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Summary
"Whoa there, my man. Slow down. You're gonna pop a stitch flailing around like that," Jabber drawled, his tone stuck somewhere between his usual mania and that strange lethargy from before.
The memory of their fight had haunted Zanka for weeks. He'd played it over and over again in his head, looking for mistakes to correct and patterns to exploit. So it took him a moment to comprehend that Jabber might just have been different outside of battle.
Zanka took a sharp breath in, snapping with as much venom as he could muster, "What the fuck did you do to me?"
"I saved your ass," Jabber laughed, a sudden jarring bark that made Zanka's head spin. "You should be thanking me, Mr. Bad Attitude. Without me, you'd be dead meat."
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Jabber saves a heavily injured Zanka after a job gone wrong. They have to make it back to civilization without tearing each other apart. Zanka is miserable and feverish. Jabber is determined to keep Zanka alive for a rematch, and definitely not because the idea of him dying is oddly upsetting.