of, Kit thought she ought to look for John there first.

Assuming he wasn't holed up with that boyfriend of his, of course.

But she wasn't jealous, she told herself as she descended the stairs into the lobby; distinctly not jealous. After all, maybe it meant John had got over himself and was happy. And what a novel concept, a world where John Constantine was purely content.

And, she had to admit, that Crowley had had awfully nice cheekbones.

Kit came to a rather abrupt halt, however, in the doorway to the restaurant, as though some invisible wall of doubts and questions kept her from entering; because there, across the room, was two years of her life, her love. Two years, and then seven more of what-ifs and if-onlys.

There was John, so oblivious, buried in a pint.

For a moment, she couldn't move, but once her heart rate had begun to slow, she took a deep breath, followed by a cautious step: and then another, and another, and finally she was close enough to slip cautiously onto the stool two down from his.

Well. Too late to turn around now.

"Hiya, John."
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