His light laughter was painfully familiar, a tone that hearkened back to far more carefree times when they had far less of the horrible heaviness of guilt and pain weighing them down. It made her smile, unbidden, “I don’t think the House could burn down, even if my casserole somehow managed to set aflame. But, you are right, if it had we’d be down a magic sanctuary, you still shirtless, and Jason would not have been impressed.” She chuckled, high enough in tone to almost be a giggle. His face was too well-known to her, though, for the dissipation of his good mood to go unnoticed. He’d probably thought better of it, then. He probably didn’t want to encourage her- whatever she thought that might mean- by being too friendly. He brought her here because he needed her to survive, because she was the only one strong enough for this, not because he actually wanted to be here. It was her or death. Her smile faded, and she bit at her tongue, taking a moment to translate a few lines of the book and staunchly not focus on him.
“What can I say? I’m charming.” In a different way than John could be when he tried. She liked it when people liked her, but mostly she just tried to be genuine, something the other in the room didn’t put too much focus on. ”I hope my burnt casserole and poor skills at being a hostess didn’t cause him to think too lowly of me.” Not that it mattered overly much, especially not since she wasn’t sure when she’d ever end up seeing him again. Besides, it sounded weirdly domestic when she thought of it like that. “I might be out of the game, but I hope he didn’t spread that around and tarnish my perfect reputation.” She continued sarcastically, mostly thinking of the teasing that particular incident would prompt out of Boston. Again, if she ever saw him again.
John gripped the book tight, and their hands brushed as she withdrew it from him. The touch made her heart stutter and instilled an ache for more, a desire she knew was inadvisable and idiotic. Zatanna clenched her hand and brought it back to her side to stop herself from doing something silly, then picked up another book, and placed it carefully in his lap instead, this one Sumerian and leagues more legible than the one he’d initially grabbed. He’d do better with it than the other, she knew well enough to judge. “We’re not so bad.” She countered with a small smile, “We… get it done.” Usually with more casualties and sacrifices than close calls than she’d like, but far less death than what would have arisen had they not been on the job of containing the world’s spooky creepy-crawlies in the first place. They were a good team, but the job came with unpredictability and hard calls around every turn. It was often scarring, but undeniably more fulfilling than just performing like she did now.
“I know, John. Me either.” She couldn’t let him die, couldn’t even imagine it. The assurance also served as a warning: no stupid unnecessary heroics for her sake. Her voice was soft and earnest, this horrible genuine tenderness for him that she couldn’t seem to break away from. It bothered her, immensely, when most people worried about her, because she knew it was because they didn’t understand the full extent of her magic, and they didn’t understand everything that she was capable of. John, though, understood their world as well as she did, and had seen her in action, and still worried because he cared, but without underestimating her. She’d still rather he didn’t, because he did idiotic impulsive shit even when he wasn’t worried for her, and that anxiety could add extra recklessness, but it did make her feel warm and safe beside him. Eyes lowered to the point of contact, she reached out to squeeze his hand for a brief moment before moving back to her book and turning the page to otherwise occupy herself. It was too little, but all she could allow herself. “Goon is precious and no harm will ever come to him under my watch.”
Her statement was followed by a smile, and a fond roll of her eyes. “You’d think you would’ve learned by now about upsetting most types of people. I haven’t ever done anything even half as bad to you as others you’ve pissed off have.” He looked tired, and his yawn triggered one in her that she tried to stifle and ended up just frowning around. She would probably keep researching until she passed out there on the floor if memory told, but he probably would no longer feel comfortable carrying her to bed. She wondered if he still slept in the room they’d considered theirs when staying here; probably not. She wondered if it still existed in the House at all.
“Very soft. You made a good choice when you bought it.” She assured him with a smirk. The memory made her laugh quietly, the image of John sulking around later with a black eye coming to mind. “Well, I don’t usually wear sweatshirts out in public in the first place.” And the band t-shirts she did wear, moreso back then, were all cut up stylishly.
"I texted a few friends saying I’m alright but that I’d be gone for a bit.” Then, knowing that was horribly weak, she shrugged, “They deserve more warning, but Di will probably assume generally what’s going on, and she can tell everyone else. I didn’t feel confident enough to linger longer and test out the wards in my apartment against a higher demon.” They both had their moments, but Dinah was probably the more level-headed of the two; Zatanna wondered what she’d think. Wondered what she’d do if Ollie had left her then years later showed up needing help. Di would go, to save her soulmate no matter the circumstances, so she couldn’t judge Zee doing the same. Zatanna sighed, and sat up, twisting to face him before crossing her legs and pulling the book onto her lap. Now for the hard part- she kept her gaze low, but watched for John’s reaction in her periphery. “Adrian knows what I used to do, but saying ‘hey, don’t worry, but I have to go off and fight an immensely powerful demon right now’ is probably a rip the band-aid off fast kind of situation that doesn’t get any better with further explanation. Maybe since I left it vague he’ll underestimate and not worry too much.”
Their harmless quips at Jason were nothing to bat an eyelid at, but as their tumultuous past indicated, old habits were prone to resurface when the two of them were together and John didn’t need an excuse to add fuel to the fire. “I think that pristine reputation took a hit years ago when you started slumming it with me,” he affirmed, though the intent of humor was lost behind the jarring nature of his sentiment. Self-deprecation had become a common defense mechanism for John, however in this context it appeared unnecessary and in poor taste. Zatanna had never given him a reason to feel inferior– in fact she tried multiple times to convince him otherwise, but there was a seed of doubt in the deepest chasm of his mind that would never believe her. In an attempt to steer the conversation back on track he craned his neck to look at her. “It’s in tact, at least to your adoring public that is,” he remarked, in a dialed back form of teasing than earlier, “and Jason thinks you’re still the salt of the earth, so it seems you’re in the clear.”
He found it ironic how her supposed fans knew so little about her; that while yes, she was an inherently good person, she was far from innocent. John had different reasons for glorifying her behavior, but that was because he knew her more intimately than most people– or he used to. He wasn’t sure how much she’d changed since then, but hoped he hadn’t squandered that rebellious streak in her. “I suppose we’re not entirely hopeless,” John agreed, grazing over the cover of the book she’d graciously offered him as a substitute. “Your power sort of gives us an unfair advantage, not that I’m complaining.” He knew from experience how difficult it was to break into the occult world, and for some that eerie temptation led to misuse and an early grave, but Zatanna had magic in her blood. She was born for this life. No matter how grim the situation presented itself, there was no one he trusted more to watch his back, which propelled his urge to rush headfirst into danger without consulting her. Not as a means of defiance but in a flawed effort to protect her.
These whims often had a low success rate and infuriated her to no end, sometimes escalating the issue to a critical point, yet that never deterred John from acting upon instinct time and time again. He would always be impulsive; she couldn’t hinder that embedded mindset. What she could control was whether or not to walk away. Perhaps not this exact moment, considering the potential lives at risk, but when all was said and done and Vrethas no longer held dominion, if Zatanna wanted an out he wouldn’t stop her. He’d stripped her of that decision before when he made the choice for the both of them to end their relationship with all of their problems up in the air. It was unfair and reinforced the idea that people eventually reverted back old patterns. His mum, Giovanni, and Astra, with Gary being the most recent– he was a walking death sentence and John would do whatever he needed to keep her at a safe distance, even if it meant putting his feelings on the back burner.
“Well, that’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” He countered, a smile fighting to inch onto his features, despite constant effort to bottle it up. Go figure. “You can get quite prickly when you’re upset. Some days I’d think dodging harpies would be less stressful.” He was teasing, of course, but she did manage to find ways to chastise him that abstained from violence. Tensions usually bubbled over at first, but once he’d sustained the brunt of it, all that ensued were a few hours of silence and disgruntled glares, not that he’d enjoyed those much either. With the spine of the book still unopened in his lap, he turned to the index page as he continued to listen. “Right. You couldn’t possibly go out looking like that. Your manager would shit a brick.” He professed, evenly, his eyes cast down as he skimmed multiple lines of text. John didn’t know what their relationship entailed, but he understood that she worked herself to the bone with a rigorous schedule, so it was safe to consider he wasn’t a fan.
“I see,” he said, with a hint of apprehension. It was unsettling how willing she was to drop her life and leave without a clear idea of when she’d return. He knew she did it because she cared about him that much, and that thought alone made him second guess coming to her for help. “What about your shows? Last time I checked there’s a billboard with your name on it.” John would’ve made another wisecrack about her profession, if he didn’t think she would find it tiresome at this point. He’d managed to keep up his insouciant guise in her dressing room and at her apartment, but after being in the House, realizing how defenseless he was against her, John was having trouble turning that switch back on– until she mentioned her boyfriend, that is. Adrian. He didn’t expect to get a name, and now that he’d heard it he wished he could hit the rewind button. It was one of those topics he’d prefer not come to light at all, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. “Hmm, maybe.” It came out stoic, as a whisper more than a consensus.
With another drawn-out yawn, John leaned back until his spine lay flat on the floor. His book had accompanied him, the reading material now hovering above his eyes while his elbows were propped on both sides of his torso. A few minutes passed in silence, until the grandfather clock at the entrance to the hall chimed three times, causing Goon to jump at the noise. John snapped out of his reading, glancing up to notice it stuck midnight. He furrowed his brows for a moment, stealing a glance at Zatanna, then set his book down and exited the library. Goon rushed after him, barking and almost causing him to trip over his own feet. Five minutes passed before he returned, his acoustic guitar strapped over his shoulder with a pick in his mouth. “Bloody House decided to hide this too,” he grumbled, the words sounding muffled. “Goon’ll be whining all night if I don’t play him something. You don’t mind, do you?” John asked with a quizzical look, though a smile adorned his lips as he sat back down, the guitar resting in his lap. “I take song requests, so long as it’s not Happy Birthday.”
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