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Massive, inky clouds rumbled like ominous beasts over the Cleaners' headquarters that night. The intel hadn’t predicted such agitated weather, yet the rain heavily drummed against roofs and solid walls while lightning flashed across the sky at regular but worrying intervals. Hidden in the safety of his room and cozily dressed in his evening clothes, Zanka sat upright in his bed, gazing patiently into the soothing darkness that surrounded him.
At his side, his Lovely Assistaff lay nestled in the folds of his blankets; her wooden body meticulously waxed and her bandages entirely replaced. She would be perfect tomorrow. Firm and graceful, as she always was after a night lulled by a fickle weather. Was it due to her core; her roots so imbued with the power of the elements that she felt renewed when they ran wild ? Zanka wondered absently despite having no evidence to support the idea, other than his immeasurable desire to find something wonderful in her. He let his mind dissect the thought, his back straight against the bed frame and his fingers gently probing the painted wood. The dark circles under his eyes, invisible in that dimness, seemed to weigh a ton.
On the nightstand, his watch clicked like a death-march drum, its hands pointing to midnight. A long sigh passed Zanka's lips. His big blue eyes cautiously raised to the half-open window that let the icy cold enter into his heated room. A drizzle seeped in, drop by drop, carried by the whining wind, forming a damp patch on his floor and scattering sand particles in its wake. How inconvenient… he sighed to himself. He wouldn't have much time in the morning to clean up, and he couldn't close the window. Not yet. He had to wait, just a little more. An hour or maybe two. He was used to long nights, anyway.They were part of his life since childhood: the kind of habits he had never thought he would be able to get rid of, sticking to him even after his surroundings had been less difficult to live in.
Nights were an endless canvas of boredom and solitude,making him feel like a lead statue at the bottom of a muddy pond. It had been like that for a while, yet he couldn't deny that recently, thing had gotten a little better since he had found that unexpected aid.
It wasn't a huge change, far from a cure for insomnia but with it, evenings seemed slightly less…oppressive. Almost as if cotton were stuffed into his head, keeping his mind from overheating once the lights were out. It cleared a path towards drowsiness, and even if sleep wouldn't always come to him, the odd state of comfort it provided was enough to allow Zanka some rest.
And Zanka kind of needed that rest more than anything tonight.
In six hours, right before sunrise, he would have to get up for a new mission. Something unusual that had been planned for two whole weeks. An assignment that showed just how far the Cleaner had evolved, how much he had made a place for himself among them.
Zanka was going to guide his own team.
His very first time as a leader without any kind of supervision.
The mere thought of that implication — and all the expectations that followed — made Zanka's hands tremble and his heart beat as fast as one of a flying bird. Though, it hardly mattered compared to the sheer excitement of having the Cleaners' trust placed in him.
They trusted Zanka. Despite his rather middling performances, his inconsistent results as mentor, and his frighteningly slow progression curve; they were willing to let him run the operations as a way to test him because they thought Zanka could do it. Enjin had even told him something about being proud to be able to hand him the torch, in his usual nonchalant manner, and for once Zanka wanted to believe that, in some way, he had deserved those words. Zanka would do whatever it took to make them right. Even if it meant resorting to the most unorthodox process to be in perfect condition for the big day. He would be strong and watchful and not sleep-deprived in the slightest.
Well, he certainly would be; if his...um...special guest didn't stand him up tonight.
The truth was that Zanka had made sure to emphasize how essential it was for him to have some good hours of sleep for this one particular mission. He had whispered it into indiscreet ears while going on patrol and even written it down on a small piece of paper, which he accidentally dropped from his pocket for indiscreet hands. At seven o'clock, his window had been open far too early, and his evening training ended prematurely so he could get ready for bed. Zanka hadn't thought much about it — the gestures hadn't seemed particularly ridiculous back then, but with some hindsight he wondered why he had been so eager and confident.
It wasn't as if he ever came before nightfall, nor was it certain he'd come at all. There hadn't been any explicit deal between them— barely an agreement between taunts and insults.
Perhaps…
Perhaps the supposed helping hands hadn't planned to come at all from the start, and Zanka had been waiting for hours for nothing.
It was highly probable. Which was fine, of course.
It wasn't as if Zanka had expected a great amount of consideration from such an unreliable spirit. It would have been kind of stupid of him, thinking that his little issue could prevail over whatever the other was up to. Probably some terrible and illicit scheme, anyway.
Cold slowly settled in Zanka's chest, freezeing at the same time the brief stirrings of sleep that were beginning to surface. The sound of the passing second echoed like a hammer striking its anvil. He groped around with his hand until it landed on his staff, the texture against his skin, grounding and easy. Maybe Eishia would be kind enough to let him take one of the boosters she kept in the infirmary before their morning departure. Something strong and invigorating, just in case he spends the few hours he had left wide awake.
A gust of wind smashed his window open, howling like a wounded animal forcing its way into his room. The loud noise left Zanka stunned for a couple of seconds; his train of thought came to an abrupt halt as heavy drops of rainwater splashed across his floor. The storm was getting worse outside, sweeping along fragments of ruins and scattered debris. If Zanka kept letting it in like that, he could catch a cold. But most importantly, the humidity in the air could damage Lovely Assistaff, if it continued to build up for too long.
He definitely couldn't let that happen, even though it meant cutting off the only access to his room for the rest of the evening.
Resigned, Zanka threw back the blankets from his body and moved towards the open frame. Rain lashed at the world, blurring the lines of things as he allowed himself a glance down in the front yard. He caught sight of the lamppost-lined alley at the entrance below, standing motionless in the sand. Faintly glowing in yellow, they resembled menacing pupils peering from the distance, yet remained helplessly still. The ruins beyond, though, looked like a pile of papier-mâché, cut by a pair of invisible scissors. Their shapes hazy and slumped, while their foundation collapsed under the strength of the wind, large pieces of debris were rolling on the sand.
The headquarters had never been as well protected as by this natural barrier. No fool would even think about braving such a deadly passage.
A bitter sigh on his lips, Zanka took a step back and got ready to close the window when a ringed hand abruptly slammed against the glass with a dull thud. It forced open the sash, while a hooded silhouette suddenly hoisted itself onto the window sill." Hey, easy there ! You almost crushed my fingers, " a playful voice cut through the roar of the rain as the lean figure climbed into the room with an effortless pull — his body dressed in all black and purple.
With a small exhale, Zanka moved aside in silence, letting Jabber Wonger claim the space inside.
Once fully sheltered in Zanka's bedroom, the man stood in front of him with a terrible smile : all teeth bared , his eyes narrowed into gleeful crescents. His head slightly tilted to the side, long and wet dreadlocks slipped free from beneath his hood as he opened his mouth to speak.
"You're late." Zanka spoke first, tone stern but a neutral and controlled expression on the face as he would not let any misplaced sign of contentment show on his face, right now.
Jabber's soaked clothes dripped onto the floor as he laughed loudly. He took a step towards the cleaner, invading his personal space.
" I'm so happy to see you too, Mr. Bad Attitude," he cooed as he pulled down his hood revealing his sinister face, which seemed a little too excited for the late hour.
" What took you so long ? Y' know I have to get up early tomorrow." Zanka whispered, letting his frustration slip into the accusation.
" Oh, you were that eager to see me ? You really miss me that much, huh ? That's so sweet." Jabber replied, two hands gripping his jacket right where his heart was, then, more seriously, he added." Truth is, I should've been there sooner, but I got followed, so I took a detour."
"Followed by who ?" Zanka's eyes narrowed while shifting behind Jabber's shoulder, half-expecting someone else to climb through the window.
" Nobody. I took care of it already," Jabber grinned as he leaned forward few inches more. From this close, Zanka caught the strong smell of burning clinging to Jabber — a mix of sweat, molten rubber, forged copper, and a sharper hint of chemical essence, as if he had stood near a burning factory for several hours. It wrinkled Zanka's nose a bit.
" If you've brought trouble here, I'm throwing you out, right now." Zanka stated. He seriously would rather die tomorrow in a completely stupid fashion because of exhaustion than disturb his colleagues. It was already…bold enough of him to break such an important rules by letting the raider into the headquarters without anyone knowing and for totally selfish reasons. The least he could do was make his visits here as discreet as possible.
And it was Jabber that we talked about; the man was never quiet, even if his life depended on it.
"Oh, that's tempting !" Jabber giggled, " but I was careful. And they were part of a job anyway — some shit stirrers who were associated with us in the past. Deserters or something, dunno, but I doubt there's anyone left that can brag about it now. " The raider bit his lower lip in an eerie manner that made Zanka wince.
He didn't want to know the gory details behind the insinuation — they weren’t there to confront their ethics, after all. Though, he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting to Jabber's body as he scrutinized his untidy state despite the darkness.
" You're dripping blood on my floor," he pointed out with a hiss. His eyes narrowed as he took in the darker patches of murky liquid saturated Jabber's clothes. On closer look, it seemed to crawl up his neck and jaws, which explained the coppery smell clinging to him and swirling around Zanka, like a potent, metallic incense.
"Don't get too excited, it's not mine," the raider sang, delighted. " They've got on my nerves, though," he carried on, letting show a hint of annoyance behind the toothy smile and frantic gestures." Hunting me like bloodhounds for miles, only to squeak like tiny rats once I got them cornered in a dead end. They weren't worth the time. But I get here now, all ready for our little sleepover Zan-Zan. "
" Tone it down, ya idiot. Or you'll be chased by half of the cleaners instead." Zanka pushed him aside, cutting him off his babbling before walking away towards his shelf. " I don't wanna waste any more time, but ya stink and I won't have blood on my sheets. Go wash." He said, while throwing a towel at him.
Jabber whistled briefly. "What made you all bossy, tonight ? Work can be dirty, don't you know that ?" He retorted, furiously wiping off his head with the clean towel.
Zanka chose to ignore the comment, instead he rummaged in his wardrobe to take out an old and worn attire." I'll lend ya clothes." He said, as he shoved it in Jabber's arms, and hurried him in the bathroom's door." You'd better not take too long — and keep it quiet !"
Behind the closed door, Zanka heard Jabber's taunting cackles, followed by the sound of running water. The whole situation had to entertain the raider far more than Zanka could believe. His maniacal stare bore a jubilant edge as if the role he currently played in Zanka's life was more gratifying than any of his raider's duty.
Zanka couldn't bother to care, though. Part of his brain still tried to make him feel rationally guilty, but it was overtly softened by the part urging him to choose the option that would yield results fast. And for now, as unsettling as it may seem, Jabber's presence had helped with the insomnia, compared to everything else he had tried before. And Zanka had tried many things, only to make his friends more worried and make him seem utterly foolish as the lack of positive outcomes ended up increasing his anxiety.
At least now, the situation was mostly under his control, none of the cleaners had any more reason to be concerned, and Enjin would no longer threaten to sideline him from patrols to make him catch up on sleep.
Zanka was ready to bear any sort of turmoil if it meant never to having to hear that ever again.
Plus, a rested body is a better weapon, he thought silently as he finally closed the window, rejecting the raging elements out of his room. The drop of temperature inside gave him chills and he hurried up wiping the floor with dirty clothes that he carefully set aside. Most people in the headquarters knew better than to ask about any bloodstains on his laundry, and he trusted them to not break that implicit rule.
Once the floor was dry, he settled back in his bed. Lovely Assistaff bumped into his hip as he got surrounded by the warm and soft fabrics and he held her against him. His forehead pressed gently against her hard body, which he found immensely more comforting. He avoided looking at his clock, even though he could easily guess it was half past midnight now.
He would be fit for the mission if he managed to fall asleep within the next hour; his body was far too used to short nights to need much. The young cleaner had held out in worse condition before, but would it be enough this time ? What if the hours he had just wasted waiting instead of trying to summon sleep would have spared him mistakes — like stumbling on broken ground or missing a target because of heavy eyelids ? What if he lacked vigilance and got hurt again ? It didn't take much to miss vital information during a fight, and he tended to grow impatient when he was low on energy. And his team, his new responsabilities — what if his inability to pull himself together left him incapable of giving them useful instructions ?
The bathroom's door opened, and Zanka almost flinched at Jabber's sudden entry. A low humming filled the silence, chasing away the disappointed looks of his superiors that he made up in his head as Jabber walked into the room as if it were common occurrence.
Lazy, magenta eyes met Zanka's, and the raider cocked his head, his relaxed smile growing amused." Did you wait for me ? Damn, you really need me in that bed, huh."
Zanka collapsed onto his pillow, letting out a grunt from deep within his throat. " M' not going to indulgin' you with banter tonight. Just..comes over." He closed his eyes as muffled steps drew closer. His heart began to beat differently, just a little bit faster, as Jabber loomed over him like a haunting ghost. Assistaff was still in his grip, set by his side like a protective wall when Jabber's body weight sank into the mattress, but the raider didn't seem to care at all.
His bond with his jinki had been mocked in the past, misunderstood by those who saw nothing but cumbersomeness in her length and rigidity. Even some of his peers didn't seem to relate to such devotion. It was too much for what looked like nothing more than a nicely warped stick, too incongruous even for something that carried so much emotional value.Yet Jabber had never commented on it, hadn't even looked at the place the staff was taking up in the bed; he simply acknowledged it as a norm and moved with it. Of course, it didn't matter to Zanka — his beliefs, in any form or shape, were insignificant, like anyone else who had something to say about Lovely — but, in a way, it made Jabber's presence less improper…less wrong. The older man wasn't here to disturb Zanka's neat life. Not tonight. Not when he slipped in like that, into his spotless sheets, and shamelessly lay down beside him.
There would be other times, other opportunities, when Jabber would mess with him, break his things, hurt him, in the name of his pursuit of brutality . It always came back, stronger and meaner, no matter the calmer sides he showed to the world, but it would simply not be tonight. Zanka knew that with such crude certainty, that his body lay boneless and relaxed with him as if his instincts had decided before his brain and any rational thoughts that everything was fine, that there was nothing dangerous in his near vicinity.
He breathed softly through his nose — the burnt scent so characteristic of chemical substances and the smell of his soap, mingled with the wafts of flowery incense still hanging in his room, growing richer with each inhale. It held his senses captive, much like the warmth radiating from the other man's skin, hot and copious like the heat of a closed oven.
"There's holes in my shirt." Jabber's whiny complaint made Zanka open eyes he hadn't even realized he had closed. He turned his head towards the other, watched him play and enlarge the small flaw on the lower part of the shirt.
"It's old, but still good," he explained with a croaky voice.
" You always gave me torn rags that nobody want to puts on anymore. I feel like a beggar."
Zanka clicked his tongue, annoyed by the new attempt of confrontation.
" I still wear it sometimes," he retorted as if it would add more value to the garment. He did, mostly for exercise and cleaning day but Jabber didn't have to know that."Plus, yer clothes are always full of holes and tears. Why does it bother you now ?"
" I fight with those clothes, of course they're wrecked — They're made for that. But I'm a guest here, right ? Isn't it, like, a common rule to take good care of their guest ? I don't feel like I'm being taken good care of with that old thin'. You could have lent me something nice. Like yours."
Zanka got his nightclothes from a fairly remote town, that occasionally fell along their extended patrol route. They had been made by an old lady who was used to working with such fabrics, crafted from high-quality materials in a traditional way. He could have found similar ones elsewhere—of lesser quality, but far cheaper—but the merchant came from the same region as he did, and the cut of her garments was exactly like what he had worn when he was younger. So he got carried away by nostalgia, and something more hurtful that bordered on homesickness.
They were large enough for Jabber and they would have suited him well — too well, even, for Zanka liking.— yet they were far too specific to be lent like mere fancy pajamas.
" No," he said categorically. "You have clothes. Don't push it."
" You're so mean," Jabber said, yawning lazily. He shifted in the bed in search of a more comfortable position, his heels brushing against Zanka's calf in the process. Once he had burrowed deeper into the blankets, he tugged at the ones covering Zanka, then kept wriggling as if the mattress were filled with gravel.
" Enough. Stop squirming," Zanka hissed. His patience slowly unraveling, even though he kept telling himself all that was worth the trouble.
"But we're so cramped in your bed, I feel like I'm gonna end up with my ass on the floor before I close my eyes," he sighed petulantly.
Zanka glanced at him, eyes stinging from fatigue and irritation. For all that he had made the effort to be there tonight, Jabber was still a loose cannon — selfish and capricious, just as one might expect from a maniac criminal. Still, his jinki did keep him at the very edge of the bed and to his credit, he hadn't even tried to cross the line she stood for. Zanka found that oddly respectful.
His wandering mind let a handful of second pass, bearing with his visitor's agitation until hesitant fingers drew his jinki flush against his flank. He, then, opened his mouth and said in a hushed voice, "If you stop fidgeting so much, you can get closer." He stubbornly kept his gaze on the ceiling but still could feel Jabber's eyes fixed on him, wide and still, like those of a crow that had spotted something shiny among the rubble. " But then ya shut up and behave !" He felt obliged to stress the point.
He had barely finished his sentence that he already felt the other’s warmth brush against him. Their shoulders were now only a few inches apart, and a shiver ran through him. Heat spread through his body too suddenly, unwelcome like the beginnings of a fever. His first instinct was to put as much distance as possible between him and the new threat, yet Jabber had stopped fidgeting around. He lay still on his back, breathing softly through his nose, unconsciously enticing Zanka to do the same.
Calm settled around them, steady and hushed. The dull sound of rain and the wind’s hollow cry merged into a distant hum, like a vague melody drifting beyond the sky—a lullaby beckoning sleep. His eyes closed, his body heavy, the familiar sense of safety; it all should have been enough, yet minutes drifted by, uncounted but substantive, and Zanka's chest felt tight as if he had left his bindings on — which inadvertently happened sometimes. His head kept teetering on the tightrope of consciousness, without ever tipping over to the right side and it made him feel so helpless because fatigue was definitely there, blatant and overwhelming like a nagging wound.
"You're okay ?" Jabber's voice was no louder than a whisperer for the first time that night.
Zanka swallowed, mouth dry. "Yeah," he lied, as he didn't really see what Jabber could do about yet another setback pilling into his growing list.
"Nervous for tomorrow ?"
Big eyes slowly opened in the dark and drifted toward the man lying next to him, genuine surprise flickering in their intense blue." I…I just…"he tried to lie again, but Jabber's perspicacity caught him off guard and made him felt like he couldn't hide from him. It was sometimes shocking, almost terrifying, the way he could read people with so much accuracy. It was even more destabilizing than his pronounced taste for pain. " I guess, I just wonder if I'll be up to the task, yeah..."
" Why ?" Jabber's expression was difficult to deciphered. " How long have you been doing this ? Six. No, seven years ? It should be trivial for you."
"But it's not the same thing."
"Really ? You're not going to investigate, then beat the crap out of some trash beasts ?"
Zanka felt his voice slipping a little. "I mean…yes, but it's different when you're the one responsible for the mission."
"You used to do a lot of solo missions last year; it's all the same." Jabber scoffed, amused as if he'd just thwarted a chess move.
" No, it's not. I'm part of a team — I have to consider my teammates. I have to make sure nothin' happens to them, and that they trust me enough to follow my instructions."
Enjin made it seem so effortless, as if it were second nature to him to inspire and make others want to follow him unconditionally, but Zanka was nothing like him. Not in his personality, not in his nature, not even in the bonds he formed with others — he was cynical and cold most of the time, and not exactly a comforting shoulder to cry on when things became a little too emotional. Zanka was still so average, while Enjin was a man who exuded viril and powerful presence, gifted with striking eloquence. He could never compete.
"Obedience doesn’t require trust." Jabber chuckled carelessly. " They’ll follow you because you have the knowledge and the strength to know what you’re doing. The imbalance will naturally lead them to rely on you, even if they don't know you yet. Hadn't you noticed your precious mentor had you the same way ? Like ducklings and their mother," he quietly laughed again, as if at a joke only he understood.
His way of putting things was… questionable but Jabber wasn't entirely wrong; his new subordinates were quite young and new to the cleaners. In many ways, he reminded them of Rudo when he first arrived on the Ground and even though they hadn't clicked right away at that time, Zanka still managed to get him to listen to him.
"Besides, you’ve got charisma that's hard to ignore when you fight. That's all it takes to impress young minds." Jabber added with a yawn that made his jaws click.
The blatant flattery took Zanka by surprise, sending a small twist through his stomach. The raider’s velvet tongue and the effortless way compliments slipped from his mouth weren’t unexpected, Zanka knew full well it was all part of his numerous strategies to get on his nerves. And yet, this time, it felt different. Surely it was due to his drowsy brain, but Zanka felt a flush spread across his face.
"Yer exaggerating ." He muttered quietly, his neck warm and tingling, and the corner of his lips threatening to curl upward.
" You don't have to believe me—you'll see for yourself tomorrow." A knowing grin could be heard in his raspy voice as if he had already seen how his mission would all unfold. " I bet you'll have your own ducklings very soon." He added with a wry huff.
His words brought to the cleaner's mind an imagine that rivaled one of the many pictures taken with Team Akuta when they were younger; Enjin always watching over his juniors with soft eyes. It was a ridiculous fantasy, Zanka seemed like a pale imitation, an imposter trying so badly to take on a role that doesn't suit — and yet the illusion wasn't so unpleasant.
"Nonsense." Zanka snorted but the faint smile was still on his face.
And with that silence felt calmy between them.
And perhaps Zanka should have found something to object to in all of this : the man in his bed, the harmless words they exchanged, their disconcerting closeness, all those things that shouldn't have been possible between the two of them. They shouldn't work — shouldn't have existed in peace. Yet, it didn't seem like much . Zanka saw no point in digging any deeper into something that had so little impact on anyone's life. What if he found reassurance in Jabber ?Would it really contradict who they were ?
In his drifting thoughts, Zanka couldn’t find any reason to see it as wrong. His heart felt lighter as he let himself be carried off into mindless limbo. Jabber swayed closer, his own breath steady and quiet, until their skin met somewhere along their arms.
Zanka let it happen, feeling himself slip away into sleep, a sense of victory taking hold after the day's interminable wait, eclipsing the unsettling heat that had made its nest in the pit of his stomach.
It was something to unpack later. Eventually. For now, Zanka slept like a log for as many hours as he could.