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Zanka praises her the first time they meet.
"I've never seen power like this before," he says, in complete awe. Eishia's heard about him in bits and pieces, the Nijiku boy who'd broken away from the herd and chosen the path of a Cleaner. It's only been a few days since his arrival and there's been little opportunity to see him in person, what with her studies and her training. But she knows of the Hell Guard's reputation – their intimidation tactics and almost vitriolic disdain for Givers. It had been easy to build up a picture in her mind of what he'd be like. A shadowy and mean-spirited figure waiting just around the corner.
She feels a bit ashamed now for the prejudice, her imagination always running away from her. Zanka is nothing like the stuff of her expectations. He's out of uniform, a baggy t-shirt doing nothing to obscure just how slim he is, and a pair of dangly earrings brushing his shoulders. The compliment takes a moment to sink in and Eishia blinks up at him, trying to discern whether there's any mocking yet only finding sincerity in the bright shine of his eyes. She averts her gaze, turns her attention back to her work.
"You haven't been here for long enough. There are plenty of people more powerful," Eishia murmurs this as she pushes her hat back. The proof is in the fact that she's not been able to heal the man in front of her. A Supporter she's not very familiar with who'd limped along to the infirmary with Zanka's help and passed out from the pain of a broken leg shortly after. She scans his prone form, grateful that he's not awake to see just how much she's failed at such a simple task. The inflammation was reduced, three different sore spots turning into a memory. But the bone hasn't knitted back together in spite of her effort. Eishia's busy securing the Supporter's leg into a splint. It's a solution which will take more time than instant healing, a misstep that'll cost him time off the field. She frowns at the thought, her palms like corrugated iron as she goes through each practiced movement. Almost forgets Zanka is here until he shifts and his shoes squeak against the linoleum. He's still standing with his hands in his pockets.
"There's no reason to be humble. I didn't even realise jinkis could heal. You've gotta be the best doctor around." He's serious, his feathered brows furrowed while keeping his attention on the splint. Eishia has the realisation that he must not have met her grandmother yet – knows he wouldn't have made such a bold statement if he had. Still, the compliment isn't hollow and she has enough manners to nod, her cheeks warm and her chest stirring with an emotion she hasn't known before.
"Thank you."
***
It doesn't take much time at all for Zanka to settle into the role of a Cleaner. Eishia would deem him prodigious if not for the fact that much of his success is born from consistent effort, long hours spent sparring, a strict regimen that she gleans while going about her own day. If there's anything innate about Zanka's handling of his jinki, he supersedes it with hard work.
The days pass by fast enough. There are more assignments and more patients to see, though rarely ever is Zanka one of her patients since he does end up going to Alice. Eishia isn't upset by this, can't afford to be upset because then she'd have to wonder why and she's never been much good at introspection.
Things ramp up a bit with the arrival of the Spherite. Rudo, if she remembers correctly. She'd not been aware the day he'd arrived. Semiu likes to say that the infirmary is the heart of HQ but Eishia doesn't feel that way most of the time, cut off from the rest of the building like a heart with no oxygen. Time seems to move differently in here, like there's something to the lighting which keeps Eishia a step behind all the rest. So information often travels slower. It had taken her three days to hear about Rudo, and only because Riyo had been hanging about, draping herself over Eishia's shoulders to distract her from her work.
I hope he can survive, she thinks absently, picking at the loose fold of her elbow while she watches her computer shut down. After his arrival, there seemed to have been more Trash Beast sightings. Eishia's deeper in her work than ever before; the little nook of her office has become a second home. If not for the reminder notes left by August and Riyo, she might forget to ever even leave.
She lifts her arms into a light stretch with a yawn and drifts out into the corridor. It's a little past nine. The dining hall closes by nine-thirty which means there's just enough time for a late dinner. Most people are already done by now but Eishia follows the growing scent of roasted potatoes while the tap of her heels echoes behind her.
There's only a smattering of people around the hall, though Eishia doesn't pay attention to who exactly. She's on a time crunch, the mission of getting the last lasagne being of great importance. It's as she's weaving around the tables that a familiar voice calls out and stops her in her tracks. "Eishia!"
Zanka is sat down at an adjacent table. He's paler under the strong fluorescence and Eishia is only slightly surprised that he's alone. Not many people adhere to the same strict schedule he does, not many are bullheaded enough to try. He waves her over and though the gesture coats her skin like saltwater, she complies.
"Is there something you need, Zanka?" she asks, glancing at his tray where a half-eaten burger sits. There's a smear of sauce close to his mouth which must be from the food and she has to make sure not to stare.
"Can you heal this?"
Eishia squints. A quick scan shows that there are no obvious wounds or injuries but that doesn't mean he can't be hurt. "Heal what?"
"This," he insists, and holds his hand out for perusal. It's out of reflex that Eishia accepts it into her own grasp, her thumb brushing against the apex of his wrist as she manoeuvres for examination. It's not clear at first, not until she takes a closer look. There's a gash running down the length of his pinky.
"How did you manage this?"
Zanka is slow to respond, staring between them like he's never seen his own hand before. Then he jerks his head, seeming to register the question and he frowns. The cut of his jaw is lax as he leans in, appearing as if a great secret is about to be imparted. Eishia leans in too, meets him halfway and hopes it's nothing confidential. Her nerves wouldn't be able to handle it.
"Paper cut." Then Zanka grins, all easy leisure.
The price for his amusement is her naivete and Eishia drops his hand, straightening her spine into rigidity. "Very funny."
"I'm not kidding." Zanka shakes his hand around. "The cut stings."
It gives her pause. That ever present desire to help rears its head even as she pushes the urge down, striding away before she actually gives in and uses her vital instrument on a paper cut of all things. She only looks back once, catches sight of Zanka's crestfallen expression, his ridiculous brows drooping. He's gone by the time she's got her own food and she doesn't feel any better. Her potatoes are soggy.
I will not feel bad.
She does though, of course. Always somehow more susceptible when Zanka's the person needing help – something to do with his reluctance to be vulnerable, probably.
Probably.
***
There's a time and a place for rest. Eishia ignores this fact and heads straight back to the infirmary as soon as she's done with the sodden meal. If she can finish this section on the pericardium then sleeping will be like a well-deserved reward. Two paragraphs into the chapter, there's a firm knock on the door and Zanka pops his head in. His bottom lip is red raw from being chewed.
"I was only joking earlier," he says, bypassing a greeting entirely. "I didn't mean to offend you."
August always calls Eishia a little pushover. In this moment, as she sighs, she wonders if he's right. "You should come in," she says, already standing up with the invite, ready to usher him over for examination. Zanka seems confused but he listens and enters the room. He stands, just as he did the first time they met. Then he shuffles closer and perches himself on the examination table, tall enough that his shoes brush the ground instead of dangling the way hers do. "I'll have a quick look at your hand."
"You don't have to," Zanka says, his voice breaking a little in his protest.
Eishia cocks her chin, angled to meet him on the same level. "You said it stings."
"It– it does." For the first time, Zanka appears flustered, his ears a little pinker now than they were earlier. It shouldn't please Eishia the way it does right now but she can't deny that a heady sense of satisfaction settles at the base of her throat. She holds back a smile and points at the adjacent sink.
"You'll need to rinse the cut out first."
Contrary to what some might expect, Zanka is obedient most of the time. It doesn't take any extra prodding for him to listen and he does as requested, holds his hand under the running water, turns his skin red with the cold. The remainder of the bleeding tapers off by the time he's drying the surrounding area. He holds his hand out for her and she takes care to work with precision, dabbing antibiotic ointment all along the cut. Zanka's face contorts into a wince but he doesn't pull away, just looks up at her.
"Usually, this would be enough but I'll wrap it up too because of its length." Eishia showcases the bandage before unrolling it and Zanka follows the movement with his eyes, his lips quirking up into a slight smile.
"Y'know, I was beginning to worry about you." It's surprising enough that Eishia almost stops what she's doing, though she forces herself to push through it and presses one end of the bandage against the base of his pinky.
"Why?"
"We're teammates, aren't we?"
Eishia's breaths come shallow. Nonchalance is a hard thing to fake when your entire life has been marked by the opposite, emotions always a beacon. "We are."
"Friends too," Zanka continues, tilting his head a little just to catch her eye. "You work too hard." Eishia snorts despite herself. It's an unpleasant sound, like a gunshot in the quiet.
"Isn't that rich coming from you?"
"I take breaks." She raises her brow, full of doubt and Zanka grins, self-aware enough to be sheepish. "At least I don't skip dinner. It was good to see you today."
Eishia secures the gauze and presses her index into the pad of his thumb. There's no medical reason for it other than to ground herself. She ignores the urge to do it with all his fingers, refuses to push any of this past the limits that have been set. "I don't always skip meals." It's with slight reluctance that she takes a step back, brushing down her dress while he flexes his hand.
"Join me tomorrow then?" Zanka asks, not looking up as he does. It's been so long since he joined the Cleaners, a while since Eishia had the murky expectations of what he would be. But she can see it for a moment – the bulk of a person draped in the certainty of a bloodline that runs as wide as rivers. And beyond that, she can also see his concerted defiance against everything it stands for. Zanka asks for things like his tongue is heavy, permissive when he's trying not to be.
Eishia doesn't know what to do with the observation. Doesn't know what to do with him at all, really.
"If my schedule permits then yes, I'll join you." It's already a done deal in her mind, her schedule clearing out to make it work. The infirmary doesn't look so lonely with Zanka at its centre, like the walls have gained a heartbeat, the floors breathing beneath the both of them. Eishia casts her sight around for a moment before deciding on something. "I usually keep these for Team Child but I'll give you one just this once." She takes two short steps and rummages around in a pot hidden out of view to pluck out a lollipop. "For being a good patient."
She walks back and places the lollipop in his other hand with care. Zanka doesn't question the gift. "Thank you." His fingers curl around it automatically and she's filled with deep content. Helping patients out tends to do that. It serves as a reminder that even without involvement of a jinki, she can be of use. On that note, she turns and heads for her desk to start on her treatment notes, as meticulous as ever.
There's an exhale from Zanka, solid and heavy. "Being the exception like this, I could almost be led into thinking you have a soft spot for me." Eishia doesn't reply, the document in front of her falling out of focus even as the scratch of her pen fills the room. She's tachycardic, her pulse thudding due to the fear of being transparent when she doesn't even understand herself. The wavering laugh behind her is more air than anything else and is punctuated by the crumple of a wrapper. "Or maybe I'm just seeing what I want to."