fic - Change
Title: Change
Rating: PG
Pairing: Zatanna/Billy (Young Justice)
Warnings: brief mentions of character death
Summary: In their golden years, Zatanna tries to convince Billy that it's time to retire.
He comes home just as the clock strikes one in the morning, the chimes barely muffling the sound of the curtains fluttering around his flying form. Billy moves to turn off the light on the nightstand, but Zatanna moves on their bed with his appearance.
He eyes her in surprise, hands faltering at the light as he turns to face her more completely.
"You're awake," he observes, concern appearing on his broad face.
Zatanna shrugs, frail shoulders under her thick nightgown. "I wasn't tired," she tells him, eyes not quite meeting his own.
"Liar," he says softly, gesturing to the pills still in the cup on her nightstand.
She doesn't speak for a long time, but she does swallow down the sleeping pills, her veiny hands shaking slightly as she holds her mug of water close to her chest. From the tension in her arthritic fingers, he can see her struggle to keep from shaking and he wordlessly takes the mug from her grip to place it soundlessly back on the table.
Then, with a bit of coaxing from Billy, Zatanna settles down into the pillows behind her and Billy sits gently on the side of the bed.
"I wish you'd retire," she whispers, her eyes trailing over the smooth bend of his back as he rests his elbows on his knees.
"Zatanna," he says, drawing her name out into countless syllables in a way that used to make her smile. Now she looks at him forlornly, thin lips twisted into something pleading. "We've been over this. I can still fight."
He gestures down at his body, taut muscles still wrapped in red and gold Kevlar and limber joints moving with ease.
Zatanna watches his stance, eyes still raking over each youthful cut. She reaches out and he is quick to move to her touch, eyes shutting gently as she brushes her thumb over the smooth skin of his cheek. Her hand appears particularly wrinkled and the age spots stick out more prominently in comparison.
She pulls away, ashamed of the sudden wave of self-consciousness she feels as she rubs her unsteady hands together.
"Is it too hard to be home with me?" she asks quietly, not wanting to think that's the real reason he leaves to fight so much.
"What?" he responds loudly, blue eyes flying open as he stares at her in astonishment. "No! Not at all."
His hands reach over the patched comforter to hold hers in his grasp. His palms are warm, much warmer than her own, and he rubs her thin skin gently to ease her sore joints. He stares into her eyes until she can feel her doubts fade away. This is his real magic, she thinks.
"Change back," she pleads. She turns her hands in his to catch his fingers between her own.
He laughs a little at her request, looking up at her through thick lashes and a single black curl flopping against his forehead.
"You know," he tells her quietly, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a smile, "most women want a man who looks like this."
"Billy."
He beams at her as she laughs, and she thinks she reminds him the most of the early days of their marriage when she laughs.
"Yes dear," he complies, bringing her hands to her lips to kiss before raising from the bed and stepping away.
With his single cry of "Shazam!" a bright light fills the room. And even though she should be used to it by now and even though she always keeps her eyes shut tight, she's always surprised by the force of the light and the sudden change of the man before her.
The light fades and before she can open her eyes, there is a weight on the other side of the bed.
Zatanna opens her eyes to see black hair thinned and faded to a peppery gray, smooth skin twisted and lined, thick muscles thin and less apparent under flannel pajamas. But his eyes are just as blue and his expressions have always looked the same, whether on a young boy or a superhero or an old husband. He's always looked at her the way he's looking at her now.
"You used to like how young I was," he reminds her in a voice slightly gruffer and raspier than just moments ago.
"Yes," she agrees, remembering the shallow thrill of having a younger boyfriend on her thirtieth birthday. But then she smiles wickedly at him. "Once you stopped being jailbait, of course."
They laugh again, soft and warm as they settle closer to each other. Zatanna rests a hand on his face again and smiles contentedly at her husband.
"I am proud," she promises, smiling as he leans into her touch, "of every single wrinkle." She looks at him with careful eyes, looking without reserve of the crinkles on his face that she knows are mirrored on her own.
She doesn't say it, she doesn't have to, but not everyone gets to this age. The wrinkles he wears under the mask of Captain Marvel are wrinkles they had never seen on Dinah or Raquel or Roy. Wrinkles she can barely remember around her father's stern eyes, she hasn't seen them in so long under the metal mask of Doctor Fate. And Billy's laugh lines she had given him after many happy years are not the same laugh lines that had just started to form around Wally's grin before Artemis had to bury him some decades ago. There had been no wrinkles on the still childish skin of Cassie and Bart, now buried for longer than they had been alive. No wrinkles at all.
But Billy's are here. She can feel the folds of his skin under her fingertips, can trace each laugh line and vein over his wizened face.
She doesn't say anything, not out loud. Not backwards. Nothing at all. But he can read her all the same.
"I think it's time for me to retire," he admits quietly, moving his head to kiss the tips of her fingers.
Zatanna nods, sad smile in place as she thinks about what this means to Billy to give up this last vestige of youth. She doesn't push the matter, doesn't ask him when he'll finally turn in his cape, doesn't tell him anything at all. Instead, she moves her body, slowly, much more slowly than she ever had in the earlier years together, until finally she's settled against him.
She whispers something, a mix of letters in a language Billy never could quite translate. But the lights flicker out and he understands, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. They lie beside each other, quiet and content and listening to each other's even breaths as they fall asleep.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Zatanna/Billy (Young Justice)
Warnings: brief mentions of character death
Summary: In their golden years, Zatanna tries to convince Billy that it's time to retire.
He comes home just as the clock strikes one in the morning, the chimes barely muffling the sound of the curtains fluttering around his flying form. Billy moves to turn off the light on the nightstand, but Zatanna moves on their bed with his appearance.
He eyes her in surprise, hands faltering at the light as he turns to face her more completely.
"You're awake," he observes, concern appearing on his broad face.
Zatanna shrugs, frail shoulders under her thick nightgown. "I wasn't tired," she tells him, eyes not quite meeting his own.
"Liar," he says softly, gesturing to the pills still in the cup on her nightstand.
She doesn't speak for a long time, but she does swallow down the sleeping pills, her veiny hands shaking slightly as she holds her mug of water close to her chest. From the tension in her arthritic fingers, he can see her struggle to keep from shaking and he wordlessly takes the mug from her grip to place it soundlessly back on the table.
Then, with a bit of coaxing from Billy, Zatanna settles down into the pillows behind her and Billy sits gently on the side of the bed.
"I wish you'd retire," she whispers, her eyes trailing over the smooth bend of his back as he rests his elbows on his knees.
"Zatanna," he says, drawing her name out into countless syllables in a way that used to make her smile. Now she looks at him forlornly, thin lips twisted into something pleading. "We've been over this. I can still fight."
He gestures down at his body, taut muscles still wrapped in red and gold Kevlar and limber joints moving with ease.
Zatanna watches his stance, eyes still raking over each youthful cut. She reaches out and he is quick to move to her touch, eyes shutting gently as she brushes her thumb over the smooth skin of his cheek. Her hand appears particularly wrinkled and the age spots stick out more prominently in comparison.
She pulls away, ashamed of the sudden wave of self-consciousness she feels as she rubs her unsteady hands together.
"Is it too hard to be home with me?" she asks quietly, not wanting to think that's the real reason he leaves to fight so much.
"What?" he responds loudly, blue eyes flying open as he stares at her in astonishment. "No! Not at all."
His hands reach over the patched comforter to hold hers in his grasp. His palms are warm, much warmer than her own, and he rubs her thin skin gently to ease her sore joints. He stares into her eyes until she can feel her doubts fade away. This is his real magic, she thinks.
"Change back," she pleads. She turns her hands in his to catch his fingers between her own.
He laughs a little at her request, looking up at her through thick lashes and a single black curl flopping against his forehead.
"You know," he tells her quietly, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a smile, "most women want a man who looks like this."
"Billy."
He beams at her as she laughs, and she thinks she reminds him the most of the early days of their marriage when she laughs.
"Yes dear," he complies, bringing her hands to her lips to kiss before raising from the bed and stepping away.
With his single cry of "Shazam!" a bright light fills the room. And even though she should be used to it by now and even though she always keeps her eyes shut tight, she's always surprised by the force of the light and the sudden change of the man before her.
The light fades and before she can open her eyes, there is a weight on the other side of the bed.
Zatanna opens her eyes to see black hair thinned and faded to a peppery gray, smooth skin twisted and lined, thick muscles thin and less apparent under flannel pajamas. But his eyes are just as blue and his expressions have always looked the same, whether on a young boy or a superhero or an old husband. He's always looked at her the way he's looking at her now.
"You used to like how young I was," he reminds her in a voice slightly gruffer and raspier than just moments ago.
"Yes," she agrees, remembering the shallow thrill of having a younger boyfriend on her thirtieth birthday. But then she smiles wickedly at him. "Once you stopped being jailbait, of course."
They laugh again, soft and warm as they settle closer to each other. Zatanna rests a hand on his face again and smiles contentedly at her husband.
"I am proud," she promises, smiling as he leans into her touch, "of every single wrinkle." She looks at him with careful eyes, looking without reserve of the crinkles on his face that she knows are mirrored on her own.
She doesn't say it, she doesn't have to, but not everyone gets to this age. The wrinkles he wears under the mask of Captain Marvel are wrinkles they had never seen on Dinah or Raquel or Roy. Wrinkles she can barely remember around her father's stern eyes, she hasn't seen them in so long under the metal mask of Doctor Fate. And Billy's laugh lines she had given him after many happy years are not the same laugh lines that had just started to form around Wally's grin before Artemis had to bury him some decades ago. There had been no wrinkles on the still childish skin of Cassie and Bart, now buried for longer than they had been alive. No wrinkles at all.
But Billy's are here. She can feel the folds of his skin under her fingertips, can trace each laugh line and vein over his wizened face.
She doesn't say anything, not out loud. Not backwards. Nothing at all. But he can read her all the same.
"I think it's time for me to retire," he admits quietly, moving his head to kiss the tips of her fingers.
Zatanna nods, sad smile in place as she thinks about what this means to Billy to give up this last vestige of youth. She doesn't push the matter, doesn't ask him when he'll finally turn in his cape, doesn't tell him anything at all. Instead, she moves her body, slowly, much more slowly than she ever had in the earlier years together, until finally she's settled against him.
She whispers something, a mix of letters in a language Billy never could quite translate. But the lights flicker out and he understands, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. They lie beside each other, quiet and content and listening to each other's even breaths as they fall asleep.