Chapter Text
—December 2nd—
Four days.
Jabber Wonger had spent four straight days outside Cleaner Headquarters. Not inside. The other Cleaners would never allow that. Instead, he stayed beneath the massive rusted overhang across from the entrance where rainwater poured endlessly from broken drainage pipes and neon signs buzzed weakly through the dark. Like a stray animal too stubborn to leave. The Pit shifted endlessly around him. Cleaners came and went through the headquarters gates at all hours. Either carrying weapons, hauling scrap, dragging injured people inside, or staring at Jabber like he was a bomb waiting to explode
Fair.
Jabber sat sprawled across a stack of cracked concrete barriers with one boot dangling loosely above the flooded street below while cigarette ash collected around him in damp piles. He looked awful. Blood still stained his jacket from the alley. Not his blood. Still not his blood. That was the problem. Every time he looked down at himself he saw it again: Zanka collapsing into the rain, blood spilling between his fingers, half-conscious eyes trying to focus on him, the wet horrible sound of failing breaths
Jabber laughed softly under his breath, but it was tight and wrong. A Cleaner walking toward headquarters visibly tensed hearing it.
Good.
He wanted everybody to feel uncomfortable. Because he felt like his skin had been turned inside out.
The first day they’d tried to drive him away. That had almost become violent.
One Cleaner had told him: “Get lost, Raider.”
Jabber had smiled so hard his face hurt.
Then said: “Make me.”
Rudo stopped the fight before it started. Since then, nobody touched him. Nobody trusted him either. But they let him stay. Mostly because every time someone mentioned forcing him away, Jabber’s eyes got that dangerous bright look like he might genuinely tear through the headquarters walls with his bare hands to get inside.
And maybe he would have if Zanka died.
That realisation sat sick and heavy beneath his ribs.
Rain hammered steadily against the city. Jabber tipped his head back against the concrete wall behind him and stared blankly upward into the dark. He hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes he saw blood. Too much blood. He could still feel it warm between his fingers. Jabber laughed again. Quieter now. More exhausted. A cigarette burned slowly between two stained fingers while distant machinery groaned somewhere beneath the streets.
Then, the headquarters doors opened.
Jabber looked at it immediately. His body reacted before his brain could stop it now. One of the younger Cleaners stepped outside carrying medical supplies. Not Rudo. Not who Jabber wanted.
Still, Jabber stood instantly.
“You.”
The Cleaner froze visibly. Jabber crossed the flooded street in seconds.
“How is he?”
Silence.
The Cleaner swallowed once. Panic crawled violently up Jabber’s spine.
“No,” he laughed sharply. “No no no, don’t make that face.”
“He’s alive.”
The relief hit so hard Jabber nearly doubled over from it. Instead, he laughed loudly. Hysterical around the edges. People near the headquarters entrance turned immediately toward the sound.
He was alive.
The Cleaner rubbed one hand awkwardly against the back of his neck.
“He woke up.”
Jabber stopped laughing instantly. Rainwater dripped slowly from his hair into his eyes.
“…What?”
“He woke up this morning.”
The world lurched sideways. For one strange second, Jabber genuinely forgot how breathing worked.
He was awake.
Zanka was awake.
Something frantic and ugly in his chest suddenly loosened violently all at once. Jabber barked another laugh before he could stop it. Small and disbelieving.
“Oh,” he whispered.
The Cleaner looked increasingly nervous standing this close to him.
“He asked for you.”
Silence.
Everything stopped again. Even the rain sounded distant suddenly. Jabber stared at her blankly.
“What?”
“He woke up asking where you were.”
The words hit harder than the alley had. Harder than the blood. Jabber’s grin disappeared completely. There were no jokes now. Just raw shock cutting through every sharp edge he usually hid behind.
“He… what?”
The Cleaner shifted awkwardly.
“Rudo told him you found him.” A pause. “He got agitated when he realised you weren’t here.”
Jabber’s chest tightened violently. Too tight. Like something inside him was clawing upward trying to escape. Zanka had asked for him. Not because Jabber forced himself into his space. Not because he tracked him down afterward. Not because he appeared uninvited like always. But because Zanka wanted him there. The realisation made panic and relief collide so violently inside his chest that another laugh tore out of him automatically.
The Cleaner took one full step backward.
Jabber dragged one hand hard down his face. Blood still stained faintly beneath his nails. Four days later and he still couldn’t scrub it all away.
“Can I see him?”
The question came out rough. Almost desperate. The Cleaner hesitated immediately. There it was. Jabber’s grin returned crookedly.
“Don’t do that.”
“We can’t just let a Raider into medical.”
“He asked for me.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
Jabber moved before the sentence finished. Fast enough that the Cleaner visibly flinched. He wasn’t attacking her, just getting closer. A little too close. Rainwater streamed down Jabber’s face while his eyes glittered sharp and exhausted beneath the neon.
“You let me sit outside your headquarters for four days,” he said softly. “You think I’m leaving now?”
Silence.
The Cleaner looked deeply uncomfortable.
Good.
Jabber was beyond uncomfortable.
He was unraveling.
The headquarters doors opened again behind them. This time it was Rudo. He stopped immediately upon seeing Jabber practically looming over the younger Cleaner.
“Seriously?” Rudo muttered tiredly.
Jabber looked toward him instantly.
“How is he?”
Rudo studied him for one long second. Then, finally: “He’s asking for you nonstop.”
Jabber went completely still. Rain poured around all three of them. Rudo exhaled sharply through his nose.
“He’s weak.” A pause. “And nobody’s letting you touch him.”
Jabber barked out a sharp laugh immediately.
“What, you think I’m gonna poison him?”
“Yes,” Rudo answered flatly.
Silence.
Then Jabber started laughing harder. Actually laughing. Bent nearly double beneath the rain while something almost hysterical cracked through the sound.
“That’s insane.”
“You carry poison.”
“For enemies.”
Rudo looked unimpressed. Jabber wiped rainwater from his mouth slowly. Then, quieter: “He’s not my enemy.”
The words landed heavily between them. Rudo’s expression shifted slightly.
“Come inside before you scare civilians again.”
Jabber grinned immediately. Too sharp. Too alive. And for the first time in four days, Jabber actually followed somebody willingly into Cleaner Headquarters.
It was warmer inside. Not comfortable. Just warm in the suffocating way industrial buildings became warm, overheated pipes rattling through the walls, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the sharp smell of antiseptic barely masking rust and old concrete. Everything echoed. Footsteps. Voices. Machinery humming somewhere deeper in the facility. And every single Cleaner they passed stared. Jabber walked through the headquarters halls flanked by Rudo and two armed guards like a criminal being escorted to execution. The atmosphere felt one wrong movement away from violence. Jabber could feel it in the way hands hovered too close to weapons. In the way conversations stopped when he passed. In the way nobody fully turned their back toward him.
Usually, he would’ve enjoyed that.
Tonight, it just made his skin itch.
Jabber shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets to stop himself from shaking again. It didn’t help much. Rudo noticed it anyway.
“You touch anything suspicious,” Rudo muttered without looking at him, “and I break your jaw.”
Jabber barked a laugh automatically.
“You say the sweetest things.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
The hallway turned sharply. Then slowed. The tension changed immediately. They were headed to the medical wing. It was quieter here. The lights were dimmer. The voices lower. Jabber could hear the distant steady beeping of machines behind closed doors.
He suddenly felt sick.
The closer they got, the harder it became to breathe properly.
What if he looked worse? What if he didn’t remember anything? What if—
Rudo stopped outside a door near the end of the hallway. Two additional Cleaners stood guard there already. One looked openly hostile seeing Jabber. The other just exhausted.
“He’s awake,” Rudo said quietly. “But don’t stress him out.”
Jabber laughed once under his breath.
“Me? Stressful?”
Nobody smiled. The guard nearest the door stepped forward immediately.
“No touching.”
“Oh my god,” Jabber muttered.
“We’re serious.”
“You think I’m radioactive or something?”
“You’re full of poison.”
“That’s offensive.”
“You’re a Raider.”
Jabber grinned faintly despite himself. Then the guard opened the door.
And suddenly, there he was.
Zanka lay half propped against stiff white pillows beneath dim medical lights with heavy bandages wrapped tightly around his torso and bruises shadowing pale skin. Too pale. Way too pale. IV lines disappeared into one arm. Monitors blinked steadily beside the bed. The sight hit Jabber like a blade straight through the ribs. For one horrible split second all he saw was the alley again. The blood beneath the rain. His shaking hands. Zanka’s fading breaths.
But he was alive.
Zanka looked toward the doorway slowly. Still exhausted. Still weak. Then his eyes landed on Jabber. Everything stopped. Jabber watched the recognition happen in real time. The relief. The disbelief. Then suddenly, Zanka’s face crumpled. Tears welled instantly in his eyes.
Jabber froze.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Nobody had prepared him for that. Not Zanka crying. One tear slipped down across bruised skin before Zanka looked away sharply like he hated himself for it. The entire room went painfully silent. Even the guards looked startled. Jabber stared at him in complete shock. Because this was Zanka. The same Zanka who punched through concrete, glared through stab wounds, and insulted people while bleeding out. Something cracked violently open inside Jabber’s chest. A broken laugh escaped him automatically. Soft and shaky.
“There you are,” he whispered.
Zanka laughed once too. Weak and wet around the edges.
“Idiot.”
His voice sounded wrecked. Jabber moved instinctively toward the bed. Immediately, all four Cleaners tensed. Their vital instruments shifted. Rudo grabbed his shoulder hard.
“No closer.”
The room snapped taut instantly. Jabber looked down at the hand on him. Then toward the guards. Then back toward Zanka.
“You’re kidding.”
“Don’t test me,” Rudo said quietly.
Jabber laughed again. More hysterical this time.
“You think I’m gonna hurt him?”
“No,” one of the guards answered flatly. “We think you’re unstable.”
Honestly, Jabber couldn’t blame them for that.
He looked back toward Zanka again. The tears were still there. Silently slipping down his face while exhaustion hollowed out every sharp edge he normally carried. Jabber felt suddenly violent with grief. Because four days ago he thought those eyes would never open again. And now Zanka was looking at him like this. Like seeing him mattered. The realisation made something dangerous claw through his chest. Zanka wiped roughly at his face with the back of his hand immediately, visibly angry at himself.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Jabber blinked.
“Like what?”
“Like I died.”
The words came out raw. Jabber barked another laugh instantly.
“You almost did.”
Silence crashed heavily through the room. Zanka’s eyes flicked downward. There was guilt in his expression now. Seeing it hurt worse than the blood had. Jabber moved again instinctively. Rudo’s grip tightened immediately.
“Jabber.”
“I know.”
But his voice cracked around the edges. Because all he wanted suddenly, violently, was to touch him. Grab his jaw. Check his pulse. Press his forehead against his shoulder just to feel him alive. Instead, he stood trapped across the room like some starving animal staring through glass.
Zanka noticed.
Of course he did.
Their eyes locked. And slowly, weakly, Zanka held one hand out toward him across the blankets. The room tensed instantly again. Every Cleaner there looked ready to intervene. Jabber stared at the outstretched hand like it might kill him. Then very slowly he raised his own, only for Rudo to catch his wrist hard before he could reach him.
“No.”
The word landed sharp. Jabber’s grin vanished instantly. The room went dead silent. Zanka’s hand remained suspended weakly in the air between them. Rain tapped softly against headquarters windows somewhere beyond the walls. Jabber looked down at Rudo’s grip. Then toward Zanka. And for the first time since entering the room, he actually looked angry.
Rudo’s grip tightened around his wrist. The entire room held its breath. Jabber stared down at the hand restraining him while something ugly and feral uncoiled slowly beneath his ribs.
Not now.
Not here.
But god, after four days outside the headquarters gates. After blood soaking through his fingers in the rain. After hearing Zanka ask for him, they still wouldn’t let him touch him. It made his pulse spike violently. Across the room, Zanka still held his hand weakly out over the blankets. Waiting. The sight nearly split Jabber open. Rudo spoke quietly beside him.
“Don’t.”
Jabber laughed softly, but the sound came out wrong. Too sharp around the edges. The guards shifted subtly around the room. Watching him. Waiting for him to snap. The monitors beside Zanka’s bed beeped steadily through the silence. Jabber looked back toward him again. Zanka’s hand had started shaking slightly from the effort of holding it up. It was weak. Too weak. That alone made panic flare viciously beneath Jabber’s skin all over again. He should not look this fragile. He hated it. Hated the machines. Hated the white sheets. Hated the way Zanka’s skin looked too pale beneath the dim lights.
Most of all, he hated the distance.
Zanka noticed the shift in his face immediately. Of course he did. Even half-dead he still watched Jabber too closely.
“Rudo,” Zanka muttered weakly.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not gonna die because he touches my hand.”
One of the guards snorted quietly.
“You say that like he isn’t literally poisonous.”
“That’s flattering,” Jabber murmured.
Nobody laughed. Zanka exhaled shakily against the pillows. Exhaustion dragged visibly at every movement now. Even speaking seemed to hurt. And still, his hand remained stretched toward Jabber stubbornly. Something hot and frantic twisted violently through Jabber’s chest.
“You’re really making this everybody’s problem, huh?”
Zanka’s mouth twitched faintly at the edges.
“There you are.”
The familiar phrase landed soft and ruined beneath the medical lights. Jabber’s throat tightened painfully.
God, he had almost died.
The thought still didn’t feel real. Rudo sighed heavily beside him. Then finally, he released Jabber’s wrist. But immediately pointed at him.
“One touch.”
Jabber blinked. The room visibly tensed.
“You’re serious?”
“One.” Rudo’s expression remained flat. “And if he starts foaming at the mouth, I’m killing you.”
Jabber barked out a startled laugh. Then immediately crossed the room before anyone could change their mind. The movement turned strangely careful halfway there. Like his body suddenly remembered Zanka was injured. Jabber slowed beside the bed. Close now. Finally close. He could see everything. The bruising beneath tired eyes. The dried blood still caught faintly near his hairline. The rise and fall of weak breaths beneath bandages. The tears still drying slowly against pale skin
Alive.
Still alive.
Jabber stared at him for one long terrible second. Then slowly, he reached out. The room collectively stopped breathing again. Jabber’s fingers brushed carefully against Zanka’s hand. Warm and alive. The contact hit like a gunshot through his chest. Zanka inhaled sharply. But it wasn’t in pain, it was more in relief. Jabber felt it immediately. Their fingers curled weakly together atop the blankets. And suddenly, the entire violent frantic panic chewing through Jabber’s body for four straight days quieted all at once. Just for a second. Jabber laughed softly under his breath. The sound trembled. Zanka’s eyes fluttered briefly shut. Another tear slipped free despite himself.
“Hey,” Jabber murmured instantly.
Zanka looked back up at him. Furious embarrassment already flickering weakly beneath exhaustion.
“Don’t.”
“You’re crying.”
“Shut up.”
Jabber grinned automatically. He was still mean enough to insult him. Thank fucking god.
“You scared me,” Jabber admitted quietly.
The room went silent again. Because nobody had ever heard expected Jabber to say something like that. Not seriously. Not without laughing it away immediately. Zanka stared at him. And something in his expression softened painfully.
“You looked worse,” he whispered.
Jabber barked out a disbelieving laugh.
“I was covered in your blood.”
“Yeah.” A weak breath. “You looked good in it.”
The entire room froze. One of the guards actually choked. Rudo covered his face briefly with one hand like he physically could not believe this conversation was happening. Meanwhile, Jabber stared at Zanka in complete stunned silence. Then slowly, very slowly, his grin spread wide enough to look dangerous again.
“There he is.”
The room settled into silence after that. Not comfortable silence. Something heavier. The kind that pressed against everybody’s ribs and made the air feel too warm. Jabber remained beside the bed with his fingers loosely curled around Zanka’s hand while the monitors continued their steady rhythmic beeping beside them. Jabber couldn’t stop looking at him. Every few seconds his eyes flicked automatically toward the rise and fall of his breathing, the IV lines, the bandages wrapped around his torso. Like checking repeatedly that he was still there.
Zanka noticed.
Of course he did.
But for once, he didn’t say anything about it.
He just watched Jabber back through heavy exhaustion, fingers twitching weakly against his hand whenever Jabber shifted too far away. The movement felt instinctive. That realisation made something dangerous tighten beneath Jabber’s ribs again. Rain tapped softly against the headquarters windows somewhere beyond the walls. One of the guards quietly stepped outside the room. Nobody spoke. Even Rudo had stopped threatening murder for five consecutive minutes. Jabber rubbed his thumb once absentmindedly across the side of Zanka’s hand. The room immediately tensed again. Rudo looked seconds away from developing stress-induced heart failure. Zanka’s mouth twitched faintly.
“You’re freaking them out.”
“They’re easy to freak out.”
“That’s because you’re insane.”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t even deny it.
Jabber leaned back slightly in the chair beside the bed without letting go of his hand. For the first time in days, the horrible clawing panic inside his chest had finally dulled enough for him to think properly.
Barely, but enough to feel exhaustion crashing violently into him all at once.
Zanka noticed that too.
“You look awful,” he murmured weakly.
Jabber laughed softly.
“You almost died.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you did.”
Silence again. Zanka looked away first this time. Guilt flickered visibly across his face again. Jabber immediately hated it.
“Don’t do that.”
Zanka frowned slightly.
“Do what?”
“Look guilty.” Jabber’s grip tightened unconsciously around his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Zanka stared at him quietly beneath the dim lights.
Then: “You were scared.”
The words landed softly. Jabber’s grin flickered weakly.
“I just told you I was.”
No joke this time either. The honesty hung heavily in the room.
Then, he heard footsteps. Heavy and measured. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Several Cleaners straightened near the walls. Jabber looked toward the doorway automatically and immediately felt irritation spark beneath his skin. The tall blonde man with the tattoos stood there with his arms crossed. Watching them. Assessing him. Like Jabber was a dangerous animal that had somehow wandered into medical.
The man’s gaze dropped immediately toward their joined hands.
His expression darkened.
“That’s enough.”
Jabber’s grin sharpened instantly.
“No.”
“You’ve been here long enough.”
Zanka frowned weakly from the bed.
“He stays.”
“No,” The blonde man answered calmly. “He doesn’t.”
The room tightened again. Violence hovered suddenly just beneath the surface. Jabber felt it immediately. The old instinct rising fast beneath his skin: protect protect protect—
His fingers tightened harder around Zanka’s hand unconsciously.
The man noticed it immediately.
“So this is how this is gonna go?”
Jabber laughed softly.
“Depends.” His eyes flashed sharp. “You planning on dragging me out?”
Several guards shifted immediately. Zanka pushed himself upright slightly in bed. Pain flashed hard across his face instantly. Rudo cursed under his breath.
“Sit back down,” he snapped.
“No.”
“Zanka—”
“I said he stays.”
The weakness in his voice somehow made the room feel even more dangerous. Because suddenly everyone there realised that both of them were serious. The tall man exhaled slowly through his nose. Then finally stepped forward.
Jabber reacted instantly.
Out of pure instinct more than anything.
Mankira flashed into his hand so fast half the room jerked backward in shock. The blade snapped directly against his own throat before anyone could react. Silence detonated through the room. Everyone froze. Even Jabber looked briefly startled by himself. Because he hadn’t thought. Hadn’t planned it. The motion came automatically: If they drag him away from Zanka, hurt yourself first. Make them stop.
The edge of Mankira pressed hard enough against his skin for blood to bead immediately.
Several Cleaners swore loudly.
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
The tall man went completely still. Zanka’s face drained of what little colour remained.
“Jabber.”
The word came sharp and terrified. Jabber’s breathing had gone uneven suddenly. Too fast. His pulse hammered violently beneath the blade at his throat while the entire room spiralled into chaos around him.
“Don’t touch me,” he snapped immediately.
The laugh that followed sounded wrong. Nobody moved. Zanka shoved himself upright harder despite the obvious pain ripping through him. Machines immediately screamed warnings beside the bed.
“Jabber.”
Louder now.
Jabber looked toward him instantly.
And that was enough.
The second his attention shifted, the tall man with the tattoos moved. Two guards lunged simultaneously. Mankira was ripped violently away from Jabber’s throat before he could react while somebody grabbed both his arms hard enough to slam him against the wall.
The room exploded.
“LET GO OF ME—”
Jabber fought instantly, wildly. Pure panic clawed at his throat. Because now they were dragging him away from Zanka again.
“No—NO—”
“Hold him!”
“He’s bleeding—”
“Careful with the blade!”
Jabber thrashed violently against the guards restraining him, laughter and panic tangling together into something genuinely unhinged. Across the room, Zanka ripped half his monitoring wires loose trying to get out of bed.
“STOP!”
The scream tore painfully out of him. Weak from blood loss and still somehow loud enough to freeze half the room. Pain twisted visibly across his face as he nearly collapsed sideways trying to stand. Rudo caught him immediately.
“Jesus Christ, sit DOWN—”
“Don’t touch him!”
Meanwhile, Jabber was still fighting like an animal.
“ZANKA—”
The sound of his name in Jabber’s voice wrecked the entire room. Because beneath all that violence, it sounded terrified. Zanka shoved weakly against Rudo’s grip desperately.
“JABBER—”
Jabber nearly broke free again. Then, four guards were on him. But he was still struggling. Still trying to get back to him.
“LET ME GO—”
Blood streaked down his neck from where Mankira had nicked skin. His eyes looked huge. Wild. Completely frantic. Like being separated physically hurt. The tall man grabbed Jabber hard by the jaw suddenly.
“LOOK AT HIM.”
Jabber froze. His breathing ragged. The man pointed toward the bed. Zanka had nearly collapsed fully now, shaking violently from pain while medics tried forcing him back against the pillows. Machines screamed around him.
“He is going to rip his stitches open because of YOU.”
Silence crashed instantly through the room.
Jabber stared, really stared, at the pain twisted across Zanka’s face. At the blood beginning to stain through fresh bandages again. And suddenly, the fight drained out of him all at once. His chest heaved unevenly. The guards still restrained him tightly. Jabber barely noticed. Because all he could see now was Zanka hurting himself trying to follow him.
“…Oh,” Jabber whispered weakly.
The word sounded broken. Zanka was still reaching toward him from the bed anyway. Even now he was still trying. Jabber laughed once, small and devastating.
Then, he finally stopped struggling.
The guards were dragging him backward now. Jabber let them. Though his eyes never left Zanka for a second.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “Hey, don’t—”
Zanka shoved weakly against the medics again trying to follow him.
“Don’t leave.”
That hurt worse than anything else had. Worse than the blood. Worse than the alley. Worse than seeing him unconscious beneath the rain. Because Zanka sounded scared. Actually scared. Jabber laughed suddenly. Sharp and broken around the edges. The sound made several guards tense instantly.
“I’ll come back,” he said quickly. Too quickly. Like he was trying to convince himself too. “I’m coming back tomorrow.”
“You promise?”
The room went dead silent again. Jabber stopped breathing. Zanka looked half-conscious saying it. Pale beneath the medical lights. Eyes glassy from painkillers and exhaustion. Still reaching weakly toward him across the distance between them. Like he genuinely thought Jabber might disappear. Something inside Jabber cracked violently open.
“Yeah,” he whispered immediately. “Yeah, I promise.”
The guards dragged him through the doorway before he could say anything else. Jabber twisted hard enough to look back one final time. Zanka was still trying weakly to sit upright despite everyone holding him down. Still staring directly at Jabber. The doors slid shut between them.
And suddenly, there was nothing.
No monitors. No voices. No Zanka. Just cold hallway lights buzzing overhead. The silence hit like a punch. Jabber stood there breathing unevenly while guards slowly released his arms one by one.
Nobody spoke.
Jabber stared blankly at the closed medical doors. Then laughed softly under his breath.
“…Tomorrow,” he murmured quietly to himself.
Like prayer.
—December 3rd—
Cleaner Headquarters looked different during the day. Less monstrous. Still ugly, obviously, all rusted metal beams and stained concrete and industrial pipes rattling through the walls, but softer somehow beneath weak afternoon light filtering through high windows. The rain had finally stopped sometime before dawn. Water still dripped steadily from the headquarters rooftops outside, but the constant storm that had swallowed the city for days was gone.
The silence felt strange.
Inside the medical wing, everything smelled sharply of antiseptic and overheated machinery. Monitors beeped steadily somewhere beyond the curtains dividing nearby rooms while exhausted medics shuffled quietly through the halls carrying supplies and half-finished coffees.
And through all of it, Zanka kept looking at the door. Not obviously. That was the embarrassing part. He wasn’t staring dramatically or anything pathetic like that. His eyes just kept flicking toward the hallway every few minutes before snapping away again. Like instinct. One of the medics noticed on the third time.
“If you rip your stitches again because of a Raider,” she muttered while checking his IV line, “I’m letting you die.”
Zanka scowled immediately.
“I’m not waiting for him.”
“Sure.”
“I’m not.”
Another glance toward the hallway. The medic snorted under her breath and walked away before he could threaten her properly. Annoying. Zanka leaned carefully back against the pillows with a quiet hiss of pain. His entire body still felt wrong. Heavy and weak. Every movement pulled painfully against the bandages wrapped tight around his torso, and the blood loss left everything distant and slightly unfocused around the edges.
He hated it.
He hated being stuck in bed. Hated the machines. Hated everyone hovering around him like he was made of glass. Mostly, he hated how badly he wanted Jabber to come back. The realisation sat ugly beneath his ribs. Because logically, this entire situation was insane. Jabber Wonger was a Raider, unstable, violent, and probably wanted in multiple districts And yet somehow, Zanka had spent the entire morning listening for his footsteps.
Pathetic.
Outside the room, voices shifted suddenly in the hallway. There was a different atmosphere now. Tighter. Zanka looked toward the door automatically. The guards outside straightened visibly. Then, he heard laughter. Sharp and familiar. Something in Zanka’s chest loosened instantly before he could stop it.
Idiot.
The door slid open.
And there he was.
Jabber looked terrible. He was still wearing the same bloodstained jacket from yesterday, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth while a sloppy bandage wrapped crookedly around the cut on his throat. He looked exhausted. Dark shadows sat beneath bright restless eyes, and his hair looked damp like he’d either showered badly or stood outside in mist for too long. Three guards followed directly behind him. One carried an entire tray filled with confiscated weapons and poison vials. Jabber glanced back toward it and sighed dramatically.
“You people are so judgmental.”
“No touching anything suspicious,” one guard warned.
“You already took all my fun things.”
“You ARE the suspicious thing.”
Jabber barked a laugh under his breath before finally looking fully toward the bed. He immediately stopped moving. Silence settled strangely through the room. Because Zanka realised suddenly, Jabber had probably been imagining this room for hours. Wondering whether Zanka would still be here when he walked back in. The thought hit unexpectedly hard. Jabber’s eyes moved quickly across him.
He was still alive.
Then slowly, Jabber grinned. Smaller than usual.
“Miss me?”
The question landed softly. Zanka felt something uncomfortable twist beneath his ribs again.
“You look like shit,” he muttered.
Jabber immediately looked delighted.
“There HE is.”
The room visibly relaxed slightly hearing them insult each other. Apparently everyone had been expecting another emotional catastrophe. Jabber wandered further into the room while the guards hovered nearby watching him like nervous zoo handlers. He dropped several stolen snacks onto the bedside table beside Zanka with a loud clatter.
Zanka stared at them blankly.
“…Why do you have canned fish.”
Jabber looked offended.
“It’s good.”
“You brought canned fish to a hospital.”
“You almost died. You don’t get opinions.”
One of the guards made a deeply exhausted noise somewhere near the doorway. Zanka looked back toward Jabber again. Closer now. Close enough that he could see the dried blood still faintly staining beneath Jabber’s fingernails. It wasn’t cleaned properly. Something about that made his chest ache unexpectedly. Jabber pulled a chair closer beside the bed and sat heavily into it, long legs spreading carelessly while he lit another cigarette despite the immediate outrage from hospital staff.
“Absolutely not—”
Jabber pointed lazily toward the open window.
“It’s ventilated.”
“That’s not how hospitals work!”
“Too late.”
Smoke curled lazily through the room. Zanka should have been annoyed. Instead, the smell felt weirdly reassuring now. It smelled like Jabber. Which was deeply humiliating to realise in front of witnesses. Jabber leaned back slightly in the chair while studying him openly. Still checking. Still counting breaths without even realising he was doing it.
Zanka noticed every single time.
“So,” Jabber said eventually, voice quieter now. “You gonna stop trying to bleed to death for attention?”
Zanka snorted weakly.
“You almost stabbed yourself in a hospital.”
“Yeah, but I looked cool doing it.”
“No you didn’t.”
“HA.”
Silence drifted comfortably after that. Or, as comfortable as things could get with armed guards surrounding them. Jabber’s knee rested lightly against the side of the mattress. Not touching Zanka. Just there. Like he physically couldn’t sit farther away. Zanka, unfortunately, noticed that too. One of the guards near the doorway checked the time eventually.
Then sighed.
“Your allotted time is almost over.”
The atmosphere changed instantly. Subtle but immediate. The entire room remembered yesterday. Zanka saw it happen in real time, the guards straightening slightly, the medics glancing nervously toward Jabber, Rudo looking ready to intervene if necessary. Meanwhile, Jabber just went very still. He didn’t grin. He didn’t laugh. He just stayed silent.
And honestly? That was worse. Because everyone there now knew exactly what Jabber looked like when panic started crawling beneath his skin. Zanka watched him carefully. Jabber’s eyes flicked briefly toward the doorway. Then back toward him.
Staying.
Always staying.
“You’re staring again,” Zanka muttered quietly.
Jabber blinked once. Then laughed softly under his breath.
“Yeah.”
The honesty landed strangely hard. A guard stepped closer carefully.
“Time’s up.”
Jabber didn’t move immediately. For one terrible second the entire room tensed again waiting for more violence or another breakdown. Instead, Jabber just looked at Zanka for a long moment. Long enough that the room started feeling intrusive again. Then finally he stood slowly from the chair. The movement looked reluctant. Like physically forcing himself upright. Jabber shoved both hands into his pockets afterward, probably to stop himself from reaching toward the bed again.
“You better still be here tomorrow,” he muttered.
Trying for teasing. Missing by a mile.
Zanka answered immediately.
“Only if you come back.”
Silence. One of the guards looked deeply uncomfortable hearing that. Jabber simply stared at him. Then laughed quietly under his breath. Small and warm around the edges this time.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Okay.”
And for the first time since the alley, he left willingly.
—January 11th—
The Pit smelled like rain and gasoline. Water still dripped steadily from rusted fire escapes overhead while neon signs buzzed weakly against the dark, staining the flooded streets below in fractured pink and blue light. Far above the lower districts, trains screamed somewhere through the night. Everything felt loud. Except this room. The motel was almost offensively quiet. One weak lamp glowed beside the bed, throwing warm yellow light across peeling wallpaper and tangled blankets while an ancient ceiling fan rattled softly overhead. Jabber lay sprawled across the mattress on his back with one arm hanging loosely over the edge while a cigarette burned slowly between two fingers.
He looked unusually relaxed.
Which was honestly disturbing.
Most people would’ve considered Jabber relaxed if he wasn’t actively threatening somebody with poison. This was different. Still dangerous. Just quieter. His shirt hung half unbuttoned from earlier fighting somewhere in Raider territory, exposing bruises and scratches across dark skin while rain-damp dreadlocks stuck messily into his eyes. He looked over lazily when the motel door opened. Then immediately grinned.
“There you are.”
Zanka shut the door behind himself carefully before locking it automatically.
“You’re bleeding on the sheets again.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“You still came.”
Unfortunately true.
Jabber rolled onto one elbow slowly while watching him cross the room. There was something sharper than usual in his eyes tonight. A little more restless. A little more aware. Birthdays apparently made him weird. Not sentimental. Just needier. More physical. More intense. Like he wanted proof people stayed.
Zanka had noticed the pattern a year ago.
Which was probably why he was here now instead of asleep back at headquarters pretending this relationship situation wasn’t ruining his life. Jabber watched him remove his jacket silently.
Then: “Did they bitch about me again?”
Zanka snorted softly.
“When do they not?”
“Fair.”
The Cleaners hated Jabber. Enjin (Jabber had finally learned) looked one bad day away from personally throwing him off a building, and Rudo threatened murder basically every time Jabber’s name came up. Mostly because Jabber was a Raider, dangerous, and obsessed with Zanka in a way that deeply unsettled everyone
Again.
Fair.
Jabber leaned his head back against the headboard lazily.
“You smell like headquarters.”
“You smell like arson.”
“Aw. You noticed.”
Zanka rolled his eyes. Then tossed a small paper bag onto the bed beside him. Jabber blinked. He looked down at it suspiciously and then back up again.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Jabber immediately sat upright. Almost too quickly. Like excitement physically overrode dignity. It was embarrassing. So Zanka pretended not to notice. Jabber ripped open the bag immediately. Inside he found cigarettes, lighter fluid, cheap candy, bandages, and a small folding knife. Things Jabber consistently stole anyway. The point wasn’t the objects. The point was that Zanka had noticed. Jabber went strangely still holding the bag. Then slowly looked back up.
“You got me presents?”
The disbelief in his voice made something uncomfortable tighten beneath Zanka’s ribs.
“It’s your birthday.”
“People don’t usually know when my birthday is.”
The words came casual. Too casual. Like he wasn’t fully aware how sad they sounded.
Zanka looked away briefly.
“…Well. I do.”
Silence.
The motel room suddenly felt too small. Jabber stared at him strangely for one long second. Then grinned again. But it was softer this time. Less sharp around the edges. Dangerous in a completely different way.
“You’re so sweet to me.”
Zanka immediately threw one of the motel pillows directly at his face.
“Shut up.”
Jabber laughed loudly while catching it.
God.
That laugh was still enough to wreck him a little. Even after almost three years of this. Jabber dropped the gift bag onto the bed beside him before leaning back lazily again.
Then: “Fight me.”
Zanka sighed immediately.
“There it is.”
“It’s my birthday.”
“That’s not how birthdays work.”
“It is for me.”
Jabber grinned wider. He looked alive tonight. Not calm. But bright in that terribly dangerous way he only got after violence or affection.
Sometimes both.
Especially both.
Zanka crossed the room slowly.
“You’re drunk.”
“Little bit.”
“You started three fires today.”
“Only two were illegal.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Jabber sat up fully now. Watching him too closely. Always too closely. Then suddenly, he grabbed the front of Zanka’s shirt and yanked him forward hard enough that he stumbled against the edge of the mattress.
“Fight me,” Jabber repeated quieter this time.
There it was again. Not aggression. Not really. It was their version of wanting something soft without admitting it out loud. Zanka stared at him flatly for one second. Then he shoved him backward hard enough to slam him against the headboard.
“There.”
Jabber’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Oh, perfect.”
He lunged immediately. Fast and laughing. Zanka blocked the strike automatically before twisting hard enough to throw Jabber sideways across the mattress. The cheap motel bed frame slammed loudly into the wall. Jabber barked another delighted laugh.
“Hell yeah!”
“You are unbelievably annoying.”
“You like me annoying.”
“I tolerate you annoying.”
“Same thing.”
Jabber grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him down onto the bed hard enough that both of them nearly rolled off the mattress entirely. No real fighting. No weapons. Just rough hands and adrenaline and biting laughter. The kind of violence that had somehow become intimacy between them. Jabber pinned him briefly against the mattress while grinning down at him wild-eyed and flushed from alcohol and excitement.
“You hit softer now.”
“I don’t want to actually hurt you.”
“That’s romantic.”
Zanka shoved him violently sideways again.
“You’re insane.”
“So?”
Jabber caught an elbow directly across the mouth moments later. Blood appeared instantly at the corner of his lip. He looked thrilled about it.
God.
Zanka hated how attractive that was.
The motel room felt too warm now. The ceiling fan rattled overhead as rain tapped softly outside. Both of them were breathing harder than necessary. Then, Jabber lunged again. Zanka caught him this time. One hand fisted tightly in his shirt while the other slammed him hard against the wall beside the bed. The impact rattled the cheap motel lamp. Jabber inhaled sharply. Then immediately stopped fighting.
He just stared at him instead.
Too close.
Too bright-eyed.
Blood still smeared faintly across his mouth.
“You happy now?” Zanka muttered breathlessly.
Jabber’s grin widened slowly.
“Almost.”
A dangerous answer. A very dangerous answer.
Zanka kissed him anyway.
Jabber made a sharp noise low in his throat before grabbing him violently closer with both hands. The kiss tasted like cigarettes and blood and cheap liquor. Messy. Rough. Perfect. Jabber kissed like he fought, reckless, intense, and slightly unhinged. His hands slid beneath Zanka’s shirt immediately like he physically couldn’t stop touching him once he started.
“You gave me exactly what I wanted,” he laughed breathlessly against his mouth.
“A concussion?”
“A fight.” Jabber kissed him again quickly. “And this.”
Zanka rolled his eyes despite himself.
“You have terrible standards.”
“Yeah,” Jabber murmured, grinning against his lips. “But you keep meeting them anyway.”