He didn't like bringing her along, but he could only take so much of his headstrong and stubborn niece. He could never deny that she was a true Constantine, which only proved more irritating. Still, it was better than leaving her to her own devices. The trouble she managed to get herself in was worse than even some of his worst situations. Clearly, the Constantine luck followed her closely, which would not prove well for John. He was going to be up to three or four packs of Silk Cuts a day. Chas had already upped his intake of smoke and tar once.

"Do you suppose we'll be doing any magic, Uncle John?" There was a pause in his steps as he shot his niece a look. "What? I just want to make sure I'm plenty prepared for the unknown!" There was no coherent response except for a frustrated hum around the already worn filter paper of his cigarette. Gemma knew that expression and that response. John knew her expression as well. The amount of excitement she had for this sort of thing, for tracking down the supernatural and facing it head on was both refreshing and unsettling. Didn't she remember the night she found herself almost married to Lucifer himself? The cults? The wedges it drove between her parents and herself? How quickly she had forgotten, or had made herself forget.

Taking in a drag from his cigarette, inhaling the delicious taste of smoke and nicotine, John finish the cancer stick and disposed of it onto the street. It was dark, near midnight most likely. The street was empty, but was slick from the rain that had dampened the bustling city of London earlier in the day. Gemma rubbed her hands together, shoving them deep into the pockets of her maroon, wool coat. "Seems we've arrived. Sure y'still up for going in?" The sarcastic overtone was always obvious when John spoke. But as he addressed his niece, the edge was missing. Gemma didn't response immediately. Her attention panned from her uncle to the building that stood before them: tall, old, dangerous, and filled with the promise of something terrifying lurking inside. A demon? A half-breed? Lucifer? God himself? Whoever, or whatever, it would be, she was prepared to face them.

Taking in a deep breath, Gemma slowly exhaled and gave a sharp nod in response. "Of course I am! I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." John couldn't help the snicker that followed her response. "Alright then." Moving forward, John started into the building, but paused as the door was pushed open. The markings were known, and this visit would not be a friendly one in the least. "Gemma, luv, try not to get yourself killed. Really don't want to go travelling down to fetch you tonight." To hear the silence followed by a flustered response of ‘I'll be fine, Uncle John!' made him smile. He knew she would be, but even if she wasn't? It wouldn't be the first time he had gone after a soul.

"Will you be waiting? Waiting for me?" "Why would I?" "Because I will be here waiting for you."

Her words. They were always he words when ever he looked lost and distraught. When they were separated, he seemed to unconsciously go back to them. Trudging through the Salt Flats, to Esthar, and then to space. There had been promises of helping her, quelling the sorceress that was lying dormant within her. The faster they were able to get her to the space station, Dr. Odine had promised that all would be well. Except it wasn't.

Saving her from herself and those that wanted nothing more than to hurl her into space to be studied and locked away, Squall would not have it. He would take her to space himself. What was the downfall if something happened? Quests was more than qualified to take up where he would leave off.

They were almost home, almost touching. His hand, protected by the heavy space suit, was closing around hers. The silence of space was heavy and hung like stale air. Her eyes closed, a tired smile on her face. Tears floated in glistening drops within the confines of her space helmet before one was punctured against a sharp edge of his ring. Leonhart.

Opening his mouth, he could only hear himself.

"Rinoa!"