Work Text:
Things had been.. Different for a long time now.
Now, different doesn't necessarily mean bad. Well, there are some bad and some good in her situation, as Zanka thinks there probably are in everything.
It's been a year since she and Jabber have been dating. It's been six months since they left their respective.. People, five since they moved into a house hours away from anywhere Zanka ever knew, and two since Zanka got her current job.
Which is one of the worst things about their whole routine now, she supposes.
She loved being a cleaner. A part of her heart found the other people there like a family, and she loved helping people and the praise they gave her, which used to be something reserved for.. People who weren't as useless as her family thought she was. Regardless, she now spends her days in a monotonous, constant cycle. She wakes up, goes to work, of where she basically is an underpaid delivery boy and helps people occasionally find pieces of orders that were stolen or misplaced, watches the sunset, and wishes she were at home, gets to the small wooden shack they call a home to a warm dinner, and passes out. She doesn't mind working as much as she does. Sure, sometimes the conditions of getting a day off once every two weeks kinda fries her brain, but she loves Jabber.
Jabber is the whole reason she’s done this, and it's all worth it for her.
It's not like she can do anything about it; half of the places in this area- no, the ground in general knows her. Jabber's resume is basically trash if the opposition has more money and unconfirmed, but probably a kill count at least higher than years lived. Zanka's is ex-cleaner and ex-Nijiku. That sounds pretty decent to any employers, plus even if they were all good with the other woman going back into crime, this area isn't busy enough for there to be any good jobs, their house is already a long walk from like, anywhere they would be able to find people. But it's all ok, they've been saving money for some transportation and making their shack better.
Plus, Zanka's like 98% that it was always a part of Jabber's fantasy to do this.
(There was a night the woman was drugged off of some new poison Jabber mixed up just for her, something she thought was a good counting gift. She had been under the assumption Zanka couldn't hear and talked and talked about how she’d been watching, oh, how she loved all of Zanka's little mannerisms, the way that she always makes sure she's alone before cleaning, lovely, how each circle is done four times before the next. Talking and talking about her 'love'. If anyone else had heard everything the woman said in the next hour it took to bring her limp body to the cleaners, they would either kill her or get a restraining order. But no.)
The summer heat creates a sheen of sweat to cover her skin, making the thin layer of dirt seem to solidify around the base of her bound wings, the tight fabric making her breath slightly labored as the house comes into vision. Today was one of her long-awaited days off.
She planned to spend it how she normally does, kiss her girlfriend and pass out until she wakes up with her stomach roaring and goes to grab some shitty food that makes for a night into morning of her airplaning chips into Jabber's mouth and threats being tossed back and forth. A sigh, contented, falls from her chest as she thinks of the next day, the ritual of her cleaning her girlfriend's dreads and preening her wings. The woman allowed hers to stretch out, the black and brown feathers always looked so pretty to Zanka, if not bringing her a certain level of amusement when she sees how much lint the feathers seem to pick up from the way they drag on the floor slightly. It makes her smile.
Life is so chaotic, it's nice she gets to have those times with her toxic-situationship turned lover, between the nightly arguments or the occasional tussle in the barren wasteland around their house.
The scent that enters her nose as her hand rests on the door handle makes her mouth water, rich seasoning, and the faint sound of sizzling becomes louder as she opens the door, being graced with the sight of her partner. As she walks closer, she looks at how the woman has her hair up, the flex of her visible arms thanks to her tank top, the length of her wings as they flutter along with the bobbing of her head, probably from whatever music she has blasting in her large headphones.
Her hand finds the woman's waist, of which makes her jump, but then aggressively flicks her wing backwards, putting it behind Zanka's back as she puts her headphones around her neck and secures her wing partially around the other woman. Zanka's head rests on the woman's shoulder, staring down at the salmon in the pan in silence.
"What up, king? Did that asshat from work shout at ya again?" The woman simply grumbles, rubbing her head against the pretty woman's jaw for a second. He did scream at her today, twenty-five minutes of that guy's saliva everywhere, because apparently, he has a vendetta against her. "I'd kill 'em for ya. Ya know I'd get away with it, but I haven't because every time I offer you say-"
"He's just a guy, I shouldn't let it bother me,"
She rolls her eyes.
"It doesn't matter if he's just a guy! Equal rights equal lefts type shit!"
Jabber flips it and checks the internal temperature (A practice Zanka forced her to pick up after watching her cook her chicken, then told her it was medium-rare. An argument around the topic of whether medium rare chicken existed, ending with fists and blood, and a win on Zanka's part.) deciding that it's done after waiting a second. She picks up a plate, then grabs the side of the fish and places it onto it, passing it to the other woman.
"I'll be over in a second, there, sit tight."
Zanka, who was still wanting to be close, but isn't feeling like articulating that, picks up the plate and wanders over to their couch.
It was an old thing. Everything in their house was. Since Jabber didn't have a job, she spent her days either finding shit to add to their mismatched collection of household items or by fixing things. Their microwave is only functional because Jabber found wires in a dumpster one day while she was at work and wired it herself.
Does Zanka know how she does it? No. Does Zanka know that she probably electrocuted herself a billion times while setting up their house? Yes.
A sigh tears itself from her, not uncontent, just tired. Tired from what feels like and has been weeks of work, because when you're actually completing the job gets harder, but when her coworker only does like half of what she does, he gets more time away from his job, and he even gets paid more! But Zanka doesn't think she could bring herself to be intentionally bad at something. She's already bad at most things she tries to do, and the last time she made a mistake at work, it ended with a paydoc and them taking her next day off.
"So," Jabber walks over, handing her a fork and sitting down next to her, the couch creaking as she sits.
"How was work today?" Curiosity fills her tone, a kind that makes Zanka think that, combined with the fact that all of her little projects are cleaned up, means she's spent all day alone and bored.
She cuts into her fish, the seasoning making a black crust on the outside. The only thing they aren't horrendously thrifty about is food. Zanka likes it flavorful. Surviving without a good meal at the end of the day sounds like torture.
"It was.. Fine. The weather made walking hurt more, but eh," She takes a bite of the pink flesh and resists a groan at the flavors, as her eyes close without her permission. After a few seconds, she opens them again and looks over at Jabber, who had already been looking at her.
"Are you preparing me for something? You cleaned the house extra good today, made-"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She narrows her eyes suspiciously, but takes another bite regardless. Jabber giggles at her motion, something that always manages to pull a begrudging smile onto her face.
They eat in silence for a while, or rather, what's the quietest it ever gets in their house, the sounds of Jabber's humming going along with the quiet thumps of bass she can hear from where the other woman's headphones hang around her neck still. After she finishes, she hums, putting her hand out for the other woman to put her plate into.
“Y’know yer gonna get ear damage if you keep listening to that shit on the loudest volume,” Zanka says after she stands, glancing back at the woman in question for a moment as she walks over to the sink, placing the plates into it.
Jabber puts on an exaggerated accent that she's sure is some reference she isn't brain-rotted enough to understand, “Tell me, Zanka, do I look like a give a fuck?”
She rolls her eyes as she walks back around to the couch; her ribs sting slightly. Rather than sitting back down, she leans against a recliner (yet another thing she has no idea how Jabber fixed) and faces the woman.
“Dawg, if you think that's bad, you should hear how it is when you're at work! With the weird speaker thingymabobers i installed, oooooooooooh, Zanki, I can make the floorboards shake.” Jabber shakes her head as she talks, a smile on her face.
Zanka's hands intertwine behind her as she attempts to crack her back, hoping that will relieve some of the pressure. Technically, she wasnt supposed to be wearing the type of undershirt she does while doing physical activity, or for an entire day. Given her experience, back at the cleaners, she practically lived in it, even during training, she thought it wouldn't bother her as much. But apparently, she has not been granted this mercy. “We’re gonna be those old couples that I gotta scream in your ear for me to get into that thick-ass skull o yers.”
Jabber narrows her eyes at Zanka’s motions.
“Shuddup, you can be a sap later, have you not taken that fuckin’ thingymabober off? Ya slept in it last night, and if I look under your shirt and see it- bro, you might be beating me in the stinky competition at this point.”
Zanka matches her motion but rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Can you fuck off? Yer actin’ like it's gonna kill me.”
A hand flies to Jabber's chest as she inhales dramatically, “Oh, if your ribs collapse in on themselves, and it's not from me kicking your shit in, I'm gonna piss on your grave, I'm gonna tell your parents you're gay-”
“Can you stop being a drama queen for five seconds?”
“Can you stop neglecting yourself for five seconds then?” The woman's hand falls onto her waist, fingers curling on the fabric.
Zanka's is caught a little off guard by that, and her head twitches back slightly.
“Oh, please, how much water have you had today? You're one to talk about neglect you've passed ou-”
“Five bottles vro.” Jabber interrupts her talking and tilts her head, eyes widening mockingly, “How many have you had?”
Starting to walk away, she rolls her eyes.
“I don't see why that's important- but also like, do that more often, if I come back to you passed out from dehydration again, I'm just killing you at that point.” It was terrifying for her because, when Jabber tries any new drug thing, normally it's talked about (Jabber excitedly rambles about it for hours), but no, she had just been passed out in the yard, sunburnt to all hell and tongue entirely dry.
“Oh, Zanki, don't threaten me with a good time! The same goes for you, though, if you don't come back one night, I'm assuming you abandoned me, and I will go to all of your little stops and go on a spree until I find you and drag you back. Because guess what. You're not allowed to leave, and that includes dying by something that isn't me.”
Wandering over to her room, she scoffs, then, realizing Jabber can't hear it, scoffs louder.
“Don't chu be a bitch at me! I’ll whoop yo ass!”
“I’ll break your hands again! Take ‘Kira to work with me!”
That makes Jabber quiet down.
Which immediately worries Zanka, because, you know, Jabber is a feral cat of a human being, who, when challenged, is willing to break all of the accords in the Geneva Convention.
“Put on a wife-beater if you're gonna act like that. Also, I’ve made a decision,” The voice starts as a shout but then quotes as she leans in the doorway, “Because, obviously, I'm the man of the house, i in my staying home all day is obviously the breadwinner, but I'm giving you a flea bath today.”
Zanka, who had been rifling through their dresser to find something to put on, turns her head in a manner that almost makes Jabber laugh.
“What do you mean you're giving me a flea bath?”
Jabber shakes her head, amused, “Go back to looking for clothes, pretty girl.”
Begrudgingly, she listens.
As she's looking (when the hell did they have this many band shirts? Who the hell is Oingo Boingo anyway? Do they need- ten shirts of them!) Jabber starts talking again.
“Your little rant got me thinking. When was the last time you washed your wings? I haven't even seen them like- in so long dude!”
“Your definition of so long is two weeks. Calm down, it's not like they’re out like how yours are, I ain't gonna have twigs in em.”
Picking up a random black shirt for yet another probably really weird band Jabber's obsessed with, she squats and pulls out a pair of sweat pants.
“Okay, you don't gotta keep bringing that up. I wanted to find a cool stick and got lost.”
“Yeah, did your getting lost, involved in rolling on the ground, or something? They were terrible!”
Jabber raises her eyebrows and looks away for a moment, as Zanka leans her black against their bed, closing the drawers.
“I don't see how that's any of your business.”
Which makes Zanka burst out laughing, because of course she would- the thought of her partner rolling around in some random dusty area is both in character and something she wouldn't be able to tell if she was sober for or not, because it seems like something that would happen regardless, she sits down in her spot on the floor.
“Anyways, why do you even care about my wings! I can handle them myself-”
“King, the last time I saw them was the last time they were out. If I go a day with mine under a shirt, I go stir crazy, if I go longer than that, it makes me feel like I have a fucked up cold.”
Zanka narrows her eyes again.
“How do you know that was the last time?”
“Because~ I installed cameras in the house. Obviously.”
She blinks, then blinks again for good measure, backing up absentmindedly from what she had heard, but shakes her head.
“How do you know I don't do it outside?”
“How would you clean them out there? Also, you don't like showing them to people, bro. You're too much of a pussy. We know this. We have known this.”
A groan escapes her, and after glancing over at the woman again, she sighs. “What were you wanting anyway? Normally, you bitch and moan about me not beating you enough. What do you even want?”
Jabber giggles and twirls as she walks over to Zanka, putting both of her knees on either side of Zanka's hips as she sits down on her lap.
"I want to help you. I groomed my wings last night, but we always do mine! You always act so soft to me, and it's so gross, and I've never gotten to enact my revenge. Don't be evil, Zanki!”
"And you're getting what from all this? I don't see how this benefits you."
Jabber could just say she wants to be close to her partner. Zanka beats her when she asks, puts up with all of her shit, makes money for them, and leaves everything for her..
She never would, though, what do you take her for, a sap?! That species of Jabber is only unleashed after she gets whooped good or is very intoxicated.
"I dunno, I wanted to, you know.." So many ways she could take this, it has to be a believable excuse because Zanka HATES help, any inkling she may need it causes her to shut down. "I've been working on a new project, and I haven't gotten to talk about it because you've been neglecting me! Scoff,"
She says the word scoff aloud, which makes Zanka roll her eyes and look to the side for a moment before looking back at her girlfriend, a small smile on her face due to the realization she's clutching her pearls at her.
"Are ya planning on like, ripping them off or something?"
"It'd be kinda hot if you ripped my wings off 'angel taken from god' style, but no. I found a plant around our house."
At first, Zanka's face is neutral because, of course, Jabber's being a weirdo, when is she not? However, at the mention of a plant, it makes her eyebrows raise.
"What? That's impossible-"
Jabber very quickly covers her mouth with one hand and points up with another.
"If you wanna know more, you have to let me clean your wings vro."
Narrowing her eyes, she groans and practically tosses the woman off of her, the woman ragdolling on the floor with a loud thud before standing up with inhuman quickness.
"Wait, for realzies?"
Zanka shakes her head and moves to walk to the bathroom, but is stopped by Jabber running back to the drawers and tossing a shirt at her, a shirt with only a strap of fabric around the hips and around the neck connecting the fabric that would cover her chest, a cloth intended for the back to be bare.
"You're turning me into a whore."
"If you think this is whorey you would die if you saw shit I used to wear."
Zanka grabs the shirt and her sweatpants and walks over to the bathroom, a Jabber trailing behind her.
"Oh, wait, you have seen it! Vro, why don't I wear that shit more often? You loved it!"
Rolling her eyes as the other woman walks into the bathroom with her, staring at her expectantly.
"Are ya gonna let me shower first?"
"yaya"
She pauses at Jabber's dry answer and makes a spinning motion with her hand as she turns the water on.
"Face the corner if you're-"
"It's not like it's anything I haven't seen!"
Looking back at the woman, she narrows her eyes, and Jabber looks at her feet before stepping out of the bathroom, and very dramatically throwing herself against the door as she sits against it.
"Is this because you're still angry I called you princess that one time!?"
Zanka rolls her eyes as she tosses her oversized shirt off, her eyes widen for a moment as she smells just how horrible the sweat accumulation has gotten. And she heaves in a breath as her hands find the seam of her binder, she briefly wonders if she kept it on for too long, if her wings could mold.
"No??"
Minutes pass after she finishes undressing and gets into the shower. She washes herself twice for good measure and decides that even though her hair is only a little under her shoulders, she doesn't want to deal with washing it tonight.
Once she finishes, she puts on the micilatious, practically just scrap fabric shirt she can tell is yet another bandT (Did Jabber find a really nerdy guy and rob him? When did they get these?) Along with her pants.
"I know you're never mentally distant, but are you physically?"
Zanka rolls her eyes at the woman's comment, "Come in!"
Jabber enters the room and has a frown grow on her face, probably from the fact that she had a really funny (only to her standards) joke she was gonna make, but forgot that Zanka only takes freezing showers and can no longer make her joke.
"Are you still wanting to?"
"ye I just forgot you aren't locked in on preparing for the fact out roommate agreement will last even after death."
She makes a confused expression before shaking her head, realizing she should be used to her girlfriend's antics by now.
"Do ya want to do this like how we do yers?"
Jabber nods her head, letting out another faint, 'yaya' noise as she grabs some misolanius things out of the cabinet.
Zanka closes the toilet lid (How many times does she have to tell-) and straddles it, the cool air of the bathroom on her bare back making her shiver, a line of goosebumps trailing up her spine.
“It's cold as fuck in here, can you like, go beat up some guy with a full heating and ventilation system?” She tries to joke, but the other woman is too focused on uncapping some bottle that Zanka thinks was empty the last time she saw it, now it seems to be filled with a gelatinous purple-black substance.
“I don’t know what you're yapping about vro ive never stolen anything in my life, nor have I hurt anyone ever! Officer, you have the wrong woman, I ain’t seen shit!” In a nonverbal response, Zanka just leans back slightly and lifts her shirt to show the massive healed scar across her side.
Of which Jabber shrugs, looking off to the side for a moment before looking down at Zanka with a smile that makes her scared with its softness.
“Aight, so this is gonna be cold on ya, but I mean, get over it, bro, it'll fade,” Jabber says, with the goop spread onto a sponge, walking towards her.
“What, exactly, are ya putting on me?” An eyebrow raises, but she places her arms on the top of the tank, folding them over each other.
A cool, soft feeling starts as Jabber puts the sponge right between the top of her shoulder blades. She's just happy that this.. Whatever it is isn't as chunky as some of the last stuff Jabber's procured.
The woman makes a sound she would liken to a purr as she works the sponge down the woman's back, occasionally going back to pour more of the cool liquid onto the sponge, allowing it to drip down between her wings, and around the bases, ensuring to keep the brown and blonde feathers dry.
“Uhhhhh, I don't think that's any of your business.”
Zanka's skin, the wet patches of it at least, feel oddly cool.
“It ain't my business what you're putting on my back? Yer fuckin’ insane.”
Regardless of her supposed fight, she doesn't move or tell the woman to stop. After a couple of minutes of Jabber, taking a lot more time and patience than needed, making sure it gets an even coat on her back.
“Wait, you're supposed to be helping with my wings- wh”
“Apapapapap, Zankiiiiii, you worry too much, just sit back- not literally, and let the Jabber Wonger make a sista feel good.”
Zanka rolls her eyes and resists a groan at the woman's antics, then feels a damp rag wiping off the substance, the rough fibers of the cloth making her tense slightly, which earns its own groan out of Jabber.
"You're supposed to- fine. I don't care, Vro. Dilligaf? Cause I don't." Jabber's listing of random letters may not make sense to Zanka; however, she's been around the woman enough not to be alarmed.
"Ya coulda fooled me."
Jabber's hands find her shoulders, grip fighting for a moment before she runs a hand down her spine, which makes her take a breath kn, and have to make a mental effort to stay still.
"Spread your wings for me, please, good sire," An exaggerated accent leaves the woman yet again, and Zanka completes opening one of them to be straight in front of Jabber and the other to be next to her side.
It reminds her of the feeling of when she had longer hair, and she would take it out of her perfectly styled hairdo at the end of the day, a kind of tenderness in her back that makes her sigh.
"What was the thing you found in the yard?"
"Oh! You're gonna find out in a little, it was in that thingy I put on ya."
A pause.
"You tested it first, right?"
And with that, Jabber bursts out lauhging. Warmth behind her leaves for a moment as the woman backs away, and a loud noise permeates through the air, probably her slapping her thigh.
"Of course I tested it! What do ya take me for, a dumbass?!"
"You asked me if- you asked me for permission to eat a candy off of the gas station floor, then if you could milk a sparrow."
Jabber's hands find the top of her wing as her laughter patterns off, and she grabs a small brush, rubbing it against her hand to test how soft the bristles seem before putting a hand on the other side and very gently brushing down on the feathers.
"I was zonked, bro, leave me be-"
"You're always- what the fuck- you're always high Jabber! You forgot what a mammal was!"
Rolling her eyes, she starts slow strokes down the mass of feathers, small bits of dust, and occasional shed feathers coming off easily, along with a stroke particularly close to the skin of Zanka's wing, which makes her shiver. The touch is calming; it's odd, but it feels like her brain is slowing.
"I don't think we, of all people, should be talking about what defines a mammal vro, we might break the fourth wall or some shit."
Zanka blinks several times in an attempt to decipher the woman's words, an attempt that she quickly gives up on and just sighs.
"Don't break the door again, please. You're not gonna be able to find another, and I like having a bathroom door."
Jabber squints her eyes for a moment, then shakes her head solemnly.
“Zamn. But the wood was so yummy last time.”
“I don't care the wood was- I forgot you tried to bite it. How- how did I forget that?” The woman backs up lightly, a hand coming to her face as she laughs and rubs at her eyes.
Jabber picks up a hand mirror and hands it to Zanka, who then sighs and holds it up. The woman smiles, her chipped tooth in vision as she sighs and sets the mirror down on the couch next to her.
“The stain was still wet. I would do it again.”
Pulling out a foldable stool from between the cabinet and the sink (Not that either of them was particularly short, but Jabber does use the extra few inches she has on Zanka for evil, aka placing things on shelves she knows the woman can't reach. Originally ment to amke her ask the other woman for help, it just causerd her to buy a stool without saying anything.) she opens it and sits down, making sharp, quick motions at the bottoms of her wings with the brush, regardless of the fact that niormally this morion would be used to help get the finer particles of dust off of the wings, which, notably arent present. Jabber
Furrows her eyebrows for a moment, then looks up at Zanka, who's staring at the wall, and knowing her, is probably following the small patterns she's making up as she looks.
“Babe, I think I went about this the wrong way. Will you exiute me for my sins?”
“What? Oh, uh, yah.”
Jabber stares at her back for a moment, and her ears twitch slightly.
“I was about to do such weird shit, but I spared you from it. Be grateful.”
“Oh yeah, like you always spare me, or like you're so fucking nice because you freed me once.”
Rolling her eyes, she takes a breath and groans.
“You smell fucking horrible, baby girl, can you like.. uh, oh yeah, my bad forgot what I was saying as I was talking because I'm so normal, but wet a washcloth and toss it down here,” She deeps her voice and shakes her head slightly as she talks, “Into the underworld mwahahaha.”
“Jabber, I need you to know that you're not funny, for one, as well as for two, if I do that, I'm gonna smack you in the face with my wing by accident because of how I have to lean.”
Jabber makes her face eerily calm, even though she knows the woman can't see it; she's pretty sure Zanka can feel the energy seep into her soul when she does her shenanigans, and she places the brush down with a quiet thud.
“Who said that was a bad thing?”
“Why was there so much build-up- just- fine,” She leans over, her wing not moving aggressively, more of a soft bap against the woman's face as she grabs a washcloth off the counter and stretches to dampen it in the sink.
Jabber giggles, the weirdo she is, whenever the damp cloth is thrown over and falls on her face. Picking up the cloth, she picks up another bottle from the small collection from under the sink and dabs some of it gently onto the rag, then begins to drag it over some of the woman's lower, darker feathers, going from the closest to her back to the furthest.
Jabber had started working on making more.. Practical things. Since they didn't have the most money in the world, she didnt her to spend her time doing things she used to. (Not that she used to have money, back then it was mostly tit-for-tat scenarios, or because she lived in a more busy section of town, it was much easier to procure whatever she needed, though less.. Moral methods.)
In this particular case, wings were generally meant to stay dry and stay active. Zanka did neither of these things, so instead of being cleaned how they normally would, she worked on developing this.. Odd substance. It had taken her a while to come up with it, its clear color and liquid state being hard to make when working with the things she does. However, as it stands, it works as a fast-acting skin-safe cleaning agent, fast-acting so she can wipe it off and make sure there isn't extra moisture on the wings, and skin safe because she doesn't want to scare Zanka away, the few times she's intimate with her wings.
"Do you even know the band on the shirt you're wearing?" Jabber says after a moment, aware that she just got waaaay too into her head and wants to ease Zanka's anxiety.
She sees as the woman looks down at her chest, the gears turning in her head.
"Is it some of the shitty base heavy shit you like?"
A scoff leaves her as she deems that wing clean enough and turns slightly to face the other.
"One, my basey music is peak. As is all of my music taste, two, no, they aren't, they're a bit calm for my tastes."
Zanka hums at that, and shakes her now clean wing slightly, and allows it to droop to the floor.
Jabber starts talking again, a little unsure about the reaction she's going to pull from the woman, "it's kinda like that uh, supporter guy you used to know tastes."
"Gris? Or.." She furrows her brows for a moment as she realises she doesn't remember the group as well as she used to. She used to be able to list all of the cleaners and their groups easily; now, she's taken a full twenty-second silence to remember, "the, Follo guy?"
Jabber takes a towel and dabs at the limp wing.
"The guy I stabbed, I don't remember his name."
"I almost just started talking about how you've stabbed a lot of guys, and that doesn't really mean anything, but no, you only got me and Gris there."
Jabber hums and starts to work on the next knee, using the brush again.
“It was his fault for being pathetic, and your fault for being so stabbable, honestly.”
“That- wait, how do you know his music taste?”
Jabber pauses her motions for a moment, and Zanka looks back at her.
“I would like for you to think about how stupid that question was.”
Another pause, Zanka opens her mouth to respond, but ends up just shaking her head.
“Shut the fuck up-”
Jabber thinks about going on a rant but decides, that for once in a blue moon, she’s gonna shut her fuckint mouth and justr allow the woman to think about how she already knew the kinds of foods she liked, how she knew the woman never really listened to music but when she did it was either from one of the other cleaners playlist or something more calm, or how she already knew half of the womans issues, or how she knew all of her mannerisms to a T. But no. She's been discredited for all of her hours of watching, the hundreds of pages and subfiles she has in Zanka's drawer in her brain.
Because she's always loved Zanka. Would most people call what it was in the beginning love? The mildly psychopathic obsessive feeling, where Zanka was the only thing she could think about, whether she was at work, watching a man bleed out, she would wonder if Zanka would let her bleed all over her hands, oh how the woman would look, pale, slender fingers covered in her red, sticky, life force, or whether the woman would be disgusted. She would be at the store, and the only thing she could think about was oh, this is an ingredient in one of her favorite foods, I really should learn how to make that, hm, I wonder-. No. No one would consider that healthy. Especially with the other side effect, anytime she had free time, or anytime given a spare moment at work, the advanced collection of data of where the woman would be based on time of day, the stores she loved, soaps she preferred to use, and the days she normally used to ask to have off.
(There is where she got more data about just how much the woman overworked herself, most of the time having to be forced to have days off, of which she would spend pacing her room because she never learned how to relax, how to allow the guards in her mind to sloop. All of the cleaners told her there was nothing that could hurt her. Nothing could get past their security systems. Jabber always found it amusing just how wrong they were, and if the woman ever knew the simple fact that the hallucinations Eishia said she had, caused by stress, weren't hallucinations at all. Zanka was always cute like that, a caged animal knowing there is a threat even when told otherwise. Such a smart girl. Regardless of what the others ever said. But, Jabber, seeing this was obvious, no one could ever see how amazing Zanka was in her eyes.)
However, things have changed since then. The wooden shack they now call home and the random noises that permeate the place at night are evidence of that.
Jabber used to think the only way she could love was like that. Obsessive. But it slowly morphed into something new. She was still absolutely batshit over the woman, that much was clear. But it used to be normal for her to watch someone for a month, and they would become boring, and she would lose interest. The only tell she had that told her this was something different was that she went into a lot more detail with her than she had with others. She started to care. Which seems like something that would be normal, but.. She wanted to stay?
There was a night, many, many sunrises ago, that they had fought, and she fell asleep in Zanka's bed. When she woke up, and Zanka started tending her wounds, she kissed a scar she had given the woman previously, Jabber didnt flinch at the softness as she would’ve before. Because softness burned. When you get close, when you expect something of someone, expect them to love you, you give them the chance to break you in a way no fight can, and give you a pain Jabber doesn't find appealing. But she wanted to give it to Zanka.
She lets out a breath as she strokes down the woman's wing for the last time, wordlessly passing the rag up and hearing the faucet turn on as the woman adds more water. It's handed back to her and, quietly, she dabs on her mix then begins work on the second wing.
It had scared her at first, she thinks as she dampens the brown feathers.
Ah, the manic scream and sobbing, because little Jabber Wonger's heart yearned for something that wasnt adrenaline.
She hums. Her eyes defocus slightly as her hands work to finish the rest of Zanka's other wing.
“You know I love you, right?”
Zanka looks back at her, eyebrows furrowed. She had been a little worried (a lot) when she realized the woman had been silent, because if she isn't talking Zanka's ear off, that means she's doing something worse, thinking.
“Yeah.. feeling alright?”
Zanka never noticed, but anytime she's worried, her accent gets stronger, and Jabber always finds it adorable. She also uses it as a tell for when she needs to pull herself together because she's Jabber motherfucking Wonger! She shouldn't be.. Whatever weird things are going on in her mind. It's a-ok, she just needs her brain to understand that.
“Yaya, I don’t know what the fuck you're talking about, bro, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, it's bonkers!”
“Are ya done with my wings, Contended with where ya got?”
Jabber nods and starts putting her bottles back under the sink, and stands back up. Zanka stands, her back cracking with the motion.
Her wings flap, and the sensation of the cool wind on her back makes her shiver. She looks over at the other woman, who has cleaned up the mess and is now standing with her hands on her hips, looking at her with a grin on her face.
“What did I talk about earlier?”
Its Jabber's turn to ask questions as they open the bathroom door and begin to walk out towards their room.
“Uh, Gris’s music taste.” The door creeks open, and Jabber hops onto their bed, bouncing a little as the energy works out of it.
She walks around the side and sits down next to her, the soft cushion and cool sheets making her sigh.
“Yo, lie on your chest,” Jabber says from next to her, which makes her raise her eyebrow but follow along as she rolls over. One of the perks of having a high-activity job plus having to eat a minimum amount due to money is that you can sleep on your chest comfortably, which, given that sleeping any other way gets complicated with wings, is helpful.
Jabber partially crawls over her to turn off her bedside lamp, then turns off the similar yet noticeably different one next to the head of her side of the bed. A hand finds her back in the dark, the woman searching for her lover in the dark room as she settles in.
Jabber's wings, while longer than the other woman's, aren't as bulky, which allows her a larger selection of sleeping methods.
"Why the fuck were we talkin' bout Gris's music taste?" Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at the ceiling, long, carefully taken care of nails gently drawing lines over the exposed expanse of the other woman's back.
Zanka shivers under the touch, back sensitive, but sighs, pleases once the woman begins to give open-palmed pets to the skin there.
"Something bout the shirt that I'm wearin'. You kinda shut up before I got much info on it."
Jabber scoffs, "Oh, please, I'm sure you loved the break from my antics."
Zanka's quiet for a moment, because if you had asked her a year ago, she would have been, truly. But it had just felt wrong anytime the woman wasn't in her ears, whether her obnoxious snoring or incoherent rambling, she-
"The Cure!"
Her brief silence is disrupted by the woman exclaiming next to her, in a way that makes her look over, knowing full well she still can't see her.
"What?"
"The band I was talking about, the thingymabober on your shirt."
Zanka pauses and nods her head slightly, a quiet yawn leaving her, and Jabber takes this as a sign to keep talking.
"They aren't quite your style, but I honestly think you'd like some of their more popular stuff. I think I remember someone calling it sad gay music, which, my favorite of their shit isn't sad its banger-"
"Music can be sad and banger."
She narrows her eyes and pauses her motions for a second before giggling and continuing.
"Says the girl who literally had like- so many CDs of just depressing shit. Wait, I forgot about the army marches. What the fuck was up with that?" Her voice turns slightly exasperated as she looks down at the other girl, whose head she can now feel against her shoulder.
"m done talking, I'm gonna sleep, Jabbs."
She hums.
"Do ya want me to shut up?"
"No"
A pause.
“Would you say that you're tired and weary? And you could sleep for a thousand years?”
The woman's voice is confused and quiet as she responds, “Yes?”
A smile forms on her face, and she nods, uncaring that the woman can't see it.
"I love you, Zanki,"
"Love you too,"
With that, Jabber starts up again.
"Some O they shit is considered like, goth? Which, it's basically just Lonely Day but like, less sad, so I don't really know what the like, boundary is there- the song I think-"
And she talks. Talks about the weather, music, dumb little projects she's been working on, the newest books she's been looking at adding to their small but ever-growing collection, and Zanka listens. Listens until she starts to snore softly. The soothing motions on her back only pause when the woman's voice finally stops.
She had been talking about something dumb, something unimportant. It all feels so surreal.
Zanka cares. About her. About what she has to say. Even when it's about something she couldn't give less of a shot at. She cares because it matters to her.
The room is quiet, excluding the quiet breaths that she subconsciously began to harmonize with Zanka's soft noises.
Zanka used to struggle to sleep. She used to spend hours pacing her room, or doing small workouts, tried pills, tried meditating, but none of it worked.
Jabber used to hate quiet. She used to move constantly, passing out randomly because she couldn't stand the boredom of rest, bouncing off the walls with energy, hurting herself and others just to feel something because of how monotonous life felt.
It feels so.. New. To her. To them.
She doesn't hate this quiet. If every night ended with her and Zanka's small conversations, or with the woman asleep next to her, it wouldn't be long enough.
Zanka hasn't woken up from her night terrors in the past few weeks. A small milestone for some, but few would understand the random bouts of pure, primal fear one can land in.
It took time, obviously. They didn't immediately feel at home with the others. Jabber's skin used to crawl when Zanka insisted she lie down after a fight. A need to make, to do something. Zanka spent months randomly waking up in the middle of the night while Jabber lie next to her, sweat pouring down her body, and scanning for an escape route on the best nights, shouting and fighting on the worst.
But they felt.. To put it perhaps too simply, safe.
Jabber knew Zanka wouldn't leave. Zanka knew Jabber wasn't the enemy anymore.
Their love wasn't simple. It wasn't a short story.
Didn't start soft, with a meetcute and coffee.
But it was a choice.
It is a choice.
One they make every day. To be there, to love, to talk through even the most weird and awkward shit, to see all of the other horrible things they've done and have had done to them, and to let love prosper regardless.
And isn't that all that truly matters in the end?