Work Text:
-- 1 --
“I can cook.”
The humming of the Bounty’s engines fills the cramped room as Zane’s words sink in. It’s the fifth time this week that the ninja have eaten takeout, and it’s only Wednesday.
The Nindroid is surprised his friends haven’t asked him to fulfill his role as the cook yet. In the days since their return from the Never-Realm, not one of them has brought it up. It immediately struck him as odd, but he didn’t mention it. But now, after watching them continue to eat subpar food with no nutritional value day after day, he’s decided the time’s come to return to his post.
“Zane, it’s okay, you don’t have to do that.” Cole, at last, says from his left. His voice sounds concerned almost, but Zane can’t think what the reason for that would be.
Shaking his head, Zane says, “I’m sure you all are tired of eating fast food, it only makes sense that I return to cooking, it does not bother me.”
Across the table, his teammates share glances. They also seem to carry some air of concern, confusing Zane further.
“Okay, well, if you’re sure,” Jay smiles lightly, “I know I’m speaking for everyone when I say we’ve missed your great cooking.”
--
The next evening, Zane starts setting out all the equipment he’ll need for the dinner he’s preparing tonight. It’s been so long since he cooked (much longer than anyone knows), and so he’s decided to go with something simple, a beef stew. Such a dish doesn’t require very much work from him other than the preparation, so it should be a good way for him to restore his cooking skills to working order.
His teammates are training on the deck, so he knows he won’t be disturbed.
Zane sets the large pot on the stove and turns the heat up. He takes the task off of his mental checklist, and then moves towards the raw beef he’d set out earlier. The red meat is high quality, looking perfect for his teammates. Using a pair of scissors, he cuts open the packaging of that red meat, freeing it from the confining plastic.
After setting the scissors back in their correct location, Zane moves to pick up the red, red meat, and he feels himself slightly hesitate. That’s odd. He knows he sanitized his hands before starting, so he’s unsure of what would make him falter now. Perhaps he’s more out of practice than he realized.
Whatever the case, he shakes off the hesitation and picks up the beef, feeling and watching its red, red juices (blood) flow onto his hands, his wrists, his forearms. The blood (juices) only gets so far because he’s transfixed in watching it as he holds the meat. He stares as his hands become thoroughly soaked, and the blood begins to coalesce into tiny droplets, dripping onto the packaging, the counter, his staff, the wooden floor.
Another moment passes, and Zane finally moves the meat to the cutting board as intended. He doesn’t bother to dry his hands when he grabs a cutting knife. Picture in mind of how he will dice the meat, he begins cutting it up. How long it’s been since he’s done something so mundane. He applauds his choice in meat again as he finds it to be extremely tender. In fact, slicing it is so automatic that for an instant he feels outside himself, watching with another’s eyes as he continues to cut up the red, red meat.
The bloody red meat parts easily under his bloody red knife held by his bloody red hand, and he closes his eyes and…and—
His staff is pointed at the last of the inhabitants of this village that dared to defy him. Vex stands beside him. ‘Show them your might, my Emperor,’ he says with vicious smile.
The wind howls as he raises his staff, and the villager chances a look up, eyes sparkling with fiery hope. He hates fire. The staff comes down twice as hard. Crimson falls upon the white of his snow and ice.
Eyes bursting open, the first thing Zane sees is that horrible, awful, red meat, cut to pieces. He throws it in the pot with far more force than is necessary, not that he notices.
He feels like he’s suffocating, which maybe on another day he’d find funny considering he doesn’t need oxygen. Now though, all he can see is that image, that memory, it’s seared onto his mind.
Warnings flash across his periphery, words such as overexertion and overheating strobing viciously, but he can’t focus on them enough to understand their meaning.
The only thing that is truly clear for him is the cold bite of the air in the Never-Realm, the way his hand feels gripping the staff, the sound of Vex’s voice enticing him to fall deeper and deeper.
Immediately he’s on the floor in a heap, scrambling backwards until his back hits a wall.
Zane swears he sees dark ice seeping into the wood below him and his eyes squeeze shut.
Where is he? He can’t—he can’t be back in the Never-Realm. He can’t be near that man again, and he can never become that—that monster again. He doesn’t want to!
What if he is back there? What if he never leaves again? What if they force him to forget everything, everyone again?
He can’t stand the thought of opening his eyes and finding himself back in that cursed throne room, where it was frigid and unrelenting. Where it was colder than even the coldest days in Birchwood Forest.
He doesn’t know what to do. He’s back and his friends may not find him and he’s suffocating and he’s terrified.
Zane waits for his limbs to not feel like his anymore, for them to move seemingly of their own accord in some vile action. He waits for Vex’s persuading voice. He waits for the bitter cold.
It doesn’t come.
He waits and waits until he can’t stand it anymore and so he carefully opens his eyes. There is no ice, there is no Vex, there is no Never-Realm. There’s just the kitchen. There’s just the wooden floor under him, slightly damp, and the cabinetry and appliances surrounding him.
Slowly, the rest of his senses come back to him. He feels the wood grain, hears the sizzling of the meat, smells the burnt smoke.
Wait—smoke?
Zane jolts up from where he was sitting and turns around to look at the stove. Sure enough, above the pot floats telltale black plumes.
As Zane moves to clean up the burned mess, he suppresses a sigh. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as ready to cook again as he thought.
The ninja order takeout again that night.
-- 2 --
Zane puts the finishing sprinkles of salt and pepper on the cracked eggs. Behind him, the onions and peppers are sizzling on the stove. There is no meat in the kitchen.
A few days have passed since the incident with the stew, and Zane has found that he’s become impatient. He wants to cook again. He doesn’t like sitting around and doing nothing, especially when his friends keep telling him not to train. If he’s not going to train with the rest of them, the least he could do is make sure they have something pleasant to eat. And if preparing dinner isn’t working for him now, very well then, he’ll just have to make breakfast again.
Zane has been extra careful this time to avoid any more mishaps. He has been precise every step of the way, down to the exact number of diced bits of vegetables put into the pan. He won’t burn the food this time. He won’t disappoint his team this time, he won’t.
When Zane had told them that they would have to order takeout again that night, no one had shown any outward disappointment. He’s sure, though, that his friends were upset by the development, and that they’d simply wanted to be polite and pretend like eating takeout a sixth time was okay.
And when he’d told them it would be a few more days until he could cook again, they’d shown nothing but support. Zane wants to lean into that support. Oh, how he aches for it. But he can’t without a voice nagging at him saying that it’s fake, that he’s being a burden for his friends.
That’s how he finds himself here, in the kitchen, awake before anyone else, trying to prepare some omelets. This task used to be so simple, so why does it feel insurmountable now?
Grabbing a whisk, Zane begins beating the seasoned eggs. It’s a tedious task, so of course he immediately begins thinking of something else.
Clearly, what happened last time was a fluke caused by him allowing his mind to drift away. He just needs to focus on the task. That is all. That’s easier said than done, though.
It’s curious, Zane thinks, he doesn’t remember having such difficulty controlling his thoughts before. He almost scoffs. ‘Control’. What interesting phrasing, what fitting phrasing, considering that was something he was robbed of for sixty years—
Focus.
The bright yellow of the beaten eggs come back into view, and Zane can see that they now contain tiny pockets of air, a result of vigorous (too vigorous) mixing. He needs to do better at staying on task, he doesn’t want a repeat of last time, remember?
Zane sets down the rime-covered whisk (wait, rime? Never mind, just another thing to file away for later contemplation) and pours part of the eggs into the pan to begin making the first omelet.
The eggs sizzle as Zane watches them intently, making sure that there’s no room for him to make yet another mistake.
The sounds of the sizzling eggs seem familiar. Almost like…almost like the wind. Yes, like the harsh winds that always blew in the Never-Realm. Like the wind that drowned out all other noise as he rode on the back of his Boreal, the wind that deafened their screams as he slaughtered—
Focus!
A blink and then Zane’s back from the cold winter of the Never-Realm, back to the eggs, which are now beginning to turn slightly brown at the edges. Must be time to flip them over.
Zane grabs the pan’s handle, and it’s only then that he realizes his hands are shaking. The annoyance he feels at having an unsteady grip quickly makes its way towards fury. An unstoppable climb of anger, and Zane is powerless to stop it.
Because why shouldn’t be angry? These trembling hands only serve to demonstrate that life as Zane knew it is over. He has forever been ruined by the Never-Realm. He may be in Ninjago, but don’t these hands show that he is still the claim of the realm of ice and snow?
His body may be metal, but the scars he carries are just as real as the weakened flesh adorning his fellow ninja.
The only difference is that he is the only one who can see them. He is the only one that recognizes that he cannot go even an hour without some thought or memory of the Never-Realm forcing its way into his head. There is no one that can understand anything. Not his anger, not his rage, not the fact that this is all his fault, one way or another.
For a moment, Zane doesn’t feel fury metaphorically burning through his code, and so he moves to flip the eggs. He should’ve known it was a quiet sort of anger.
All he ever wanted to do was protect their master, which clearly, must have been the wrong choice (but isn’t he supposed to protect those that can’t protect themselves?), and for that, the universe decided that most of his life should be spent as a tool who can do nothing but watch as his hands bring ruin.
It’s not fair! Years and years and years of his life, gone! He’ll never be able to—!
FO-
The cooking eggs launch into the air, far higher than they should’ve from just a little pan flip. Though the harsh grip that Zane’s touch sensors are only just now feeling tells him that maybe that flip wasn’t quite so little after all. The eggs go up, and they don’t come down.
Zane looks up, where the eggs are stuck to the ceiling. He closes his eyes and counts to three. He’ll allow himself this.
“Shit.”
With a thump, the mishandled eggs hit the floor.
--
An hour later, with bags of delivered breakfast lining the table, all Zane can think about is his failure to keep himself in check, and the bitter chill dominates any warmth.
-- 3 --
Zane can’t stop thinking something bad is going to happen. The incident with the eggs feels almost like a sign of some sort. This sign is telling him that there’s something within him, something that he needs to shackle with the unbreakable chains of self-control. Or, rather, what used to be unbreakable.
Every day, he wakes up and sees a monster when he looks in the mirror. He hates that he gets up at all. He doesn’t deserve to be here, to be saved. Not when so many have suffered because of him. His paltry amends and apologies don’t fix sixty years of subjugation. They don’t fix the species he literally snuffed out of existence. Their ghosts follow him, screaming in his ears.
The guilt he feels every waking moment surrounds him, crushes him, threatens to swallow him whole.
It’s been a month since Zane’s returned from the Never-Realm, and he’s been of no more use to the team than when they thought he was dead. He is somehow just as pathetic now as he was then. This does nothing but add to his endless guilt.
He feels like a leech, like a parasite. Just taking, taking, taking and giving nothing. It disgusts him. Both the action, and the ease at which he’s doing it. He’s almost gotten used to it at this point. Providing nothing. Doing nothing but sitting around all day, taking up space. His only saving grace is that he doesn’t need to eat, meaning no one ever has to order or cook for him. He doesn’t even need to breathe. He’s always kept it up as a habit, but more than once recently he’s considered stopping, because what need is there for him to take up the air?
He’s been keeping his distance from his teammates. It’s the least he can do. But to say that he’s doing it entirely for their sake would be a lie. It’s selfish really. He doesn’t want them to get too close. To see the horrible beast behind his eyes, ready to consume them all. Would they really let him stay, if they knew?
It’s selfish, but he doesn’t want to find out. He fears the day that they gaze upon him with even a fraction of the hate he has towards himself. He knows it’s coming. He would rather stay it a little further.
If he was being honest though, nonsensically, Zane almost wishes it would happen already. The suspense is eating him up from the inside, slowly corroding any sort of hope he could have for something better. What is the figure of speech humans have? Wanting to “rip the bandage off”? That’s what he wants, sometimes. Every so often he feels like gathering up his team and showing them just how horrible he is, so they would finally do something about it. He doesn’t care what would happen to him after that.
Zane knows that this is perhaps not the best way to think. But clinical logic is no longer a comfort to him, not after sixty years of it. That same cold logic is how he felt no remorse, no regret, no hesitation. Forgive him for wanting to stay far away from that right now.
Not that he can banish logic from his head. There’s too much of that in him. Too much of him in him. So, he just represses it instead. Hoping that when it and everything else finally bursts he won’t hurt too many people in the process.
The rest of the ninja sit in the living room, watching a movie while eating takeout from somewhere nearby. Zane guesses that the movie’s some kind of comedy, judging from his teammates’ laughs and quiet commentary. He wants to join them, it’s been so long since he’s been able to sit down and just enjoy something, but he knows it’s better that he doesn’t. They’re happy. He can’t ruin that. He can’t allow himself to ruin them.
From the other room, he hears one of his friends comment on their lack of snacks, and that gives the Nindroid an idea.
Sure, every attempt at cooking that he’s made so far has ended in failure, but this shouldn’t be too difficult, right? Rummaging around the cabinet, Zane finds a bag microwaveable popcorn. He unseals it and puts it in the microwave, setting the timer for a few minutes.
It couldn’t be any easier than this. All he has to do is watch the timer and pay attention to the popping.
For a few moments, everything is fine. He feels, useful. It feels…nice. He lets himself melt into the feeling, allows the crushing guilt and overwhelming worry to fade into the background. He doesn’t really recognize that he’s doing it, awareness withering away with the rest.
So, of course, when he does realize what’s happening, the maelstrom of feelings come back to him in full force, almost knocking him over at their intensity.
Panic begins to rise in him like a wave, tearing down the hard-won yet fleeting peace he’d only just found.
This was a bad idea. Walking in there, popcorn in hand, would mean opening himself up to their stares, their questions. As much as he wants to just do this one thing for them, he can’t do that.
He just knows he’ll mess it up somehow. If he opens his mouth, or, FSM forgive, his heart, the beast will no doubt escape. It will tear them to shreds, and then it would turn on him. Actually, the second part doesn’t sound so bad.
The popcorn is popping, and it’s just too, too loud. It reminds him of when he cooked the eggs, and how horrendously that had gone. How it had sounded like the roaring winds of the Never-Realm. The popping sounds like his staff smashing against the ground, a long-overdue awakening.
He doesn’t get sucked into the memory like last time, but it leaves him feeling raw. A little sharp at the edges. Which, again, is why he shouldn’t get too close. What was he thinking?
Zane looks at the popcorn, popping, popping, popping in the microwave. The decision that comes next is easy.
That doesn’t stop the shame.
--
When the ninja rush to kitchen at the smell of burning, the only thing there to greet them is a burnt bag of popcorn in the garbage. Zane, coward that he is, can’t bring himself to offer any explanation, so he stays away, hidden in some corner of the Bounty.
If the food was burnt when it could have easily been salvaged, well, no one has to know.
-- 4 --
Well, this was unexpected, to say the least.
Being a Nindroid, Zane had never expected to feel this exhausted, this spent, this used up. He’d liken it to that feeling of being well-lived that humans have. He would, if that could even describe this well at all.
Zane’s vocabulary is expansive, a result from his love of reading (which, thinking about it, he doesn’t find he cares much to do right now), so why is it that he can’t describe how he feels?
Now that he considers it, perhaps that’s just the issue. He can’t put into words the emotions he’s experiencing because he’s finding that he’s not feeling much of anything anymore.
In the past, this would have scared him. Hell, even now, it should scare him, given what he’s just endured for decades. Being a machine, no more, no less. Simply lines of code on a screen. That was once his biggest fear, and now he’s lived it. The last few weeks, before this apathy, he’d been actively avoiding the cold, clinical, and logical part of himself. Now, that’s all he has left.
He finds he doesn’t particularly care one way or another.
Ever since his last attempt at cooking went awry, Zane has been surrounded by nothing but apathy. It’s been a little over a week since then, and during that time Zane’s heart has been as cold as the ice for which he is known. The world moves around him as he remains as stagnant as the morning after a snowstorm.
His fellow ninja have begun a cooking rotation of their own, so while Zane may still not be cooking for them all, at least they aren’t eating takeout for every meal anymore.
Zane knows he should feel some type of way about that. But he doesn’t. Perhaps there is something to be said, some kind of joke to be made, about ice or frostbite or numbness, but Zane could hardly aspire to have enough humor within himself to recognize that on a normal day, much less when he’s devoid of any feeling whatsoever.
The Nindroid supposes it’s fair that he hasn’t felt much, considering he hasn’t done much either. He’s continued not to cook, and Master Wu still has not allowed him to train. Normally, that would be to his dismay, but now, well…
And so, Zane has been doing very much of nothing lately. He’s tried to meditate, but it turns out that meditation is not truly achieved in the absence of emotions. Meditation for him has always been about letting feelings flow through him so they do not overwhelm or distract. But what is he supposed to do when there isn’t anything to be felt in the first place? Meditating makes him feel emptier than he already is. Like a shell. It makes him all the more aware of what he now lacks.
While Zane hasn’t been meditating successfully, he has been doing a lot of sitting, and thinking. He’s sure that his fellow ninja believe him to be meditating when what he’s really doing is contemplating what has gotten him to this point, and just how tired he really is.
He feels so weary it tears deep into his gears and metal parts. He’s never felt such exhaustion before. Not like this. And he’s sure that if he had capacity or energy to feel right now, he’d feel depressed at the thought. As a robot, he’s supposed to be above exhaustion like this, and now he can’t even do that. What is the point of being a Nindroid if all he experiences are the pitfalls?
As they so often do nowadays, Zane’s thoughts frequently turn to the Never-Realm. Perhaps that’s where this exhaustion comes from. And, logically, it makes sense. Not only was he there for decades, but for every single moment of those decades he was funneling his power through the staff. He never had a moment of true rest. Maybe for the last few weeks Zane has been on some sort of imitation of adrenaline that’s now worn off.
Yes, it makes sense. That doesn’t mean that Zane enjoys the exhaustion that’s forced its way into him. Really, Zane doesn’t find himself enjoying anything. He supposes that comes with the apathy.
Right now, he’s the only ninja on the Bounty, each of his teammates performing some sort of chore or duty or whatnot. And, for just a fleeting moment, Zane has an idea. The peace and quiet of his surroundings are perfect for cooking, as he can do so with no distraction. So why not make something for his friends to enjoy upon their return? Something akin to enthusiasm flickers in his chest, but it’s snuffed out by the biting winds of apathy in the same breath.
He pretends to feel disappointed.
What’s happened to him? He used to love cooking. It was a way for him to provide, for him to take care of his friends. That’s who he was. The caretaker, the provider, the protector. But the Never-Realm has turned him into someone he can’t recognize. Just who is he now? He’s tried to return to the role, but thrice now he’s failed. And now, as the opportunity presents itself yet again, he can’t find the energy within himself to even move a centimeter, much less walk to the kitchen and make a meal. Even he can see the irony in that.
Still, Zane believes he should do something for the ninja when they come back. Fortunately, being in the control room, he’s already got everything he needs. Thank FSM that their favorite noodle place delivers. Using the Bounty’s computer, Zane presses the ‘call’ button on the restaurant’s website. While waiting for the other side to pick up, he mentally prepares to put as much emotion as possible into his voice; he’d rather not spook the poor worker who answers.
-- 5 --
Zane’s not sure when it started, but the fog that has been dulling his senses for weeks has been starting to lift. So far, he’s only seen it in the little things. A fraction a smile at his team’s antics, mild annoyance at a fly that got stuck in the bathroom, a little bit of sadness when reflecting on the past.
He’s not back yet, but he isn’t feeling nothing either. He just wonders what will happen when the apathy fully goes away; he’d rather not return to emotional turmoil.
Where his apathy disappears, his energy reappears, and Zane almost feels like doing something, anything, again. More than once, he’s caught Master Wu looking at him with an inscrutable expression, and so Zane wonders if perhaps he will be able to train again soon.
Much of Zane’s routine the last few weeks has been the same, with the sitting and thinking, but it’s less…detached than it was. He’s not sure if he can call what he’s been doing meditating just yet, as he still isn’t feeling fully, but it’s closer to that than just doing nothing.
Zane’s been spending more time outside the Bounty. Not in the city or anything, but rather sitting on the deck or on the roof or whatnot. Each time he goes out there, he feels a little more of the fresh air, feels a bit more of the sun caressing him.
His touch sensors have never been perfect, and he knows that a lot of this is just his mind filling in the gaps, but he notes it as progress all the same.
With this progress, Zane has found a new determination to cook, because even with everything, he still prefers not to do nothing. And the idea of cooking, he doesn’t hate it. Of course, any feelings of liking it he has are still very limited, but they’re there, nonetheless.
He wants to…create something, for his friends. He doesn’t want to sit around and wait anymore. He’s done enough of that for a lifetime.
--
A few hours later and Zane is waiting patiently by the oven for the spaghetti to finish baking. Preparing it had been so easy, so simple. It was almost like old times. There were no memories assaulting him, no unwelcome trips to the past. Just him, and his desires, and his abilities.
It’s been so long since it was just him. Ever since he’s been back, there’s been some sort of unwanted companion with him in his head. And then before that there was Vex. Enough said.
Zane’s noticed that he’s been getting a little better at that too. Stopping these trains of thought before they get out of hand. He isn’t always successful. He wouldn’t even say he’s mostly successful. But it works sometimes, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what matters.
He’s not sure if it’s because of the remnants of the apathy or because maybe he is improving in some capacity. He doesn’t dwell on it too much either way because the pessimism is easy to get lost in, and the optimism would be crushing if he was wrong.
Finally, the oven beeps. Without thinking, Zane grabs the pan from the oven. The burning he feels makes him recoil instantly. Given his position, this also makes the pan fall to the ground, spaghetti in tow.
A moment passes, and all Zane can do is stare at the spilled spaghetti coating the floor.
And then, without warning, Zane starts laughing. It’s a small thing, more akin to a giggle or chuckle. Either way, it’s fully unexpected. He was ready for the discouragement, for the devastation, but truly, all he can do is laugh. He doesn’t even know what he’s laughing at.
As his laughter wears down, Zane finds that he feels…surprised. The last few minutes have had him feeling more than he has in weeks. The burning sensation, now that he thinks of it, wasn’t muted at all. And the laughing, whatever emotion that was, didn’t feel stilted or dimmed.
Zane moves to grab his cleaning supplies. Looks like the ninja will have to order takeout again after all, what a shame.
He’ll just have to make sure to wear his oven mitts next time. He doesn’t know how he could’ve—wait a minute…next time?
Yes, next time. There will be one, Zane is sure of it.
-- +1 --
“I can cook.”
Zane lets the humming of the Bounty’s engines fill his ears in the following silence. He’s started to sit with the ninja again as they eat, trying to close the distance he created. It was only a couple days ago that he made the spaghetti, and Zane believes he’s ready for more.
The Nindroid is surprised his friends haven’t brought up his failed attempts at cooking. Throughout all of these weeks and months not a single one of them has mentioned it. That's probably for the best. Really, he’s happy they haven’t, he’d rather not explain how he’s been feeling. Maybe one day, but not now.
“You sure, Zane? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Cole says from his position besides him. Zane can hear the concern laced in his voice now, and he understands it. He sees that same concern reflected in the rest of his friends’ eyes. He wonders if they have talked about this.
Shaking his head with a small smile, Zane says, “Yes, I’m sure. I think…I think I am ready to return to cooking. I…I miss it.”
Across the table, his teammates share glances. This time, it’s not concern in their eyes, but rather something else, something Zane can’t quite place. It’s like, shock, hesitation, but also acceptance.
“Okay, well, if you’re sure,” Jay smiles genuinely, “I know I for one am totally excited to taste whatever you decide to make.”
His friends nod their heads, and Zane feels the warmth.
--
No bubbles line the surface of the mixture after Zane has beaten the eggs in. There are no unfortunate spills on the floor. No broken tools. There’s only Zane, peacefully cooking in the kitchen. Oh, how he’s missed this.
Today, Zane’s baking a simple chocolate cake. Tomorrow, (if this goes well, at least) he will go back to making actual meals, but right now he wants to do something sweet for his team.
He feels…satisfied. He looks upon his work and he does not despair. No, he doesn’t see pain, or the past, or anything that makes him want to give up and never return to the kitchen again. He just sees the batter. He just sees his creation. He just sees his hands finally doing something that he wanted, that he controlled. And cooking without any baggage weighing him down, without feeling like a guest in his own body, well, it’s freeing.
Pouring the finished batter into a pan, Zane contemplates what to do with the bowl. Before he can come to a decision, he notices Cole standing in the doorway.
“Oh man, don’t tell me you’re making what I think you’re making,” Cole says with a smile, sauntering up towards the counter. His eyes gleam with anticipation, which may or may not be what Zane was hoping to see.
“I’m sure you can already tell,” Zane opens the oven door, “but I’m making a chocolate cake.”
Cole hums, “Should’ve made more than one then, you know I can’t resist a good cake.”
Putting the pan in the oven and shutting the door behind it, Zane lightly chuckles, “I suppose that was an oversight on my part.” He stands back up to full height, and his gaze lands on the bowl, which has a considerable amount of leftover batter in it. “Perhaps this would be enough incentive to let our friends eat the cake as well?” Zane picks up the bowl and holds it out in front of him, an offering.
“Hmm…I don’t know…” Cole feigns being deep in thought. Zane just levels him with a look, and soon Cole’s reaching for the bowl, “Oh alright. But that just means you’re going to have to put up with me eating this in here.” He takes a seat at one of stools adjacent to the counter.
“I have no need to worry then,” Zane says, moving towards the cabinet housing his cleaning supplies, “Your presence never bothers me.”
For a few minutes the kitchen is silent, with Zane beginning to clean up after himself and Cole eating the batter. Then Zane becomes aware of another presence at the doorway, or rather, two.
“It appears word is spreading about the cake.” Zane says as he wipes down the counter. Taking the remark as an invitation, Jay and Kai stand next to Cole at the counter.
“Ooh it already smells great!” Jay says excitedly, taking a seat. He finally turns his gaze towards Cole, who’s still eating the batter, “Hey wait a minute! How come Cole’s getting all the good stuff?”
“Snooze you lose Bluebell!” Cole laughs, and soon he’s dodging Jay’s attempts at snatching the bowl from him.
As Cole and Jay bicker, Kai sighs amusedly and looks to Zane, “You good, Zane? You don’t need help with anything right?”
“No, all is well, thank you. The cake should be done soon.”
Seemingly satisfied, Kai takes a seat at the counter as well, and it doesn’t take long for him to start telling Zane all about how training has gone the last few weeks. To his surprise, Zane doesn’t feel even an ounce of jealousy. Not that the emotion’s ever been in his nature, but recently he’s been behaving in ways he’d never expect, so theoretically he supposes anything’s on the table now.
Eventually Cole and Jay join in too, enthusiastically discussing the moves they’ve perfected and the new ones they’ve learned. They’re all looking forward to seeing Zane back out there with them, a feeling to which the Nindroid can relate.
This is the most Zane’s talked in weeks. He hopes it isn’t obvious that it’s starting to wear him out. He’s happy to be around his friends again, but it’s starting to become a little overwhelming. So, he begins phasing himself out of the conversation, and soon enough Cole, Jay, and Kai are talking amongst themselves, Zane only sporadically offering input.
While they talk, Zane wonders why his friends have decided to keep him company now. He’s noticed that none of them came in until he acknowledged their presence, either explicitly or with a mere gaze. Does that mean that they have been doing this the whole time? Have they waited or walked by the door, seeing if he’d invite them in? He hasn’t noticed them, but he’s been lost in his head for the last few weeks, so his failure to notice them doesn’t mean that they were never there.
Does that mean that each time he’s tried to cook, at least one of his teammates has seen him?
He hopes not. He’d rather no one have to see him like that. It’s a bit unsightly. Not to mention, it would make them worry more than they already do, he thinks. He knows that they care, but there are more important things to worry about than him being unable to cook for a while.
Finally, the oven timer goes off, and as Zane starts putting on his oven mitts, he realizes how comfortable he feels. Being here in the kitchen, creating something. He feels needed, wanted. The frigid ghosts of the past are still there of course, nipping at him, but the heat of the oven is enough for them to melt away, at least for now.
As he takes out the now-baked cake, Zane considers if he wants to go through with decorating it like he had planned. He had wanted the cake to be perfect after all. But that could leave room for disaster if he gets carried away again. Not to mention, many of his friends are already here, and Zane remembers that sometimes, you don’t need perfection.
--
After Jay shouts out that the cake is done, it only takes a few minutes for everyone to file in at the table, a plate of cake in front of them. How long it’s been since Zane’s had this. How long indeed. For once, it doesn’t hurt to think about. His friends are chatting around him, but he doesn’t really hear them, not until Lloyd’s voice rises above the rest.
“Wow, Zane, I’ve gotta hand it to you, this is great!” Lloyd says before promptly stuffing his face with more cake.
His friends hum in agreement, and although Zane doesn’t eat, his heart feels full.