Summary: Constantine is sulking. Again.
Word Count: 410
“Are you done sulking?” Chas asks as he brings in the groceries, and in response Constantine flips him off, head still not visible from where she’s flopped face down on the couch that might have been stolen from the set of Dracula. It’s an indication of how long he’s known her that he recognizes the British version of the gesture.
“The next time that feathery bastard shows up, I’m going to take the opportunity to file a little complaint about how his bosses decided to treat the female half of the race.”
Chas thinks for two seconds about his reply before he answers. It’s no use pointing out that she complains about it a lot. “Does it hurt as bad as dying?”
That actually gets her to move more than her hand. She narrows her eyes as she thinks about the question.
“It’s…I’m not sure.” It’s rare when he can get her to shut up. He counts it as a success. “I remember it hurting bloody awful, but without having actually gone all the way…” She shrugs and sits up.
It’s normal enough for her to be speaking in innuendoes, too, which is why he doesn’t react. Privately he suspects that part of the reason she likes him so much is that he doesn’t react to her charm. “Are you cooking today, then?” She’s staring hungrily at the teapot he’s setting up.
“I thought Zed would appreciate it.” He’s not going to say he’s cooking for her. That’s too domestic. Too close to home.
She smiles one of her trickster’s smiles at him. “Ah, but you know I’ll steal some anyway.” She catches the cheese he throws at her, eyes sparkling. “What am I supposed to do with this, then?”
“Cut it into cubes. Don’t cut yourself again.” She grins at that—always does, at a reminder that she’s self-destructive at heart—and gets up to join him.
“Oh, hullo, luv. Good timing. You don’t have long to wait for Chas’s cooking. It’s worth selling your soul for, if you still had one.”
“I don’t accept souls as payment,” Chas reassures, ignoring the uncomfortable reference to the loss of Jane’s soul.
“I’m just surprised you got her to do any work,” Zed says with admiration.
“A little tip. He doesn’t ask. Gives me the chance to say no,” she responds, wielding the knife in a way that makes Chas uncomfortable, but he’s not about to take it away from her.