John smirked as Zee accused him of bringing trouble. Or being trouble. Sometimes, they were one and the same. “I do hope something happens. Some good old fashioned punch ‘em up ruckus would be nice. Would make a bloody nice change from all the rest of the things that have been happening.”
As much as he wanted to quietly sidle off in the other direction, the other half of him wanted to stay. It had been so long; even if they did nothing but exchange half assed insults and remarks, it was almost, almost like old times. Back before everything had gone to hell. Before their paths had separated.
Yeah, and you’re a bloody masochist, my boy.
He laughed at her jibe at him, wondering if it came out as hollow and empty as it sounded to his own ears. “You’re lucky. Had one following me around for a bit - an angel, that is. Royal pain in the arse, he was. You’re better off not dealing with them. Self-righteous pricks, most of them. And that’s not counting the fallen.” He sighed.
Fishing a cigarette out of his pocket out of sheer habit – and maybe to hide how unsettled he was at seeing her again, he held it out. “Give us a light, love.”
He caught the edges of the muttered words, his heart flip-flopping like the bloody sardine it was. He went for a retort, when a crash and a bang cut him off. Immediately, he reached for Zee, then the lights went. “Zee?!”
Zatanna rolled her eyes, not very unusual in his presence. Back then it always used to be undercut with an impossibly fond smile, but right now she only felt exasperated. “I’m not exactly in the mood for punching.” But... she understood his sentiment, him, and the hollowness of failure they carried. “Something winnable might be nice.”
His forced laugh grated against her, and for a moment the look Zatanna gave John was too soft, too open and lovingly worried and honest before she evaded by staring morosely into her drink. There’d been a time when she could have helped him; there’d been a time when she could claim with unwavering faith that their very souls were meant to be intertwined. Now she shrugged one shoulder, started fiddling with the layered necklaces she wore. “I believe self-righteous, but you think everyone’s a pain in the ass.” The hint of smile touched her face. “The kid’s here- I helped him with his costume, he’s glamoured like a fallen. If Lucifer saw he’d pitch a fit.”
Her mouth twisted to a frown, and she extended a finger ready to be lit with erif. ”I’m not your-“ Personal lighter or love, either interrupted by a sudden bang.
“John?” Sheer instinct had her grabbing for him, reaching until they closed the distance and she could feel his hands on her arms, and tangled her own in his lapels. Don’t get separated, don’t get separated. Beneath the scent of Silk Cuts and scotch there’s magic and painful familiarity, and his grounding touch in the chaotic pitch darkness.
“Thgi-” Her spell for light cut short with the feeling of a jab at the back of her neck, and a sudden wave of fogginess rushed through her head. Zatanna pitched and swayed, the room tilting around her and John slipping from her grip. He always seemed to slip away from her. Zee muttered his name, syllable slurring, again and again, as if that’d help, but she felt herself being dragged, violently, as she fell into unconsciousness.