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Zanka traces his fingers over Jabbers unmoving face with a gentleness thats foreign to both of them. Predictably, Jabber doesn't stir, and Zanka's featherlight touch caresses over his eyelids, cheekbones, jaw. There's something inside him trying to claw its way out. An emotion far too delicate to ever belong to the two of them. He tries to map Jabbers face by touch alone, committing it to memory. He rubs his thumb along Jabbers lips, feeling the soft skin move under the pressure, and then Jabbers eyes pop open, looking up at Zanka. He jumps.
"Piece of- how long have ya been awake?"
"Long enough." Jabber grins, not the frantic, sadistic ones he flashes in the midst of battle but something softer, something he reserves only for Zanka. Its not entitely without edge, but there's something in the wrinkle of his eyes that neither of them will ever name, or even acknowledge. But they both know it all the same. "You goin soft on me Zan-zan?" He teases, voice light.
"As if." There's no bite to it, his own voice terribly, horribly soft as he decides to continue touching Jabber's face, not caring about what the other thinks. Jabber lets him, though he can tell the gentle touch is driving him crazy. Normally, that would be part of the fun, and even so, if Jabber asked he'd pretend it thats all it was, but Zanka was so, terribly selfish.
Zanka loves their battles, probably not quite as much as Jabber does, but he loves the thrill and opportunity to test his mettle and get stronger all at once. He also loves what happens after their battles, worked up and exhausted in equal parts as they fall into eachother, creating a different type of pleasure-pain. His favorite parts though, are after that. When the desperation and need are satasfied, frantic energy burnt out, and they just lay together. Skin on skin, pulse against pulse, arms and legs and souls intertwined. It's the only time either of them are something close to soft with each other. Something close to normal.
He knows he shouldn't be doing this. None of the other cleaners know about the thing he has with Jabber. At least not to its truest extent. Enjin had caught him sneaking out to meet him once and given him a long talk about not taking unnecessary risks for the sake of his pride, to not worry about beating Jabber, and to not become obsessed. He thought back on it occasionally, realizing he'd treated it more like a checklist than the cautionary warning it was intended as.
Zanka continued to move his fingertips over the ridges and contours of Jabbers face, before moving down to his neck. Just the smallest amount of upwards pressure under his chin caused Jabbers head to tilt up readily, and even in the submissive position, throat bared to Zanka, his eyes shone with a predatory glint that reminded Zanka every second that Jabber was letting him do it.
He took advantage of the open skin laid out before him, moving his fingers down the expanse of his throat, feeling every breath he took, every intake of oxygen that kept his heart beating. Beating for Zanka alone. He could feel Jabbers vocal chords vibrate as he spoke.
"Ready for round two?"
Zanka didn't know of what. He didn't care.
....
Things were getting more serious, and fast. The conflict between the Raiders and Cleaners was growing into something more deadly every day, and Zanka knew a battle was inevitable. A war was inevitable. The Cleaners were careful, but eventually they'd reach a point where no holds were barred and they'd have to abandon their morality for the greater good. When that happened, they'd fight to the death, and he'd take Jabber. He had to. When that day came they'd have one final clash. Cleaner versus Raider.
But right now they werent Cleaner and Raider. They were still allowed to just be Zanka and Jabber.
He narrowly dodged a swipe from Mankira.
Jabber could tell he was distracted and was making him pay for it. Good. He could always trust Jabber to never go easy on him.
...
"Ya ever wonder what it would be like if we'd met somewhere else?" Zanka mused once.
Jabber tilted his head to the side at the question and Zanka knee'd him in the lower back.
"Stop movin, at least wait until I'm done with yer stitches to mess em up."
He worked a bit longer in silence, before he tied off and cut the last piece of thread. "There. Now go crazy."
Jabber reached up to the back of his neck as soon as Zanka let go, fingers running along the long line of sewn together skin that extended almost to his left shoulder. It had been a truly nasty cut from one of Lovely Assistaff's spikes, and it would definitely scar. Maybe once, Zanka would've felt bad about that, but now the idea of leaving such permanent marks on Jabber just fed the beast inside him that was constantly chanting mine.
"I don't." Spoke Jabber casually.
"What?"
"Your question? I don't really care about that sort of thing. I think we'd be exactly the same, no matter where or how we met."
We. Like they were a package deal no matter the circumstances, no matter the reality.
He made it sound so simple. Maybe it was.
...
Riyo knew. She'd caught him sneaking out one night and instead of confronting him like Enjin had she'd followed him. He wasn't sure how long she'd stayed or how much she'd seen (for the sake of his own sanity he prayed it wasn't too much) but she'd been waiting for him in his room when he got back, an unusually serious look on her face.
In the past, she probably would have teased him for his infatuation with the raider, maybe hunted Jabber down to give him a shovel taIk, and taken pride in embarrassing Zanka before smacking the back of his head and telling him to stay safe, in every sense of the word.
But things had changed, and they both knew it.
"How long?"
He stared at the floor.
"About a year now."
She whistled.
"Damn. Anyone else know?"
"I think Enjin was suspicious at one point, but...no."
She hummed.
"What are you gonna do when you guys have to fight for real?"
"We do fight for real."
"Don't be dense. What are you gonna do when it's to the death?"
That was the question, wasn't it. Still though, there was only one answer.
"When that happens, I'll kill him."
"You sure you can?"
"I have to."
It wasn't an answer.
...
"Would ya ever leave the raiders?" Zanka asked once, after they'd finished pulling their clothes back on and right before they were about to part ways.
Jabber just laughed
"Why would I ever do that?"
For me.
"I dunno, I mean what's even keeping ya there really? If you wanna fight Zodyl so bad you could just as easily do it as his enemy instead of his lackey."
Even after everything they'd done, Jabber still looked hungry at the idea of fighting Zodyl. It made Zanka sickeningly jealous.
"And what would I do instead, join the Cleaners?" Jabber snorted.
"You could."
"HA! And spend the rest of my life wastin Mankira on trash beasts? Doin community service? C'mon Zanka, you know me better than that." He did. "I wanna fight strong givers. I wanna fight and fight and never win. This gig lets me do that pretty damn well, why would I ever leave?"
Because I don't want to kill you. I don't want you to kill me. I don't want this to end.
"We'd still fight. And it's not like the Cleaners don't have plenty of strong givers who could beat yer ass anytime they wanted." He needed to stop talking. He should just let it go. This was quickly leaving the realm of hypothetical and making the dangerous cross over into pleading.
"I mean thats the problem though, they don't wanna. Or at least they wouldn't if I was on their side, right? Normal people don't do this shit, we both know that. That's why you're here with me instead of back there with them. There's an itch you cant scratch over there, and I live to scratch that itch."
"That's not- that's different."
"Yeah, how?"
He couldn't answer. Different because it wasn't just the need to fight and get stronger and inflict pain but different because it was Jabber.
"Why don't you join the raiders?" Jabber asked.
Zankas head shot up so fast he gave himself whiplash.
"Wh- HUH?"
Jabber cracked up at his expression.
"You asked, now it's my turn. Why stay with the Cleaners? They're not usin you to your fullest potential over there. You're not free to be who you want, do what you want, fight who you want when and how you want. Seems stiflin'. So why not leave?"
The question was ridiculous. He couldn't possibly. The cleaners were the only real home he'd ever known. His team was his family. Enjin had found him in a well of despair and given him a life, given him a purpose. A second chance.
"I owe it to them, I owe them everythin I have. I could never- there's no chance."
Jabber rolled his eyes.
"Kinda lame, man."
He felt anger swell.
"Oh fuck you, not like you'd know anything about doing something fer the sake of others."
"You're right, I wouldn't. Cause I'm not gonna let anyone control my life like that. I have the strength to be free. To live how I want."
"And being Zodyl's lap dog is freedom to you?"
"Man, you're just graspin at straws like crazy today. He lets me do what I want, and even when he makes me do stuff I don't wanna I always get somethin out of it. I'm not desperate to be some self-righteous martyr like you are."
"Im shocked you even know what that means."
"You keep deflecting. And you keep lying to yourself. You think I should lock myself in a pretty little cage so I don't fly away, and then you get mad when I turn it around on you. It's stupid. Just say what you want to say."
Zanka hated him. He hated him so much he couldn't stand it. And he hated that he was right, that he'd been able to see through him instantly and call him out for it.
At Zanka's continued silence, Jabber breathed out a huff of air, dissapointed, and turned to walk away.
"Still afraid, then. Maybe next ti-"
"I don't wanna kill you."
Jabber stopped. And turned back around.
He wanted honesty? Fine. He'd get it.
"I don't wanna kill you. I wanna keep fighting you, forever. I wanna keep getting stronger, and I want you to get stronger so I can relearn every single time how to beat yer ass. I don't want it to just end like this, okay? I don't want you to be gone. And I fucking hate that we have to be on opposite sides and there's nothing I can do to change your mind. I hate-" He choked. "I hate that I'm not enough to change your mind."
Jabber just looked at him.
"Huh," His voice was once more filled with that playful softness that made Zanka feel ill. "Honestly didn't think you had it in ya, Zan-zan. But you're wrong, at least about the last bit."
He walked back over, continuing to talk.
"You keep thinking you're not good enough, and that's not it at all. No one lives forever, nothin lasts forever, especially here. When I die I'm gonna go as me, I won't water myself down and become someone else just to stay here longer, there'd be no point. I won't avoid fights that could kill me because thats just part of the thrill of living. I want to fight the strongest people I can until I die, and when I do, I want you to be the last thing I see. I want to see you drop everything holding you back so you can finally beat me. You're the only one who could kill me, the only one I'd want to. And when that day comes I'm not gonna run away from it."
"But you dont have to- forget about joining the Cleaners, that was stupid, but maybe if you just left before-"
"Zanka."
He put a ringed hand on Zanka's cheek, thumb resting underneath his eye, and Zanka suddenly understood why Jabber hated it so much when Zanka was soft with him. It was torture.
"Zanka. I won't let you put me in a cage, and you won't let me shatter yours. We're both too stubborn. Just enjoy it while it lasts."
Enjoy it while it lasts, huh?
Zanka wrapped his arms around the small of Jabbers back and pulled him closer.
He could do that.
...
The day came, just like it was always going to.
They'd ended up in an abandonned warehouse, as the sounds of a final, furious battle waged outside in all directions.
The watchman series. The sphere. Betrayals on both sides.
Whoever won would change everything.
He and Jabber stared each other down from across the floor, vital instruments at the ready. Zanka broke the silence first.
"Guess this is it, huh?"
"Sure is. Lets make it fun, yeah?"
He smiled, despite everything, and it matched Jabbers own.
"Lets."
And then they both sprung forward to begin their final dance.
...
It was their longest battle to date, and by far their most vicious. Jabber had several broken bones and definite internal bleeding. His lungs kept making a horrible, wet, raspy sound with every breath. Not that Zanka was faring much better. He'd been dosed at least three separate times with Mankira, and was probably fighting off a fourth as he struggled to stay standing. There was a hole in his side and one in his shoulder, both going all the way through, and every time he moved he felt more blood leave him and join the floor.
And still they fought, digging deeper, pushing further, until somebody couldn't take it anymore. And they both refused to let it be them.
A well-timed blow from Lovely Assistaff cracked at full velocity into the side of Jabbers head and sent him to the ground for just a moment. Zanka took advantage of it immediately and when the dust finally settled, things ended with Zanka pinning Jabber to the ground, Assistaff at his neck, her spikes already partially extended forward, the four of them poking into Jabbers neck just enough to draw blood.
Their breaths heaved as they sat there, taking it in. He had won. He'd beaten Jabber, finally. And now.........and now...
The sounds of battle still crashed on in the distance, somewhat quieter. He had no idea who was still alive. He needed to get out there and help.
Jabber looked up at him, face bloody and with that same, devastatingly soft wrinkle to his eyes. He smiled, swallowing around the blood in his mouth to speak.
"What're you waitin for?"
I love you.
He wanted to say it. But he was paralyzed, frozen solid by something he couldn't even blame on one of Jabbers toxins. There was a lump in his throat and he could feel his hands wanting to shake from where they gripped Assistaff, but he held them steady. He had to do it. Jabber kept looking at him, clear love in his eyes.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't pull the trigger. For all his talk and promises he couldn't actually just do it, mind racing with ways they could still get out of this. They could run away, leave everything behind, cleaners and raiders alike. He would leave with Jabber, that had been what he'd wanted, right? Zanka wanted to be free with him. Free to go where they wanted, do what they wanted, free to take whatever they could and enjoy causing terrible harm to each other over and over again. They could still do it. It wasn't too late.
He was still losing blood, and so was Jabber.
It wasn't too late. Not yet. Not yet.
Zankas eyes burned.
It felt like an eternity, but it had only been a few seconds, and Jabber made the choice for him.
Jabber's hand twitched on the ground, before surging upwards, and Zanka knew exactly what he was going to do. He knew Jabber better than he knew himself. Knew every muscle, every move, every thought.
In a millisecond he looked into Jabbers eyes for the last time, and hoped his eyes showed just as much love and devotion as Jabbers own, and then he sent all four of Assistaff's spikes through Jabbers throat at once.
Mankira's claws stopped their movement an inch from Zanka's heart, staying there as the light faded from Jabber's eyes. Zanka leaned in towards the metal, completing the movement, and he felt the needle points of Mankira poking through the thick fabric of his bloodied uniform, before they dissolved as his jinki deactivated and his arm fell back to the floor.
Zanka retracted the spikes, and blood started to flow from the wounds, pooling around Jabbers head. With his locs fanned around him it looked like a twisted sort of halo. He set Assistaff down gently beside them and just looked at Jabber, who was looking back up at him with open, unseeing eyes. Even frozen in death they still had that uncharacteristic gentleness to them that he only ever showed to Zanka.
His hands were shaking now, and he traced Jabbers face with featherlight touches. Cheeks, nose, brow. Lips. He mapped his face out by touch, trembling fingers caressing soft, bloodied skin, over and over. Committing it to memory.
He was still warm.
A tear fell onto Jabbers face, mixing with the blood. And then another. And it was like a dam had broken, Zanka heaving forward with a sob as everything came crashing down. He folded in half, pressing his forehead against Jabbers as he cupped his hands around both sides of his face, soaking in the warmth before it faded, trying to give it back some of his own. He'd share everything with Jabber.
He stayed there, body shaking and convulsing with sobs as more tears than he thought he had in him left his eyes and fell onto Jabber. He stayed there until he was wrung out entirely, hands still on Jabbers cheeks, thumbs still gently rubbing them. And then he stayed there still, knowing that as soon as he left he'd never touch Jabber again, never feel his skin or smell the faint hint of ozone that seemed to follow him around, and it made it even harder to pull away.
Not yet.
Another wave of tears somehow left him, thankfully without the sobs, and he just let them fall, feeling numb and everything at the same time.
He slowly, finally, sat back up, and looked down again. Jabber hadn't moved, eyes still looking upwards towards Zanka. He took his fingertips and gently moved Jabber's eyelids closed. Like this, he could almost be sleeping, if not for the ashy quality of his skin and holes in his throat.
Despite the blood and gore, he still somehow looked peaceful. In a way, that fit.
He moved his gaze over to Jabbers right hand, the one Jabber had used to force Zanka into killing him. Asshole.
He intertwined their fingers, feeling the cool metal of mankira between every digit. He felt bad for her, she would never be used again. At least her user had been Jabber, at least she'd been loved by someone who was able to bring out her full power, her truest self, even if he was gone now.
He supposed he had that in common with her.
He slipped off the rings one by one, apologizing to Jabber as he went, and slid them on his own hands, taking extra care when he put on the left ring finger. They were heavy, but grounding, and looking at them he was glad he'd already gotten all of his crying out. Even in his emotional numbness he felt a surge of something he couldn't name at the sight, so intense it made him want to double over again.
He looked at Jabber and suddenly wished he had a photo of him. A drawing, a wanted poster. Anything. The idea that he'd never see Jabber again once he left the warehouse, that he'd have to keep going, seeing him only in his memory –a memory that would fade and fade until eventually he forgot what Jabber had looked like entirely– was terrifying. How long until he forgot the sound of his voice, the way he moved, the ring of his laugh? He told himself he wouldn't. But he would. The lump in his throat was back.
He carefully removed two of the metal cuffs on Jabbers dreads, pressing a kiss to them each before putting them in his pocket. He'd carry him. He'd carry as much as he could with him. Whether the weight was dense metal or crushing grief, he'd take it with him. For Jabber he'd take it. The extra weight would only make him stronger.
The battle outside had slowed, but not stopped. Meaning there was at least one person on his side still fighting. He had to get up.
He gave one last lingering touch to the side of Jabbers face, leaning down to press their lips together for the last time, and rested their foreheads together once more, memorizing the feeling. Tattooing it into his brain.
Then he slowly rocked back, and stood up on shaky legs, Lovely Assistaff supporting him as he made his way up. The metal of Mankira's rings on Assistaff made him feel like both of their souls had connected, communicating in a way he couldn't be privy to. He was glad they still had each other, at least.
There was blood soaking through the knees of his pants where he'd been kneeling, and his entire lower half was staticky and numb from holding the same position for so long. The wound in his side must have missed anything vital if he hadn't died by now, and even though the bleeding had slowed significantly he could still tell he wasn't totally in the clear from bleeding out.
He wondered if Jabber had missed on purpose.
He'd never get to ask.
He looked at Jabber one last time, every inch, from head to toe. And then he turned and walked away without looking back.
He stopped at the final threshold, taking his last chance to pause before crossing the line into a world without Jabber.
He looked down at Mankira, bringing his left ring finger to his lips, keeping it pressed there.
Mankira already held a soul, and so did Assistaff. Maybe Zanka could hold Jabber's.
He put his hand back down to his side, and stepped out into the light.