Disclaimer: I do not own Constantine, that honor belongs to DC Comics and Warner Brothers.

A/N: This idea was bouncing around in my head for a while and wouldn't go away until I got it out. It's a teensy bit angsty in the beginning but dissolves into pure fluff later on. I originally planned for it to be a oneshot, but I'm willing to write a second chapter from John's POV if there is enough/any demand. Enjoy!

Also, huge thanks to Daydreamer731 for beta reading this and helping me improve it! Check out her writing after you read (and review!) this, it's fantastic!

Stormy Weather

by, LStormcloud

It had been one year since she had last seen him. Actually it had been one year, four months, and thirteen hours since that night on the rooftop, but hey who was counting? Detective Angela Dodson had never felt so lost or confused in her life. Isabel's death had been a shock, but she had been able to figure it out, to think through until it gathered a façade of logic. Her feelings toward a certain exorcist were not so easily understood or accepted. Learning about angels, demons, and half-breeds had been a piece of cake in comparison.

That night on the roof was still crystal clear in her mind, as if it had happened only a few hours ago. She leaned her head against the cool glass of her apartment window and watched as her breath was captured in wispy clouds on the glass. There was a sudden crack of lightning that cast a bluish glow on the street outside and vanished a moment later. She raised her hands and rested them on the glass, reveling in the smooth feel of it underneath her fingertips.

Thunder boomed loudly and the lights in her apartment flickered. She closed her eyes and opened herself to the raw power of the storm. She loved thunderstorms, loved the way the rain cascaded to the earth and washed it clean, loved the way the clouds blotted out the sometimes-burning glare of the sun and offered shelter from its piercing rays. Most of all she loved the lightning because it was a focused beam of pure energy, of raw power that couldn't be contained. The slamming thunder that followed echoed in her head and seemed to chase away the shadows of darkness and doubt that periodically gathered in her mind.

The storm was a welcome distraction from her previous train of thought, but the smell of the air soaked with the presence of the rain was intoxicating and Angela unwittingly let its scent carry her away to the memory of the night she had last seen him.

The smell of the night air, cool yet refreshing especially after the "air" that she had been "breathing" in Hell, was the first thing that she remembered. She could feel the texture of the rough cement railing against her hands. As the wind blew and gave her chills, she wrapped her arms around herself in a vain effort to stay warm. She almost hadn't heard him come up behind her, but he was used to walking silently and she used to constantly being on her guard, even if it wasn't conscious.

As he approached, her voice seemed to cut through the silence like a knife, and as soon as the words left her mouth she wished that she could take them back.

"Nice spot." She grimaced inwardly; he must think that she was a complete moron. After everything that had happened, all she could think of to say was "nice spot"?

He ignored her comment and stated simply, "I have something for you." His voice was as cool and smooth as the metal of her gun.

She turned to face him, but left her arms crossed, she was ashamed to admit it but she had gotten chills again—this time from the sound of his voice rather than the wind. As she looked at him, she saw that he was once again wearing his trademark outfit, albeit a cleaner version of it than he had previously had on. Black trench coat, white shirt (she noted that this one was only slightly rumpled), black tie and black pants and shoes. He looked a little pale and there were circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.

A small part of her mind noted with interest that he was very close to her, close enough for her to catch his scent. If a storm could be captured in one scent, that was what he smelled like. He smelled like the heart of a thunderstorm, that moment where the sky opens up and angels cry while lightning brings its brief light to the world. He smelled clean, wild, powerful and absolutely intoxicating.

She forcibly wrenched her attention away from that particular train of thought and focused on his words. To cover up her distraction and as retribution for him giving her thoughts that she really didn't want to have, she replied with a cool "Something tells me that you're not a flowers kind of guy." The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly and she ignored the slight increase in her heart rate, trying to maintain a nonchalant appearance.

He said nothing, only handed her an object wrapped in cloth and a slightly sarcastic, "Oh how thoughtful," slipped out of her mouth as she took it from him and unwrapped the object. The dark metal point of the spear was unmistakable. Confusion swirled in her mind like the winds of a hurricane.

"John, why are you giving me this?" She searched his face for answers and found that it gave nothing away.

"Rules. Hide it. Somewhere no one will ever be able to find it." After a short pause he added, "not even me."

Oh, because that makes a lot of sense, she thought sarcastically to herself. She didn't deserve this kind of responsibility. He knew more about this world than she did, he was the one who would know the best place to hide it. Almost dying because of the spear must have something to do with her new found ownership of the thing. She smirked slightly and rolled her eyes.

"Always a catch."

His smile was more pronounced as he looked at her. "Yeah." She found that she couldn't look at his eyes anymore; they were getting too intense. There were so many things that she wanted to say to him. She had so much to thank him for: for saving the world, not to mention saving her and Isabel at the cost of his own life. How could she ever repay such a debt? She sneaked a glance at him and found that he was looking at her with an emotion in his eyes that she couldn't identify.

Nervously she clutched the spear a little tighter, trying to draw strength from its grounding presence and finding it impossible to do so. The proximity to him, along with the strange and confusing emotions that she felt toward him were making it hard to concentrate on anything. Her hand trembled slightly as she tucked an imaginary piece of hair behind her ear and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her throat was tight and as she looked up again she saw that he was also momentarily at a loss for words. The great John Constantine didn't have a sarcastic comment? This had to be a historic moment.

Angela didn't have any time to enjoy the realization as she saw that he was getting closer to her.

"So." Her voice sounded strangely loud after the silence and inappropriate somehow.

"I've got some cleaning up to do."

"I'll see you around."

Breathing deeply, he leaned closer to her, as if to kiss her and softly replied, "I'd like that."

Angela's heart was doing flip-flops, he wouldn't mind seeing her again! She was more than just a nuisance to him! A snarky voice in her mind cut off her mental parade 'He probably wants to make sure that no halfbreeds kill you or try to get you to tell them where the spear is after you hide it.' Somehow she was more depressed by this thought than she expected, but was distracted as John leaned in. Her eyes were ready to flutter closed and the pounding of her heart sounded like thunder in her ears.

At the last second before their lips met, she turned her head and walked away with a small smile. Part of her was furious at herself for not kissing him right then and there. This was what she had been waiting for wasn't it? Those two occasions where he had almost kissed had been on her mind constantly, even throughout the entire ordeal with Mammon. So why had she turned away?

It was only later that she realized that she had gotten satisfaction from not giving in to John Constantine. He might know more about fighting half-breeds and performing exorcisms than she did, but that didn't mean that she was completely powerless. By not kissing him she had regained some of the self-control that she had lost during Isabel's death and the fight with Mammon and Gabriel. All of them had used her like a pawn, like a play piece in a game. At first even John had only helped her because he thought that she could get him into Heaven.

Whether he now had a deeper reason for helping her, she didn't know, but she refused to go along with it any further. She was not a toy or a chess piece to be moved around some cosmic chessboard. Not by God, not by Satan or his son, and certainly not by John Constantine.

As valid as her reasoning for not kissing him might have been, it didn't stop her from kicking herself for months afterward when he didn't try to contact her at all. The ifs, maybes, and would-have-beens had run circles in her mind, tormenting her until she couldn't sleep for days on end. To distract herself from the mess of feelings that she now contained, she had started doing exorcisms and practicing her psychic abilities on her own.

It had become a necessity as she found that she was bombarded by images and emotions that weren't her own almost every time she went to a crime scene. She had been practicing her shielding and had eventually added protective spells to her apartment to make it safer. She always carried her gun and badge with her, but now carried two cartridges of "holy bullets" in case she ran into an angry half-breed.

Throughout all of this, all of her training and work to bring her powers to heel and get her personal and professional life in order, her feelings for him had still been there inside her, just waiting for the chance to come out. Tonight, unfortunately, was the perfect night for them to unleash themselves.

Tonight she had actually finished her paperwork on old cases and for the recent killer the precinct had caught. She had little to do in the way of exorcisms, as she had deported a half-breed a couple hours before. All in all, she had finished her work early. She had even cleaned her apartment in an attempt to ignore the feelings and the longing that were building up inside her, but that too had proven much easier than expected.

The root of the problem was that she missed him. Badly. She had only known him for about four days, yet she felt like it had been far longer. It scared her how much she wanted to see him, to talk to him, to learn about him. She almost physically ached to hear his voice again. She wanted to know what his favorite color was, what his favorite book, movie, and music were. She wanted to know how he took his coffee, hell if he even drank coffee. She wanted to know the little things that made him uniquely him.

She had never wanted that from anyone before, had never just wanted to know them. It terrified her to feel this way, it felt like she was out of control and her emotions were on a rampage. Dare she think it—her heart ached at the thought of the conversations they'd had and the little looks that he'd given her. All of this amounted to a painful lump in her chest, one that she had tried to unsuccessfully drown out with work.

She didn't even know if he was okay. She felt somehow that she would know if he were dead, she was psychic after all, but she didn't know where he was or if he was thinking about her. After she had hidden the Spear she waited for him to contact her, but he hadn't. Not wanting to seem desperate and in order to satisfy her own pride she hadn't attempted to contact him either. She knew from casual conversations and some brief psychic probing that he no longer lived above the bowling alley, but other than that she was completely clueless.

He's probably found some attractives angelic halfbreed by now, she thought bitterly to herself, cursing the jealousy that welled up at the idea.

He was an attractive man, no doubt about it. Tall, pale skinned, with short tousled black hair, and a lean, toned body that was much stronger than it looked added to his appeal. His eyes were a chocolate brown color that somehow reflected a strange innocence even after everything that they had seen and been through.

She had missed him so badly these past few months. They had been hard for her, no matter how she tried to cover it up. The things she had seen would give any other person nightmares that would scar them for life. She had wanted him to be there with her, to help her learn and to share her experiences. He had barely become a friend before they had lost contact, now she was desperate for the one person who was sure to understand what she was going through, having gone through it himself.

The knocking at the door startled Angela out of her thoughts and she jumped, cursing as she knocked over a book in surprise. Her hand went immediately to her gun, which she had placed next to her when she had first started her musings. She expertly clicked back the safety and made sure that she had her "holy" bullets in it. Humans could die from either kind of bullet, halfbreeds only by one, so it had become second nature to her to change her bullets when she got home from work.

Her sneakers hardly made a sound as she crept slowly through her apartment towards the door. Her cat, Duck, was illuminated by the green-blue glow of her laptop screen and for an instant she could have sworn that his green eyes had flashed with some emotion. Amusement, perhaps?

Now you're really going crazy, you think you're cat is laughing at you. After everything she had seen, it wouldn't really surprise her if Duck was laughing at her, but that was neither here nor there.

She arrived at her door and called out, "Yes, who is it?" The silence from the other side made her grip her gun even more tightly as she slowly turned the many locks. The sound of the deadbolt seemed unnaturally loud as she slid it back and cautiously opened the door to see her nighttime visitor.

Her heart almost stopped in shock. It was him.

He looked almost exactly the same as when she had last seen him, except now he was completely soaked through from the rain outside. He was wearing a white shirt underneath his trademark loose-fitting trench coat and she couldn't help but notice that the wetness of his shirt made it cling to him like a second skin. Angela forced herself to look away from his tight, toned abs and at his face.

"John." She barely recognized her own voice; it had taken a low, breathy quality that she had never heard before. She bit her lip in confusion, trying to quell the swirling emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. Faintly, behind the roaring in her ears she could hear the sound of her gun being returned to its holster. Funny, how things seemed terribly important one second and completely irrelevant the next.

Why was he here? Was something wrong? Did he need her help? And most importantly, would he leave again?

Seeing him again, Angela wasn't sure if she could handle his departure for a second time.

"Yeah." His voice interrupted her thoughts and after a moment of confusion she realized that he was replying to her earlier statement. A corner of his mouth was quirked up and he was looking at her, no studying her was the better word for it, with an indescribable expression in his eyes.

She found herself heating under his probing gaze and silently cursed her Irish blood as she looked away. As her own gaze began to roam to places where they didn't belong, she moved her eyes back to his and almost immediately wished she hadn't. Angela found herself drowning in a sea of chocolate brown and unable to get out. She could feel her psychic abilities reach out to him and recoil as they felt a cascade of emotions that rivaled her own storm. Exhaustion, pain, hunger and coldness stuck her rapidly and left her breathless, but the two emotions that stuck out to her the most were fear and hope.

In all the time she had known him, John Constantine had never been afraid. She didn't get even a flicker of fear from him when he went up against Mammon himself, but now something or someone was scaring him, and badly from the feel of it. But despite the fear, there was hope. Hope of what?

As she struggled to work through these thoughts a radical idea dawned on her. Maybe she wasn't the only one frightened by the emotions that they had. Maybe he had been struggling to figure himself out as much as she had. Maybe they were both a little afraid of each other and of the strange power they held over each other.

Maybe that was why he had run from her! His entire life he had believed that he wasn't worthy of feeling emotion towards someone else and receiving it in return. Her eyes filled with tears of compassion and relief. Maybe he didn't hate or resent her after all! As much as she fought to hold it back, a single tear escaped its prison and Angela felt the crystalline drop leave a faint trail of salt in its wake. Wordlessly, John stepped forward and ever so gently reached out and wiped the tear from her face with his thumb. He cupped her cheek in his hand and looked at her sorrowfully.

Angela allowed herself a moment to revel in the feeling of his cool hand upon her face, but was interrupted as John abruptly dropped his hand and turned away. "I should go. I never should have come here in the first place."

Confusion invaded Angela's mind. He was leaving? But why? Her detective's mind worked at a breakneck speed trying to figure out why he would want to leave and how to get him to stay. Her mind hit upon a solution that, at first, she wanted to dismiss with a snort but couldn't because in its own way, it made a certain amount of sense: maybe he thought that she was crying because she was upset with him for coming back. Warmth blossomed in her chest like a desert flower after a rainstorm as this idea began to take root.

He cared for her and was worried about hurting her! Angela didn't know whether she wanted to smile in delight at his unwittingly sweet gesture or groan at his ignorant assessment of her feelings. She realized with alarm that he was starting to walk away from her and panic invaded her mind.

He couldn't leave her again! She absolutely would not allow it. She practically sprinted down the dimly lit hall and did the first thing that came into her mind.

She threw her arms around him and ignoring his questioningly raised eyebrows firmly covered his lips with her own. Her eyes closed of their own accord and the smooth and sensual feel of his lips against hers was exhilarating. Somewhere in the back of her mind she noted that he tasted deliciously like mint. Her blood almost sang in her ears as she desperately kissed him, trying to make him understand and felt her psychic shields slip away as she began to broadcast all of her emotions to him.

She realized then that she loved him. Not the love at first sight, chocolate and roses kind of love. No, this was something far deeper. This was a connection that had survived the ravages of Heaven and Hell and Satan and God.

She was going to get him to overcome his stubbornness and stay with her even if it meant she had to stand in this hallway for all eternity. She noticed after a moment that he was kissing her back with the same passion and force. A wave of love rose in her and she poured it into him, finally releasing her doubts and misgivings and showing him a small fraction of her soul. She felt him smiling slightly against her lips and when they broke apart panting for air, she buried her face into his neck.

She breathed deeply, God how she had missed him! He still smelled the same, like the heart of a storm and after a few seconds Angela found to her dismay that she was crying again. She clung to him like a drowning person clings to a life raft and it was only when she felt his arms encircle her protectively that she released her death grip. The safety and comfort she felt when he hugged her was almost indescribable. For the first time in months she felt the tension in her muscles ease.

She didn't know how long they stood together, time seemed irrelevant at that moment, but after a long while she dared to glance up at him. She found herself meeting his eyes and almost wanted to slap herself in disbelief at the slow, tender smile he was giving her. For once his shields were down and Angela knew that she would treasure this moment for all of eternity. John Constantine didn't let anyone get too close to him and she felt privileged that he was allowing her to see him unguarded. She felt herself tearing up again and silently cursed, Damn hormones!

His voice carried a note of amusement as he interrupted her thoughts and he had a devilish glint in his eye as he asked, "So… did you miss me?"

She opened her mouth to give an equally smartass reply but was cut off as he swept down and captured her mouth with his. Her muffled words faded and she felt her eyes flutter shut, while a smile curved her lips.

I love stormy nights! was her last conscious thought before her brain shut down and she melted in his arms.


A/N: Like it, hate it? Let me know! I love feedback (but who doesn't, right?). If/When you review please tell me if you are interested in a sequel or a second part from John's POV!

Remember flames will only feed the fire.