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Lovely Assistaff is vibrating again.
The strange, unfamiliar hum buzzes through Zanka’s veins as he holds her tight. Her gentle glow activates on its own, flickering on and off erratically. A blue hue floods Zanka’s bedroom, painting the walls and casting shadows on Zanka’s knitted eyebrows.
Of course, Zanka can feel her. He understands every last pulsation. Every last thrum of her own heartbeat coincides with his own, and every last thrum of his heartbeat coincides with hers. That’s how it always has been. So, he should be able to tell what she's feeling. What she wants.
And, unfortunately, he can.
With each one of her cries, his vision goes black, and he’s hit with a horrible cold sweat. A loud, horrific ringing drowns out his ability to think. And then, he sees them.
Metallic, shiny rings that glint a light shade of lavender in the light of the Raiders’ lamp. Rings that turn red, violent, and dangerous. Rings with a clear, barely perceptible poison coating the sharp tips of the silver claws they hold in place.
Rings attached to the lanky hands of him. Mr. Dreadhead. Jabber. The masochistic psychopath who never fails to remind Zanka that he’s still not worth shit after all these years of working himself to the bone. He shows up in the visions, too.
Then, the vision ends, and Zanka is paralyzed. He tries to move his legs, but they’ll only budge a few centimeters, if any. His head throbs, and his throat burns to the extent that he can barely utter a sentence. He hasn’t been able to go on an assignment in days. Enjin took him to the healers and, for once, Eishia couldn’t heal him. Even Alice was stumped.
Zanka has tried to reason with his Lovely. He’s tried to tell her that she can have anything else on the ground except for what she’s been begging for. But he knows what she really wants. And he knows that she, just like himself, won’t settle for anything less than what she desires.
She wants Mankira.
Zanka still remembers exactly how Jabber had introduced his vital instrument to him all those weeks ago. His wild eyes had taken on a whole new kind of excitement as he held his claws of death up for the world to see. The first time around, he hadn’t even explained the part about the poison to Zanka. In fact, for once in his life, he hadn’t said a word.
Jabber had simply waved them around, opened and closed his hands, letting the protruding metal graze his wrists, and grinned. Not a vile grin, or a maniacal grin, but a fond one. Mankira began to glow as he activated his power, and for a moment, that eerily happy smile stayed plastered on his creepy face. Zanka doesn’t remember thinking of anything other than how much he’d wanted the raider in front of him dead. Maybe that's when the vibrating started.
Zanka knows what he needs to do. He knows that the visions and the vibrations won’t stop until Lovely is face-to-face with Mankira again. When he’s face-to-face with Jabber again. But there’s no way in hell he’s gonna willingly seek the guy out. Not until he’s stronger. Not until he knows for sure that, once he’s done with Jabber, the genius will be nothing but a pile of broken bones and black-and-blue flesh.
So, he lets himself rot. While Lovely tugs and scratches at the deepest parts of his soul, he betrays her by lying down and doing nothing. The visions hit. Zanka feels himself slip in and out of conscience. There’s pain like he’s never felt before. It’s pathetic how much he struggles, really- but Zanka won’t give in. He can’t.
Tonight, the visions have been rapid-fire, back-to-back. Zanka’s multitude of blankets are doing nothing to quell the onslaught of shivers and cold chills that assault him when he is conscious. The cleaner logo on the surface of his door seems to be getting blurrier and blurrier by the moment, and he can feel his heartbeat slowing down further and further by the second.
He wonders if this is finally it for him. What a lame way to die. He almost thinks it’s fitting. Dying pathetically because he isn’t strong enough to keep fighting, even against his own body. Dying because he’s a coward and won’t confront Jabber even when his life depends on it.
Though his resolve is dwindling, Lovely’s isn’t. She still shakes and shudders in his limp hand. Her light has stopped flickering, and now it pulsates, brilliant and blinding. Brighter than he’s ever seen her.
Using the last bit of strength he can muster, he rolls over on his side to face her completely. From this side of the bed, he can see the group photo of Team Akuta that he’d framed and put on his end table. The artificial flowers that Rudo had given him after his last fight with Jabber still sit on the windowsill. He sighs, and his gaze trails back down to Lovely Assistaff. He feels a vision coming on again, and lets his eyes begin to flutter shut.
And that’s when, to his surprise, his window opens.
“Zaaanka, my man!”
Zanka wonders if he’s already fallen back into a vision without realizing it. There’s no other explanation for what he’s seeing. What he’s hearing.
It’s Jabber.
Jabber is pulling himself up through the window, swinging his legs over the sill. Jabber is closing said window and slowly walking towards an incapacitated Zanka, swaying and staggering as he moves. Jabber is standing over his bedside, magenta eyes as blatantly murderous as ever.
Zanka’s muddy thoughts go haywire with every movement. How- no, why did Jabber find him? Why’s he at headquarters? What the hell does he want? Zanka knows he needs to alert the other cleaners, but he still can’t move. What is he supposed to do?
Zanka scrunches his eyebrows and unleashes the meanest scowl he can get his exhausted face to muster. Jabber smiles, a crazy, lip-splitting grin, before the humorous expression is replaced with a raised brow.
Jabber kneels until his elbows are resting on the mattress and he’s eye-to-eye with Zanka. “Huh… ‘seems you got it worse than me.”
Zanka blinks. Spends a moment connecting the dots. Then, his eyes go wide. No way.
He decides to play dumb. “Fuck’re ya… talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Oh, come on, no need to act brand new,” Jabber points at Lovely. “She wants Mankira, doesn’t she? Mankira wants her too. ‘Been bugging me all week about your stick.”
Zanka’s eyes narrow. “Are ya tryin’ ta pull a fast one on me? I bet yer just trying ‘ta take advantage of the fact that I can’t do jack.”
“You know I’m always down for a fight, but I need somethin’ else from you tonight,” Jabber pokes his forehead, eliciting a hiss, before crossing his fingers next to his own face. “Swear, ‘kay?”
“Prove it,” Zanka grits out without hesitation.
So Jabber raises his clawed hands and shows him the evidence. The tips of his crooked fingers are bent completely backwards, making a ninety-degree angle with the spots below his first joints. Mankira shudders and shakes just like Lovely Assistaff has been for the past few days, constricting around the parts of Jabbers fingers that aren’t destroyed so hard that the skin around them is a nauseating shade of dark blue.
Zanka grimaces. Lovely Assistaff is quivering even harder.
“This fuckin’ hurts, but you know I like it better that way, don’tcha Mr. Bad Attitude?” Jabber sighs, gaze distant, before he breaks out into a laughing fit. “Unfortunately, it’s not me who wants this whole vital instrument thing fixed. It’s the boss man. Wouldn’t want him to kill me before we have our fight, right?”
Zanka doesn’t respond, which Jabber takes as a resounding yes.
“Anyways, I’m here ‘cause I had an idea,” He continues. “You should hold my hand.”
Zanka’s eyebrows shoot up.
Hold his hand? Hold his hand? Firstly, holding hands with the person he wants dead makes no sense. Secondly, Zanka has absolutely no idea where Jabber’s hands have been. And because it’s Jabber, he’s not sure if he even wants to know the answer.
“Huh?” He responds dumbly.
“I was thinkin’ of ways to stop whatever’s been going on, and Mankira here decided to send me on a little trip,” Jabber recounts, toothy grin showing at the memory. “I think we need our souls as close together as possible. That’s what your little stick needs, and that’s what my claws need. Y’feel me?”
Despite his first instinct being to scream no, Zanka thinks about it for a moment. The idea is out-there, at best. Who even guarantees that their souls will interact if they hold hands? Who guarantees that their souls are even part of the solution? This thing that’s going on is between Lovely and Mankira, not them.
But, as Zanka glances back at his still-shaking vital instrument, he thinks that it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“Fine. Ya pull anythin’, and I bash yer head in.”
Jabber cackles. “Oooh, you’re turnin’ me on, Zanka… would you really?”
Rather than humor the masochist that Jabber is with another threat, Zanka lifts the hand that isn’t holding Lovely to grab Jabber’s. He makes sure to avoid the raider’s claws and mutilated fingers in favor of simply pressing their palms together. Hand-to-hand, soul-to-soul. For a split second, he thinks about how Jabber’s hands are surprisingly soft.
Before has a chance to pull away and call Jabber a weirdo as he’d originally planned, a strange, staticky feeling traces its way up his arm and through his chest. Then another. Soon enough, the static turns to pulses. The feeling is strange, but good, somehow. Really good. Lovely stops shaking, and she returns to her normal form. Zanka’s fog lifts, and he can move again. He doesn’t feel like he’s dying anymore.
He looks away from their joined hands to see that Jabber has his head tilted back, eyes rolled into the back of his head like they usually are in the middle of combat. Zanka cringes.
Jabber finally speaks, giggling as he pulls his palm away. “It’s like… ants are crawling through my veins! Damn, this is real good…”
Zanka is about to ask how the fuck that’s a good thing before he remembers who he’s talking to. Fortunately for Jabber, whatever sort of chemical reaction they’d just created had him feeling nice. So, rather than immediately telling him to leave as he should have, Zanka responds.
“Yeah, that was… ah, nice. Couldn’t tell ya what the hell just happened, but that was nice.”
Zanka watches as Jabber brings his hands up to the front of his face. Mankira has finally returned to its regular state, simply appearing as ten shiny rings. Jabber’s fingers seem to have healed completely, and if his expression is anything to go by, he’s not entirely relieved by that fact.
Zanka looks down at the spot on the mattress where he’s still holding Lovely, and sighs in relief as he realizes that she’s alright, too. She’s gone back into her regular form. No more blinding light, no more buzzing, no more pulsating… she’s fine.
For some reason, though, Zanka is not. Lovely is still trying to tell him something. Even though Jabber's suggestion helped, her frequency is still buzzing in Zanka’s ear, poking at his being to keep the raider around even longer. He has a feeling that if he ignores her, he’ll go right back to how he was before. Bedbound, feverish, hallucinating. Of course, he really wants Jabber to leave. But he doesn’t know what’ll happen to him if Jabber does.
Apparently, Jabber seems to notice his spiral. “What’cha thinkin’ about? Looks like your head’s ‘bout to explode. That’d be funny to watch.”
Zanka simply narrows his eyes at the last comment. Jabber is looking at him like he’s expecting a genuine answer. Zanka knows that Jabber will probably refuse in favor of running back to the rest of the raiders now that he’s gotten what he came to headquarters for, but still, he thinks asking might be worth a shot.
“Ya-” Zanka coughs awkwardly. “-Ya wanna stay?”
Jabber’s eyes widen. “Oh? Does Mr. Bad Attitude want lil’ old Jabber to stick around?”
“Ew, no,” Zanka snarls. “Bein’ around ya seems to heal whatever me and Lovely’ve got goin’ on, and I don’t wanna risk gettin’ worse again when ya leave. I need’a start trainin’ with ‘er again as soon as possible. That’s all. Not my choice.”
Jabber levels him with an eerily blank stare. Zanka raises an eyebrow, but before he can rescind his offer, Jabber kicks off his shoes, leaps over him, and lands right on the other side of the bed. He instantly sprawls out, using Zanka’s arm as a pillow and grabbing his other hand again, this time lacing their fingers together. Zanka feels a vein pop out of his forehead, but his anger dissipates as the feeling of their palms together sinks in.
Jabber chuckles once he finally settles in. “Eh… got nun’ better to do. You’ve got a nice rich cleaner bed, too… how could I pass this up?”
“Hey- I didn’t say ya could… ya’know what, nevermind,” Zanka sighs, turning to face the raider. “Just don’t claw me in my sleep. And when the sun comes up, leave. If ya don’t, I’ll kick yer ass. Remember, I still hate ya.”
“Roger that, man… hate you too…”
It takes mere seconds for Jabber to fall into sleep. His rapid breathing slows to a normal pace, and Mankira stops twitching completely. Against his better judgment, Zanka peeks at the raider.
He almost startles at the sight of the Jabber’s resting expression- he’s baring his teeth like he’s about to bite someone, his nose is completely scrunched, and his brows are furrowed to all hell. Zanka struggles to hold in a chuckle. Of course he still looks fuckin’ demonic while sleeping.
He knows that tomorrow, Jabber will be gone. Mankira will be gone. Hopefully, by then, Lovely will be satisfied with the time she spent with those claws, and Zanka will be able to resume training sessions and be sent on assignments again.
Yet, a part of him doesn’t hate this. Of course, he hates Jabber with all of his being, but something about the raider snuggling up into Janka’s side, holding his hand with that weird, screwy sleeping face he makes, forces a warm feeling out of Zanka’s core. A fuzzy feeling that shouldn’t, and doesn’t, make sense for someone like him.
He glances at Lovely, who lies on the other side of him, and smiles. She’s alright now. Still, he doesn’t know why she wanted Mankira in the first place.
For a moment, the thought pops into his head- Lovely is a product of his emotions. If Lovely wants Mankira around, then what does that mean for him?
He cuts the thought off before it can develop.
So, he holds his least favorite giver in the entirety of the ground even closer and allows himself to drift off into sleep for the first time in days. Tonight, he can’t bring himself to care about cuddling with the person he wants to kill. Tomorrow, he’ll be able to get to training again, and he’ll forget any of this ever happened.
Yeah. That’s right. Right?