(no subject)

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

Date: January 6, 2001
Status: Private (John, Kit - Complete)
Setting: Manor Bar
Summary: O_o!



John was feeling content, for once. Things had been mostly quiet in the Manor since Aziraphale had left; that wouldn't last, for sure, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Crowley seemed to have rallied, Ellie was trying to do something constructive for a change, Belial and the Snob were keeping to themselves mostly, Loki had a regular coven of assorted mystical types working on his problem, Uriel's sprog was safely arrived and nobody seemed to be in the middle of a crisis; and as for John himself, he'd made a few friendly acquaintances of the human variety, and had some very pleasant New York memories to reflect on, and possibly a few more to look forward to.

Yeah, there was a shoe waiting to drop, no doubt about it. Likely a big, heavy boot covered in mud and less mentionable substances. But for right now, he was just going to sit here at the bar enjoying a pint, and let the madhouse look after itself for a bit.

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[no-npc-here.livejournal.com]

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."