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“Constantine!?”

Dulcie groaned. Frannie. Since Con had come back, she hadn't seen the other woman. She'd begun to think maybe it was a sign, that her luck was changing. Con was her dark little rainbow, spreading peace over her world. But no. Apparently not.

“Hi, Frannie,” he said politely, his politician's-smile making an appearance. No hint of the big bad wolf in that grin.

“It's been so long! How are you? Move, Dulcie, jesus, I'm trying to talk to my old friend,” Frannie demanded, shoving her out of the way. The ice cream fell out of her hand and smacked into the floor.

“It's been a while,” Con agreed, ignoring the incident between the girls. “How've you been? You look great.”

Dulcie stared at their interaction, dumbfounded.

“Oh, stop. I don't. Do I? Well, not as good as you. You look incredible,” Frannie gushed. His smile got bigger and Dulcie watched as Frannie fell a little more in love with him.

“Thanks.”

“Enough about me. What are you doing here? And god, is Dulcie bothering you? Townies, I swear. C'mon, there's a great coffee shop next door, it just opened. Let me get you a cup,” Frannie offered, then linked her arm though his and began dragging him away.

“A coffee shop? Wow, Fuller's almost like a real town,” he laughed, and she cackled right along with him as they walked out the door together. He didn't look back, not even once.

What. The fuck.

Dulcie stomped the whole way home. She bypassed her elevator and took the stairs, wanting to burn off some energy. When she got into her apartment, she slammed the door shut behind her and locked it. The knob and the bolt, even put on the chain. Something she rarely ever did; she pitied anyone who would be stupid enough to try and rob her. But that afternoon, she wasn't in the mood for anyone to come inside.

She felt like she was going to explode, she had to do something with all the tension that was threatening to blow her apart, so she tore around the apartment. The bed was a mess, blankets scattered everywhere – they'd stayed the night at her place, but hadn't slept much. So she changed the sheets and made the bed, then tidied up other parts of the room. There was a wash basin set up on a counter top, so she cleaned the meager amount of dishes she had and left them out to dry. She was rinsing off a chef's knife when she heard what she'd been waiting for – scratching, on the other side of her door.

“Fuck off, I'm not in the mood for you right now!” she yelled. Deep laughter rolled straight through the wood and brick, almost filling her apartment.

“That's a lie, and you know it.”

She frowned and turned so her back was against the wall between the counter top and the door.

“I don't want you to come in.”

“I wasn't asking. Open the door, or I'll open it myself.”

She held the knife up, touching the tip of the blade with her index finger.

“Go ahead.”

The building was old, she didn't expect the door to put up much of a fight. She turned back to her wash station and went about drying the knife. There was silence for a solid minute after her dare, and she paused in her movements. Then the door almost exploded off its hinges as Con rammed through it, and she went back to drying.

“You can't honestly be mad at me,” he said simply, brushing his shoulder off as he moved to stand next to her.

“You didn't think that was possible? I spent three years being mad at you. I'm really good at it,” she informed him. He chuckled and put his hands flat on the counter top, leaning down so he was at her level.

“Dulcie, you couldn't be mad at me if you tried. You're scared. What are you so scared of, little girl?”

I'll show him scared.

She let out a yell as she stabbed the knife down in front of him. The blade lodged in the wood right between his index and middle fingers, and had gone so deep, it stood upright on its own. Con didn't even flinch.

“Not her,” Dulcie hissed. “You can do whatever you want, but don't ever play your little pretend act with her. Got it!?”

Almost stabbing him was fine, but telling him what do do? That was just going too far. His hand was around her jaw, his fingernails cutting into her skin, and he literally dragged her across the room. She cried out as he slammed her up against a window, the back of her head breaking out a pane of glass.

“If you're actually threatened by a girl like her, then I'm insulted. Then you're fucking stupid, and what's going on here between us isn't what I thought. Don't you ever fucking talk to me like that again,” he snapped, baring his teeth against the side of her face. She held onto his wrist, trying to relieve some of the pressure he was putting on her jaw.

“While you were off playing pretend for those three years, I was stuck here listening to her voice. Dealing with her insults, her jabs, her digs. Watching as she sucked the life out of her husband. A guy whose only mistake in life was dating me, yet she won't stop punishing him for it. I've had to listen as she spread rumors about me, about you. Had to deal with not getting hired in places because she had her father forbid it. So you know what? Fuck you, Constantine. I'll talk to you any way I fucking want.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes wandering over her face. She knew he was attracted to her, obviously, but she often wondered if he found her half as beautiful as she found him to be. His blue eyes dipped lower, tracing over the outline of her lips, watching as she gasped for air.

“You are the most amazing thing I've ever seen,” he said, reading her thoughts. She struggled to take in air and stumbled a little; his hand was still on her jaw, holding her up so she was forced onto her toes. His forearm was resting on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Yet she let go of his wrist. Let him push almost his full weight against her, and against the glass behind them.

“We're going to kill each other, aren't we?” she whispered.

“Baby ...” he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut as he moved to rest his forehead against her. “What a beautiful thing to say.”