Chapter Text
"Zankaaaa"
Jabber's crackly voice nearly makes Zanka leap out of his seat. He'd just finished solo training for the day, and was taking a well-deserved break next to the training grounds before being interrupted. Zanka's eyes do a quick scan of the area to make sure he's alone.
"Jabber. Why're you callin' me in the middle of the day. I could've been around somebody."
He's well aware the whispered reprimand falls on deaf ears, and he knows exactly why Jabber is calling.
"I haven't seen you in soooo long, I started to think you were dead!"
Zanka doesn't dignify that with a response.
"You should come find me."
He wants to. He really wants to. "What if I was busy?"
"Doing what? Mopin'? If you're training you might as well come train with me."
He got him there. He was moping and training. "Fine. Where are you?"
Jabber rattles off some riddle about where he is. Zanka tells Enjin some half-formed explanation about "going to town", then grabs his Lovely Assistaff and leaves to go find Jabber.
Regularly, Jabber finds some niche, hidden spot for them to fight in, calls Zanka so that they can meet up, then they beat each other's asses.
Sometimes after they're done, Jabber complains that he's hungry, and they agree that loser buys dinner. They eat, they talk, then they go their separate ways.
Zanka doesn't dwell on how odd it is that he has regular conversations over dinner with his arch-nemesis, but there are a lot of other odd things about his life that he ignores, so he ignores this part too.
With ease, Zanka identifies the place Jabber was talking about. It's a dark spot between a couple of abandoned buildings, complete with a humid, damp smell and a light sheen on the concrete floor. He knows he's got the right place when, suddenly, he hears the noise of metal unsheathing and a insane giggle approach from behind him.
"Zanka, you made it!"
He uses Lovely Assistaff to catch the claws aimed for his neck before they connect. The next few seconds are defined by a tangle of outstretched limbs, accompanied by the sound of metal clanging and sliding. Over the course of their fights, Zanka has become increasingly adept at predicting Jabber's steps and parrying with enough agility to counter afterwards. He uses these skills to land a few hits and position himself to win.
Jabber shifts his strategy from low strikes to leaping around Zanka like a cat, likely to confuse his senses and throw him off his routine. Zanka catches this and perceptively adjusts his angle of attack. He parries the next few attacks easily. Jabber's distraction tactic almost doesn't work.
On the final leap, his shirt rides up, and Zanka is momentarily distracted. His eyes are drawn to the lines of his rival's abdomen and a fresh bruise that mars the smooth brown skin there.
A fresh bruise that he didn’t put there.
He's so gobsmacked that, instead of utilizing Lovely Assistaff the block the attack the way he should, he hesitates, and Jabber subdues him with one swipe of Mankira’s claws. Zanka hits the damp ground, defeated, and nursing a wound on his upper calf.
Dammit.
Jabber drags him into a quaint restaurant. Luckily, the poison of choice was a simple paralytic that Zanka had been used to, so they didn't have to wait long for it to wear off. He did, however, need to be nearly carried by his opponent to make it to the place. A bit ironic.
They sit down in a booth, and start surveying the menu for something to eat. Jabber starts murmuring about all the stuff he wants to try.
His eyes scan over the words, but Zanka isn't really reading anything. Frankly, he couldn't give a rat's ass about food right now. All he can think about is that ugly mess of red, blue, and purple that stains Jabber's skin. He wants it gone.
His first thought is to target it on purpose during their next fight. Position hits from his staff to blur the edges, cover the bruise with one of his own making. That won't work, he thinks. That would make it last longer instead of covering it up.
His second thought is to find a way to get Jabber to Eishia to heal him to get rid of it entirely. He ponders on this. Obviously, Jabber won’t willingly go to be healed. And he has to get Jabber into the cleaner’s base. And he has to figure out how to convince Eisha to heal a known threat right after Zanka himself has been showing up with suspicious injuries for weeks.
Okay, scratch that plan. Is there a raider healer? Is he the raider healer?
“…Aye, are you payin’ attention to me?”
Zanka blinks and refocuses. Jabber sucks his teeth in annoyance. He points to a particular dish on Zanka's menu.
“I said, you should get the chef special."
Right. They're supposed to be ordering their food. Zanka does a quick glance at the menu. Nothing is popping out to him, but the chef special doesn't really look his speed.
He voices this opinion. "...Why don't you get the chef special, if that's what you want?"
"Because it's not hot, and I want somethin' spicy today." Jabber shakes his head at Zanka as if this was obvious.
Zanka bristles. "What the hell does that hafta do with me?"
"Because I'm gonna eat some of yours! I still wanna try it."
"Order your own shit! How come you're trying to take my food and-"
“Man, you can just try mine. It's okay, I'm cool with it."
“I don’t want your food! I’d rather my tastebuds not be seared off, thanks.”
Jabber shrugs. “Your loss.” He closes the menu and twiddles his thumbs. When the server arrives, he simply orders the item with the most flame icons next to it. Zanka gets the chef special.
After the food arrives, they fall into silence, save for the sound eating and dishware clanging. Jabber reaches over to his plate to take some of the dish he ordered, and Zanka lets him with little fuss. He considers taking some of Jabber's but decides he'd had enough pain today.
Periodically, the two of them get stares from worried patrons and staff alike, and Zanka is reminded of the fact that they’re covered in blood, bruises, and dirt, and must look insane. He used some first-aid supplies to patch up his main injury, but he still clearly looks like he just got into a fight. Maybe he'll suggest adding showers to this little...routine.
His mind returns to the bruise on Jabber's abdomen that he'd like to scrub and scrub and wash away. He wonders if the abrasion from a wash cloth could make the red edges of the injury blend until it wasn't there anymore.
Who is it? Is it another cleaner? A raider? He did mention something about 'the boss' during their second fight. Do they regularly fight? Do they get dinner after, too?
Without thinking about it, he decides to speak.
"Hey."
Jabber lifts his eyes from where they were trained on his bowl. He has a noodle hanging out his mouth.
"Is there...anybody else? That you do..." He pauses to search for the right word "this, with?"
Jabber swallows the bite he had, and raises an eyebrow. "Fuck are you talking about, man?" His eyes return to his bowl for another bite.
"You know" he makes a lazy gesture at the table "this. Our routine."
Assigning joint custody over their weird arrangement is sickeningly embarrassing to do aloud.
Jabber looks back up at him, and one of his mischievous smiles spreads across his face. Dread washes over Zanka.
"You gettin' possessive over me, bad-boy?"
Zanka starts to stutter "I don't- what-" He doesn't have a real reply to that, because he is getting possessive. He wants Jabber to be his only. For obvious reasons, he can't admit that, but he can't come up with any other excuse. He stumbles over a few more words before Jabber cuts him off.
"You can relax, man. I promise- nobody else like you, Zan-ka." He's looking right at Zanka when he says it, eyes locked on his, lips a straight line to indicate that he's dead serious.
After that, he snorts, and goes back to eating.
Zanka's not sure how he can be so nonchalant about it. The reassurance has a conflicting effect of calming the jealousy brewing in his veins and causing his heart to beat so much faster than it was before. Nobody else like me.
Of course, he realizes Jabber doesn't tell him if he's fighting anyone else, or if he goes out to dinner with them, or answer really his question at all. Somehow, the notion that Jabber deems him one-of-a-kind is enough.