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"Let me help," John demanded.
"No. I can do it myself," Jazz said from the interior of the bathroom.
John watched as she twisted to try and wash the wound on her side that spanned onto her back. It wasn't deep but it was still bleeding. And the more Jazz twisted, the more it bled, ruining her attempts to clean it. He didn't even know why she was protesting letting him help so much. It wasn't like she didn't help with his wounds on a regular basis.
"Please," he said, switching tactics. "I don't like having to watch you hurt."
Just as he said it she did something that hurt and winced.
"I don't need help," she repeated. "I can take care of myself."
"But you don't have to," John said. "Isn't that what you keep telling me?"
"Chas and Zed also tell you that," she said through gritted teeth as she tried to reach the spot furthest onto her back.
"Even more reason you should take the advice. They know even better than I do."
Jazz stopped trying to clean her back. He watched as she leaned over the counter bracing herself on locked arms. There was the tension only pain could bring all along her back. He knew the monster that had done it was not a fun one. There was a poison in its claws. A poison that in anyone else he would be terrified for anyone else's life. One that hurt even as Jazz's inherent magic burned it away. He still didn't know what she had. Just that she repeatedly told him that it had nothing to do with her parents or brother. He believed her after seeing some of what she could do. But it was still a mystery to him.
"Just leave me alone," Jazz said. "It would be easier to finish this if I didn't have to keep talking."
"It would be even easier if you let me help."
"You are actually worse than Chas. He would have left by now."
"Well he's not here. We both know it. Which means you get me."
He took a step closer. Not yet entering the bathroom but close enough to lean on the door frame. He knew Jazz was watching him in the mirror. He couldn't see her eyes but could feel the muted intensity of them.
"Do you have to be such a stubborn ass?"
"You normally love it."
That startled a laugh out of her.
"I really don't."
"Yes you do. Because I am the only one that can out stubborn you when you are being stupid."
Jazz sighed.
"I hate that you're right."
With that he knew he had won. She was going to let him help her for once.
"I'm John Constantine. I'm always right."
"I am not dignifying that with a real response. And if you're going to help get to it before I change my mind."
He entered the bathroom and grabbed the supplies she had set down. Quickly he got to work re-cleaning the wound completely. She had been standing there long enough that it needed it. The cut wasn't as bad as he had feared and with how Jazz healed she would only need bandages. Which he applied as he finished cleaning. Wrapping the outer layer all the way around her torso to make sure the gauze didn't slip he once again wondered why she hated getting help so much.
"I can hear you thinking," Jazz said. "What is it about?"
"Just how lucky I am to have such a gorgeous woman letting me get my hands all over her," John said, hoping to distract her.
"You get to do that all the time. It's not like I turn you away that often."
"But it never stops being a treat."
He felt the eye roll from her.
"What were you really thinking about?" she asked.
"Your sheer hatred of letting any of us help when you're hurt. Even while insisting on helping all of us."
"You know why I'm like that."
That surprised him more than anything had in a long while. She had never told him why. At least he didn't think she had. He racked his brain for any inkling and came up blank. Nothing he could think of explained it.
"I really don't, love."
He straightened, having finished. John slid to the side and washed his hands before looking back to Jazz and her look of astonishment.
"You haven't figured it out?"
"No, I haven't. As Chas likes to say I can be dense about that sort of thing."
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. He closely watched her chest moving up and down. Just to make sure it was still normal. Not for any other reason.
"You don't have to tell me," he said.
"Because if I needed help Danny would have had to do it. It wasn't fair to him. He was my baby brother and didn't deserve to need to help me when he had it much worse."
Sometimes he really wished Jazz would let him punch her parents. But she had forgiven them for everything and wouldn't hear anything else. It was a coping mechanism but it was her choice.
"And you didn't deserve to be put in that position. And you're not anymore. All of us can take care of each other. We're all equals."
"I know," Jazz said, stepping close to him and resting her forehead on his. "But old habits die hard."
"They sure do."
He put his hands on her hips and they just stood there, taking comfort in the other's presence, and the feel of skin touching.