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“High temperature, cold palms, headaches, muscle pains…” he coughed experimentally. It came out rough.
“Dry cough.” Zodyl recounted his symptoms in his head until he was certain of it. He had the flu. Disease was far from uncommon on the ground, but for someone whose diet regularly consisted of bugs, birds and whatever other roadkill he found, he thought he would have a stronger immunity.
He’d survived worse though.
Zodyl rose, with considerable effort, from his nest of a bed. His head grew woozy and it felt like his eyeballs were about to spin right out of his face as blinding bits of snow filled his vision. Then, it settled and he was left only with the uncomfortably hot feeling of his bed sheets swaddled around him. He heaved slowly. Pretended he couldn’t feel himself sweating.
Getting out of bed was the hardest part. Dressing himself wasn’t too bad. His closet always remained perfectly organised, with his outfit rotations being laid out in accordance with the days of the week he wore them on. Thursday. A white buttoned up shirt worn under Mishra, with well-fitting black trousers and scruffy white boots. Doing up the buttons was a pain with the numbness in his fingers but he managed.
He considered his hairbrush for a few moments before simply foregoing it and exiting his room, making for the so-called lobby section of the Raiders’ base, which mainly consisted of a whiteboard with inky smudges imprinted on it, a few seats ranging from chairs to bean bags, and a mini fridge which was a recent addition of Bundus.
It was also predominantly used as an all-purpose room, though seeing as the room was positioned just before the exit, it was typically used for planning missions as well as last minute preparation. Overtime, it became something of a hangout joint. Not that Zodyl minded; it gave him easier access to his Raiders, plus he was able to listen in to their conversations on many occasions.
Or what passed for ‘conversations’ among the Raiders.
Upon entering, after his vision had accustomed to the light bulb blaring above, he saw that Jabber had enticed Cthoni into some kind of card game. Snap probably, if his foggy memory was capable of remembering Jabber’s preferences right now. His blurry gaze lingered on the two for a little too long as Jabber soon took notice of him; his eyes widened in hysterical surprise.
“Damn, you look pale, boss! Like, more than normal.” Clearly that was saying something. Even Cthoni’s head whipped around like an owl to scrutinise Zodyl. Her normally sterile glare was infected with concern. It made Zodyl’s skin crawl.
“Are you alright, Zodyl?” She asked, abandoning the card game and completely turning around on her seat to be facing him. Jabber whined.
“It is nothing to be concerned about it.” That is what Zodyl wanted to say before breaking out into a coughing fit mid sentence. Even worse, he hunched over. Bundus had already assumed that he was in his thirties, and now he was acting like an old man with back problems.
Cthoni rose from her seat and made her way over to him, at a pace a little too fast for his liking. He forced his head upwards, even though any movement made his skull vibrate with discomfort. It was similar to the rush one would get going down on a rollercoaster, only all that sudden turbulence was hammering on the inside of Zodyl’s head. Jabber was standing next to him now. He couldn’t remember when that happened.
“You don’t seem like you should be on your feet today.” Cthoni observed. Zodyl made eye contact with her. Now, her expression had shifted back to the usual indifference that he appreciated, but not when it was targeted towards him. Not in this case.
“This sickness won’t inhibit my ability to work. You should both focus on yourselves instead of me.” Zodyl stated, hoping that giving a clear order to Cthoni would cause her to shy away from her concerns. Jabber would lose interest eventually too.
“Prove it.” Cthoni stated unexpectedly. “Walk from this end of the room to the other normally.”
It was a reasonable litmus test, Zodyl thought, but Cthoni giving him an order was rare. Not out of place though; he needed Cthoni to regulate him at times when his thought process was faulty. It was an unspoken agreement between them.
Zodyl accepted it.
Even if a part of him hated it.
Wordlessly, he agreed to her test. His steps felt heavier than normal and his arms fell into a permanent sag. Sweat formed on his brow with a few beads falling down his sunken face. About halfway down the room, his legs hesitated as he sucked up deep breaths. After his brief pause, his next few steps were strained and strenuous. He looked up. He wasn’t sure if it was his sick mind or not, but it seemed like the wall was still far away. Too far away from him to complete this ridiculous challenge. He sucked in a frustrated breath.
“It doesn’t appear possible.” He called out with a hoarse voice. Thinking back, he hadn’t drank anything since he woke up. It was like his body was running on low battery right now.
Cthoni was by his side in an instant, gripping Manhole loosely by her fingers with that ungodly strength of hers.
“I’ll get you back to your room.” She promised in a neutral voice, as if that made it any less humiliating for him. He wouldn’t have minded it if it was Jabber offering to help him. Yet with Cthoni, there was always a quality of genuine nurturing care from her which felt disgustingly familiar. It was like she was peeling back the folds in his brain and plucking out all his buried memories. He remained silent as the starry night glow of Manhole illuminated the area before he was pulled through with Cthoni.
Fortunately, stepping through Manhole’s wormhole didn’t have any adverse effects on Zodyl’s sickness. Instead, he ended up back in his room to which he practically nearly collapsed onto his bed. He caught himself with his arms and managed to fix himself into an awkward seating position. If he was being forced to relax, then he supposed he’d have to do it properly. Leaning down, he untied the laces around one of his boots though was perturbed to see Cthoni also kneeling down, her hands approaching his other shoe.
“Do you think I’m a child, Cthoni?” He said, too hastily, too irritated. Her hands snapped back.
“No, Zodyl.” She said, and then with some hesitation. “I’m sorry.”
Their words hung in the air. Zodyl de-booted himself as he attempted to rationalise and calm his mind. It wasn’t often he ever snapped at the Raiders, at least unintentionally. He wasn’t entirely sure why Cthoni’s actions evoked such a response from him.
The Hedgehog’s complex appeared in his mind. Cthoni was his most useful and most trusted, and therefore his most dangerous. The one that could rustle his emotions. From the corners of his eye, he could see Cthoni shuffling on the spot, like an anxious tween.
“I’ll stay in here for the day. Have Jabber prepare flu medicine, and bring up some water with it.” Zodyl ordered finally, if only to spare them both from their discomfort. Cthoni nodded and gave a wordless, verbal confirmation before slinking back through Manhole. Zodyl sighed. Then, he removed Mishra and placed her over his lap like a blanket. He moved his singular pillow so that it was pressed against the backboard. He sunk himself into the pillow. Right now, he felt very similarly to himself how he felt about Fu. So much potential in that boy, but he was just unable to squeeze it out of him.
Zodyl couldn’t even get his mind to work in this state. He could have been making plans for what the Raiders could do while he recovered. He should’ve been thinking about Momoa, and what to do when she woke up from her coma. That was the most pressing problem he needed to resolve. But his mind kept circling back to one thing.
Cthoni.
The most pointless fixation his brain could’ve mustered. How she, or any his Raiders, felt was no matter to him so long as they would follow his orders without question. With Cthoni, that was never in doubt. But for once, it wasn’t about control or commands. It wasn’t about what Zodyl could do to them; it was about what Cthoni was doing to him. How she acted, watching over him, making him food, looking after him, it was all wrong in his head. It was like…
It was like how a mother treated her child.
Zodyl didn’t need to replace his mom.
Zodyl didn’t want to replace his mom.
In all honesty, he would have been better off without her, and her fervent, misguided beliefs. Him and his sister would have been better off. But, it was impossible to have no feelings about where he came from. Some part of him imagined the life he could’ve lived if his mom simply led a ‘normal’ life, compared to the one she did live.
How Zodyl would have turned out.
How his sister would have turned out.
Cthoni’s presence was a constant reminder of the life that he longed for, the life that fate had passed him by. A ‘normal’ life. Likely a much happier one. But, already scarred, that presence was more of an intrusion than anything, a mockery. One that he has to guard himself against, however illogical it was.
Cthoni looking out for him was beneficial. It was why he needed her. But, her being able to tell him no, to restrict what he wanted to do, even when that was necessary, it reminded him of her.
A mother meant losing control. It meant screaming and crying and begging as if he were forced into something he did not want. It meant losing out on his future, because it did not align with her future. It meant being like a doll to her.
He rolled his eyes. He was making a canyon out of a crack. And treating Cthoni unfairly. She wasn’t a mother. He was the one who ordered her around most of the time. It would be illogical to view her as such.
It wasn’t like he had any other good substitutes though.
Thankfully, Jabber then swung open his door, with his presence being enough to rip Zodyl away from his train of thought. It also meant that he’d spent far too long thinking over the same repeated points, adding nothing of value.
Jabber closed the door behind him. “I can’t believe you’ve got me making medicine, boss.” Jabber commented, swishing around a vial between his forefinger and his thumb filled with an unappetising, greenish blue liquid. It was a far cry from the toxins he was used to making.
“You should step outside your comfort zone, every now and then.” That was rich coming from Zodyl, Jabber thought. He skipped over towards Zodyl’s bed and towered over him, the burning scent of chemicals still trailing off of him as a result of the safety hazard that he called a lab. Zodyl leaned back uncomfortably. Jabber held up the medicinal vial.
“Here comes the aeroplane!” Jabber sung, thumbing the lid of the vial off and drawing it closer to Zodyl’s face through the air. Zodyl grabbed at it with his fist and attempted to tug it out of Jabber’s hands, though he tugged right back.
“Woah, boss, don’t be impatient, you’re gonna make us crash!” Jabber’s wild grin formed across his face. His body tightened up, feet planting into the floor as he pulled at the vial, but even then Zodyl could tell he wasn’t going all out. Having been on the receiving end of Jabber’s ludicrous strength and fighting capabilities, he knew this was nothing more than a cat fight to him.
Jabber’s heart wasn’t in it, because he could tell that Zodyl was weak right now.
It wasn’t out of a place of compassion or care, but rather like how one would be cautious with a precious, fragile object.
Jabber didn’t want the fun to be over because he couldn’t contain himself this one time.
It was pleasing to know that Jabber had essentially self-acclimatised himself by this point. He wasn’t going to be a threat to Zodyl, or any of the other Raiders for that matter.
Simultaneously, it was disgusting to Zodyl. How he couldn’t stop Jabber in this state if he wanted to. How he was reliant on Jabber’s behaviour.
Even if it was beneficial, it was different from their usual dynamic. A dynamic which left the both of them black, blue and bloody. A dynamic of faux sensuality and real physicality. One that left Jabber panting and grinning and wanting more, and left Zodyl stained and accomplished and relaxed.
It would be a lie to say that he didn’t enjoy beating down Jabber and pretending it was someone else. Maybe a Spherite. Maybe Rudo.
Maybe his mom.
“Jabber, give me the medicine.” Zodyl ordered sharply. Jabber huffed a little, maybe out of amusement; Zodyl didn’t care. He finally surrendered the vial and Zodyl chugged it down, not caring for the bitter taste, or the burning sensation that was no doubt a result from Jabber not washing his equipment between experiments, allowing some random chemical to enter Zodyl’s body.
Not that it mattered. He’d tasted worse.
“How long will it take me to heal?” Zodyl asked impatiently.
“Man, I’m not your doctor, I don’t know these things.” Jabber responded loudly. He always was so difficult.
“How long until we can fight properly again?” Zodyl asked. From the shine in Jabber’s eyes, he’d evidently found the right button to push.
“Prolly four days at your best, a week at your worst. Knowing you, it’ll take a week though.” Jabber shrugged.
Zodyl’s irritation was only worsened by the coughing fit he fell into. His torso doubled over as his lungs convulsed; his airways felt spiky and blocked. When he looked up, he was sure he must have had a pathetic expression on his face due to the disappointment in Jabber’s expression, like looking at an old friend he’d grown increasingly detached from. He really did lose interest quick, Zodyl thought.
“You want the left claw, boss?” Jabber asked, letting Mankira stretch out from his fingers. Painkillers. Zodyl hesitated before deciding.
“Give it to me.” It felt better when he was ordering Jabber. He nodded and approached Zodyl. With his right hand, he gently tilted Zodyl’s head up towards the ceiling, causing another whoosh sensation to rush through his skull. Zodyl’s breathing became more obvious, more human as he tried to stabilise the pain, while contending with his blocked nose. The hot, familiar feel of Jabber’s claws crawled up his twitching neck, toying around with his skin before settling on a vein. Then, he made a tiny puncture, slipping his claws into Zodyl.
It was all business. It carried none of the soul-revealing, blood-spilling fun that Jabber normally enjoyed. It was just maintenance.
Boring.
His claws departed from Zodyl’s flesh before he then rubbed off the blood trickling down Zodyl’s neck with the back of his wrist. Zodyl considered asking him for a plaster, but there was no chance that Jabber would have one of those. He could already feel the pain numbing though.
“The water?” Zodyl prompted him. Jabber lifted a small plastic bottle from his pocket.
“Say pleeeaaaase.”
“Jabber.”
“That’s not how you say please.” He interrupted.
“Jabber, give me the water.”
Seeing that Zodyl wasn’t, and couldn’t, play along with him, Jabber flipped the water bottle out of his hand. It crash landed against Zodyl’s desk on its side.
“That is all I require.” Zodyl confirmed. Jabber nodded and then swiftly turned on his feet and made for Zodyl’s door, like a disinterested kid. Zodyl fixed his posture, broadened his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, stared straight ahead. When Jabber touched the doorknob, he spoke.
“Jabber.”
He turned to Zodyl.
“Be prepared for next week.” Zodyl promised. He had to keep Jabber entertained, after all. Jabber couldn’t resist a smile that came onto his face. He continued speaking as he walked out the door.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, boss!” Jabber smirked like a happy cat.
Zodyl immediately flattened his shoulders, unable to keep that effort up for too long.
This was going to be a frustrating couple of days.