notes.)
"I still think I should be the one to shoot the gun, how come you get to have all the fun while I do all the hard work?" Whined Jabber, once again lying on his back with his legs vertical on the bars.
Zanka sat a few feet away, legs crossed under him.
"I told ya before, its just more fullproof. What happens if the shorter guard-"
"Tweedledum."
"Not gonna happen, fer the last godamn time. What happens if the shorter guard pulls out their gun before you can finish killing the taller one, or if they go for a shock?"
At the mention of it, Jabber licked his lips and opened his mouth before Zanka cut him off.
"Don't even start. Look, once we're out and we've got the remotes you can zap yerself silly for all I care, but there ain't a chance in hell you can fire a gun with any accuracy while being electrocuted, and if you have to shoot another person beforehand you're gonna lose that quickdraw."
"Hey, at least I can still use both my arms, you sure you'd be alright to go all cowboy, Mr. Invalid?"
"This invalid's gonna kick yer ass as soon as we're outta here, just you wait. And even if it were a problem, I don't need two hands to fire a pistol. Besides, have ya ever even shot a gun before?"
"Does Russain Roulette count?"
Zanka felt his eye twitch.
"Given that you're still alive to annoy me I'm gonna go with no."
"Damn."
Zanka just rolled his eyes. It was only one version of one of the many plans they'd proposed, but it seemed like one of the most feasible iterations so far unless they got any new information. Like before, the biggest obstacle would be the collars.
Stealing a gun and shooting the guards was a tradeoff. The sound of it would definitely call unwanted attention and put them on a timer, but it also guaranteed them access to the remotes. Though if they weren't the only remotes, and it was unlikely they were, they'd be back at square one.
"Who says you'd be a better shot anyway?" Jabber challenged.
He would be. He'd been at the top of his class in marksmanship. It hadn't been easy; the guns had never quite felt right in the same way Assistaff did, but he'd been practicing nearly since birth, and there had been countless sleepless nights where he'd stolen away to the shooting range, training relentlessly until he looked like a natural.
He hadn't shot a gun since that fateful day when everyone had finally found out just how average he truly was, and had rarely even seen one since he'd joined the Cleaners, but the muscle memory was burned into him.
"Trust me. I can do it."
The seriousness in his voice made Jabber pause the movement of his feet and look over, intrigued.
"Oh? You good with guns Zan-zan? Didn't see that coming, where'd you learn, thats not very Cleaner of you." He teased, but with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.
Shit. He needed to think of some sort of lie, but before he could, Jabber put a closed fist on his open palm, lighting up.
"Oh wait! It was that bang-bang girl right? The one with the hair? She got me pretty good, took forever to heal up."
What?
"Bang-bang girl? What nonsense are ya talking about now?"
"You know! The red-haired girl, with the scissors? I thought y'all were close, man."
"...You mean Riyo?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever. She shot me after our little duel in the trash beast, I didn't see it comin' at all."
Riyo had shot him?? No one had told him that part. Where had she even gotten the gun? He didn't quite know all the details of her past, but he knew that it hadn't been pretty. He knew she definitely had more blood on her hands than anyone else, but he thought she'd left that behind her. To learn from Jabber of all people that she was still carrying around a gun...
"I thought y'all were close"
...He'd thought so too, but now he wasn't so sure. What else had she kept hidden from him? Not that she wasn't allowed to, they both had their secrets, but for some reason it still stung.
"Yeesh dude, what are you moping about? You that sad I got my ass kicked by someone else? You gonna cry about it?"
He was lucky Zanka was sitting purposefully out of reach and not within kicking range.
"Just mourning the fact that Riyo didn't shoot ya through the heart."
"Mmm that would be somethin, huh." Freak. "But nah, I'd rather you did it instead." He purred with a heated look.
Zanka's face burned, and he was suddenly grateful for the low-grade fever he could blame it on.
"Oh trust me, I'd love to."
...That hadn't come out right.
Jabber looked surprised and thrilled in equal parts. Damnit. Well, too late to back down now. He met Jabber's gaze head on, hoping he looked annoyed instead of embarassed.
At the sight of Zanka not backing down Jabber's grin only grew, eyes wide. When he spoke it had that breathiness that always got under his skin, and he was a bit quieter than normal, like he was speaking mostly to himself.
"You really are perfect. God, you have no idea what..." He inhaled a long breath through his nose and seemed to steady himself somewhat, looking at him with something between reverence and a shit-eating grin. "Zanka. When you kill me, you'd better keep those eyes on me the whole time. And I want you to really make it hurt."
Zanka couldn't look away. A part of him didn't want to. A big part that was getting harder and harder to ignore. This was dangerous. It wasn't crossing the line, not quite yet, but it was getting close. Still though, he stood his ground. Two could play at that game.
"I will."
...
A couple more days passed, mostly uneventful, and then things changed again about a week and a half after his failed escape attempt.
It had been a fairly standard morning. Breakfast had been its usual affair, and not much longer after, the guards had arrived for Jabber while Zanka waited and continued to run escape plans through his mind, looking for anything they'd missed.
The day only took a turn when they brought Jabber back, and as they came into view Zanka noticed Jabber was sporting the beginnings of a nasty black eye.
Jabber had endured worse, hell, Zanka had done much worse to him, but all the same there was something about the injury that really pissed Zanka off to look at it.
He schooled his expression before the guards arrived in front of the cells proper. No matter what plan they ended up going with, all of them relied on the guards not suspecting anything, so it was important to play it like they'd beaten him down. He couldn't help but scan Jabber for more injuries though, and didn't see anything. Though unless they'd broken skin it would be impossible to tell underneath his Raider uniform.
He let himself be cuffed none-too-gently and walked down towards the far end of the cell, putting Jabber out of his mind. He'd be fine. He always was.
...
"Wood is quite the interesting material to make a vital instrument out of, wouldn't you say? So easily shaped into what you need it to be. Did you carve it yourself?"
Zanka stayed quiet, pouring hatred into every second he stared at the old man, who continued, unbothered.
"And your staff, in its activated form, is a fairly faithful adaptation of its base. More so than most. If you were to change the pattern of the wood on the staff, would that affect the metal when it activates?"
Lovely Assistaff's transformed state had changed very little from when he'd first awakened her, and what little changes did occur seemed to be based on the evolution of Zanka's own abilities and mental state rather than the physical qualities of the wood itself, which Zanka had smoothed out over time and built up a nice protective layer of lacquer on. Not that he'd share that with the old geezer.
At his silence, the old man shrugged.
"Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out for sure."
From the back, blow dart guy brought forward a whittling knife and handed it to him. Shit.
"It doesn't." Zanka said a bit too quickly. The old man held the knife still and raised an eyebow, prompting him to continue. Bastard.
"Caring for the wood strengthens my bond with her, but it doesn't impact the metal, okay?"
"...Huh, Interesting. But you'll have to understand that we can't just take your word for it."
"You fucking- I told you what you wanted!"
"And I appreciate that, but it would be downright unscientific to not at least test it out to see. Don't worry though, for your compliance we'll do the minimum damage we can, since we have that luxury with yours, and I'll even make it our last test of the day. If you were telling the truth, that is."
The old man was so dead. All of them were. Zanka couldn't wait to wreak havoc upon this place the second he got the chance.
They ignored his yelled threats and cut a small, barely visible notch in the main, long part of Assistaff. It was probably about 2 cm long and less than a centimeter deep, but the sight of it, the knowledge that Lovely Assistaff was getting damaged because he couldn't protect her, hurt like he himself was the one being carved up, and he pulled against his bindings furiously, not caring about the pain, until they put the knife down and walked her over to the door behind him.
They brought her into the room and stuck her forward into his open hand. He wrapped his hand around the wood as soon as he could, and held her there for a moment without activating, rubbing his thumb on the grain of the wood, mentally apologizing.
Then he transformed her and without looking, not that he could, he already knew the sleek white handle wouldn't show any damage. He knew his instrument to her very core.
There was a hum of what might have been intrigue or dissapointment, before he felt the familiar wave of exhaustion that came with the tranquilizer.
"Well, a deals a deal." Was the last thing he heard before his eyes closed of their own accord.
...
Zanka woke up seething. How dare they. They'd been threatening Assistaff for a long while but this was the first time they'd actually done any damage, even if it was minor. They needed to speed up their timeline on escape, being willing to damage their instruments was a bad sign they were nearing the end of their experiments. Not only that, but Zanka could tell his infection was getting worse by the day. His body always felt warm, hands constantly clammy, and he was sleeping more and more.
He and Jabber needed to figure out what exactly they were going to do before they ran out of time to do it.
As he looked over to speak his mind to Jabber, he froze at the sight.
Jabber was sitting with his back pressed against the bars that separated them, curled in a ball with his knees to his chest. His hands were knotted in his locs near the scalp and seemed to be pulling and releasing in intervals with his breath, which was faster than usual.
Zanka sat up, intentionally making noise as he scraped against the floor.
Jabber showed no reaction.
Now Zanka was starting to get worried.
He moved over, still trying to be as loud as he could, waiting for Jabber to snap out of it. He didn't.
Eventually Zanka was right behind him, unsure what to do. He settled on reaching forward, flicking the back of Jabbers head as he spoke.
"Hey. Tha hell's up with you?"
Not the most tactful, but it was Jabber. They two of them didn't do 'soft'. The idea of having to calm him down of all people was so antithetical to their...everything that Zanka felt like the entire cell had been flipped upside down.
Still, Jabber didn't react at all, continuing with his deep breaths and hair-pulling. The worry only increased.
"Okay, seriously, what's up. Did they do somethin weird to ya in the lab, or something with Mankira?"
At the mention of Mankira Jabber froze his movements, then started pulling even harder as he exhaled a long breath and finally spoke with a growl.
"They broke her."
Zanka's blood ran cold.
"What?" He breathed out, disbelieving.
"They broke a piece of her. Her tenth ring. Wanted to see if she could still fully activate without it. I'll kill them. All of them. Slowly."
His voice was shaky and furious, and Zanka suddenly realized he'd never actually seen him angry. Manic, upset, annoyed, sure. But never truly angry.
Zanka was at a loss for words. He knew he'd be absolutely inconsolable if something like that ever happened to Lovely Assistaff, even just the threat of it over the last few weeks was consistently enough to make him sick with anger. But the idea of it actually happening?
"Fuck. Jabber, I...."
What could he even say? No sympathy he could offer would be enough, and even if it were, it was still Jabber he was dealing with. Regular rules didn't apply. He felt completely out of his depth. Even before all of this, he'd never been the best at comforting people. In any jobs where townspeople had lost loved ones to trash beasts or where civilians were frightened he usually left most of the more emotional talking to others when possible, only going out of his way to calm people down when he was partnered up with someone he knew would probably just make it worse.
In lieu of saying something he reached his arm out, hand hesitating before it reached its desitination, hovering just above Jabber's shoulder.
Strangely, this felt more like crossing a line than anything else they'd done so far. As if offering comfort, offering gentleness, would be to finally drop all pretenses about what exactly their relationship was, and it was terrifying. Still though, fear alone had never been enough to stop Zanka before and it wasn't going to be now.
His right hand landed softly on Jabbers right shoulder, and the strength with which Jabber pulled his hair lessened at the gentle touch, before stopping completely.
It felt like they were both holding their breath.
They sat there for a moment, in fragile silence, before Zanka started to feel really stupid about just having his hand on Jabber's shoulder and began to pull away. At the movement though, Jabber's right hand quickly came down from his hair and rested on top of Zankas, keeping it there. He didnt grab it harshly, didn't dig his nails into the top of Zankas hand, didn't even push down with any pressure. He just held it there, a silent request to stay.
...And Zanka stayed, let the weight of his hand fall back onto Jabbers shoulder, giving it the slightest squeeze, and a trembling breath fell out of Jabbers lips.
This was something new, something different, and Zankas heart beat faster than it possibly ever had. Unlike all the other times though, he didn't hate it. He swallowed, and when he spoke it was quiet.
"We'll get outta here. And when we do we'll make them pay for it. I promise. I promise we will."
Jabber just breathed, still trying to compose himself. He brought his left hand out of his hair and down towards the floor, fingers just barely crossing the line behind him over to Zankas side. He knew what Jabber wanted, even if he wouldn't ask for it, not like this, and Zanka decided in for a penny, in for a pound as he took the opportunity to thread their fingers together with his other hand, rubbing his thumb along the area mankira usually laid. Jabbers breath hitched at the action.
Jabber cleared his throat and took another deep, steadying breath, clearly trying to disguise the tremble in his voice.
"Damn, who woulda thought all it would take for you to get handsy was seein me in a state like this. Knew you were a pervert."
Zanka just kept the comforting grip on his shoulder, kept soothing his thumb over Jabbers fingers, speaking low and with a vague amusement.
"Hah. Now who's trying to deflect?"
Jabber exhaled a shaky half laugh out of his nose at that, and Zanka counted it as a win. He continued.
"Seriously though, when we get outta here they're gonna regret ever touching Mankira. You can even have the old guy completely to yerself. Just give him a good few hits for me and Assistaff, kay?"
Jabber leaned his head back against the bars, and this close, even beneath all the dirt and grime, Zanka could still catch a faint whiff of the metallic ozone scent he associated with Jabber, like the air just before a lightning strike.
"Wasn't even the old dude. It was god damn bob girl. She's the one I really want. Gonna spear her ass all the way through one by one with her other nine claws." Relief rushed through Zanka. So Mankira did still work. He'd been afraid to ask. Jabber seemed a bit steadier. "And besides, didn't we agree we were gonna share? I know you wanna beat the shit out of him just as bad as I wanna watch you do it, so don't back out on me now."
His voice was mostly back to normal, and despite everything Zanka couldn't suppress a small smile. His voice was soft.
"All right, you get bob girl, I get dart guy, and we'll share the old man. Real chivalrous of ya."
"Only for you, Zan-zan." Jabber said as he squeezed their joined hands.
Zanka squeezed back, and decided that if Jabber was allowed to have a moment of weakness so was he, and let his forehead fall forward, just barely stopped by the bars from resting against the back of Jabber's head. He could feel the hair lightly brushing his forehead.
Only for you
...
Something did change, after that. More than it had after their little tryst. Where before, Zanka had kept his distance, and Jabber had kept himself pressed himself against the bars in retribution, the dividing line between them now stayed closer to center. Zanka kept closer to the bars, and Jabber allowed him a bit more space. Not much, but a bit. They sat closer together, mostly facing each other, but sometimes side to side, and other times even back to back.
They planned, and Zanka continued to get a real appreciation for just how smart Jabber was when it came to things he actually cared about. They filled gaps in each others knowledge, each drawing separate conclusions that helped them figure out the bigger picture. It was kind of funny, how compatible they were as allies because of their differences. In a way, they'd both been right.
One night, they finally talked about the labs, and he learned the full extent of what kind of experiments they'd been doing with Mankira.
It was similar to what he'd been going through with assistaff, but they never allowed Jabber to actually put the rings on, instead pressing them against his skin to activate. It turned out he could activate them individually, but couldn't unleash her true form without all ten. He also learned they'd started damaging Mankira about a week and a half ago, starting with scratches on the tenth ring that turned into warping before leading to them breaking it entirely. Jabbers voice shook when he talked about it, mostly with anger, but also with grief, clearly trying to disguise the latter with the former. Zanka knew the feeling.
In return, Zanka shared what he'd been going through with Lovely Assistaff. The endurance tests, the fire, the damage, the fear. That was a conversation they'd chosen to have while sitting back to back, a decision they'd both made without having to speak about it.
They'd been doing a lot of that lately, wordless understandings passing easily between the two with just a look or a shift in body language. He'd been able to read Jabber pretty well for a while now, and he suspected the opposite was even more true, but the difference now was that they acted on it in ways that weren't exclusively antagonistic.
Not to say that that aspect of their relationship was gone, far from it. There was always an underlying sharpness, even in their softest moments. He'd started to come to terms with the fact that he liked to push Jabbers buttons almost as much as Jabber liked to push his. They'd gotten more physical, not just in casual touch, poking and pushing, feet and knees brushing between bars more times than could be considered accidental, but also in the types of games they'd entertain themselves with. Occasional games of mercy or thumb wrestling or one-armed tug-of-war using Jabbers waist wrap when they both needed to blow off some steam often ended with them breathing hard and grinning. Jabber usually won, mostly due to Zanka still dealing with a cauterized bullet wound and matching infection, but there were few times he managed to trip Jabber up, and it thrilled the both of them.
Nothing like the time after their fight happened again, but Jabber was easy to rile up, and Zanka realized he loved to take advantage of it, finally having a way to get back at Jabber for constantly getting on his nerves. It was a rush to be able to get Jabber a bit hot and bothered and then ignore him when he was actually mad at him. It drove Jabber crazy, not only in the physical sense, but also because apparently he couldn't tell if he loved or hated it, the ecstasy of Zanka being so cruel to him matching perfectly with how awful it was to not get what he needed. And Zanka loved it.
The realization made him feel horrible at first, and had sent him spiraling for a bit before Jabbers incessant talking had pissed him off enough that he decided for now at least, he didn't care.
And even in all that, there was an emotion growing that they'd never put a name to. Something so gentle and dangerous it was more terrifying than any experiment. It hummed when Jabber looked at him after saying something that managed to make Zanka laugh, it lurked when Zanka heard Jabber humming something quietly to himself, hissed whenever the guards carelessly tossed an unconscious Jabber onto the floor of the cell.
...
One night, a handful of days into their new whatever-it-was, he woke up from a particularly bad nightmare with a choked scream.
He took a second to listen and make sure he hadn't woken Jabber up, and then sat up and curled himself into a ball with his back against the bars, a mirror of how Jabber had sat just a few days ago. He threaded his hands through his hair but didn't pull, fingernails scraping against his scalp as he breathed through his nose. Trying to calm himself down. It was just a dream.
The feeling of a pair of arms snaking around his waist made him jolt. He tried to turn around, but Jabber's locked arms kept him from being able to twist fully, and a sleepy groan stopped him from moving more. He hadn't even heard Jabber get up. Still, the contact was strangely grounding, and for a moment, he allowed himself to just sit in it. Jabber gave a pleased hum, and the grip around his midsection squeezed once, before continuing to just hold him. It was shockingly comforting, even if the vulnerability of it all left him feeling like a bird whose wings were spread out in somebody's hands, only hoping they didnt crush the hollow bones.
Jabber didn't say anything, and Zanka was glad for it. Jabber acting kind was already disorienting enough, if he tried to offer words of comfort –something Zanka doubted he was even capable of– he'd take it as a sign that he'd finally gone fully insane. But neither of them made any move to speak, and the feel of Jabber's arms around him and steady breaths from behind calmed him down, something that just a few weeks ago would have been the very cause of his distress. The irony wasn't lost on him.
Once they got out he needed to make sure to decondition himself out of the feeling of relief Jabber was starting to evoke in him. But for now, he took advantage of it.
Somehow, he managed to fall back asleep, and when he woke up he noticed two things. The first was that he was laying on his side, facing Jabber, whose hand was through the bars and holding Zanka's own. The second was that he somehow felt more well-rested than he had in weeks.
...
It became something of a ritual to sleep close to each other after that, something Zanka hadn't done since the night Jabber had decided to draw on him like they were at some teenage sleepover instead of being held hostage. But Jabber was behaving himself in that regard, and Zanka realized that while he still constantly did his best to bring out Zanka's fury, he seemed to long for the promimity and occasional contact maybe even more, and was slightlymore hesitant to do things that would make Zanka move away from him. Jabber seemed to revel in the brief moments of affection contact almost as much as their fights, and after a couple nights Zanka realized the nightmares, though not gone entirely, were much easier to handle with someone nearby, easier to shake off when he woke up with an ankle hooked over his own or a hand in his. To his alarm, he noticed it wasn't always Jabber crossing over to his side anymore, and Zanka often woke up with his own hands or an ankle through the bars, as if he were subconsciouly reaching out for Jabber in his sleep.
His increase in fatigue meant there were more times he was asleep when Jabber wasn't, and sometimes the other would shake him awake if he caught him grimacing and twitching in his sleep, though his gentleness while doing do left something to be desired. Still, being vigourously jostled awake was often better than dealing with whatever scenario his mind had decided to torment him with that night, so he counted it as a reluctant win regardless.
He'd never thank him for it, and more than once Jabber had been on the receiving end of his ire after waking up, misplaced anger lashing out at the easiest target, but Jabber continued to do it all the same.
It was funny how everything and nothing had changed at the same time. The exact same stubborn persistence that drove Zanka crazy was now something he silently thanked. They'd gotten more violent, and at the same time gentler. He still hated Jabber, but now it was matched in intensity by something else.
Something else. That same soft something he refused to put a name to, and his only consolation was that Jabber apparently seemed as reluctant to assign a name to it as he did.
He supposed they didn't need to.