Chapter Text
Zanka sat curled in the living room armchair, nose buried in a book, when Jabber dropped onto the couch beside him with a soft thud. A small cloth, a vial of polishing oil, and a few delicate tools clinked onto the coffee table.
Jabber reached over without preamble. "Give me your left hand, baby."
Zanka extended it on instinct, fingers relaxed, before his brain caught up. "Wait, what for?"
Jabber caught his hand gently, thumb brushing over the silver band on Zanka's ring finger. The tiny, hidden blades embedded in the metal gleamed faintly under the lamplight. "It's time to clean Mankira. You're wearing the last piece that needs attention, so I have to take it off."
Zanka yanked his hand back to his chest, cradling it protectively. His pulse jumped. "You're removing it?"
Jabber let out a warm, easy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, baby. It can be cleaned properly this way. Let me retract the blades first so it doesn't nick you when I slide it off."
Zanka stared down at the ring, the familiar weight suddenly feeling heavier. The thought of it leaving his finger, even for a few minutes, sent a quiet wave of panic through him. This was more than jewelry. It part of Jabber, part of them. He swallowed hard.
After a long beat, he sighed and slowly offered his hand again.
Jabber's smile softened, genuine and reassuring. "I'll make it quick. Promise."
He took Zanka's fingers in both hands, careful and almost reverent. With a light twist and press in just the right spot, the minuscule blades retracted smoothly into the band with a faint metallic click. Jabber eased the ring free, slow enough that Zanka felt every inch of it sliding away. Pale scars, thin and faded months of wear, marked where the hidden mechanisms had once bitten into his skin.
Now bare, Zanka's finger looked strangely naked.
Jabber set the ring on the table with the rest of Mankira's pieces and started his careful work: wiping away grime, applying oil, buffing until the silver shone. Zanka leaned forward, hovering close, eyes fixed on every movement. He watched like Jabber might vanish with the ring, or like something fragile might break if he looked away.
Jabber glanced up once, catching the intensity in Zanka's stare, and his grin turned playful. "Relax, love. She's coming right back to you."
Zanka did not relax, but he stayed right there, shoulder brushing Jabber's, until the last gleam was restored.
Jabber took his time with the cleaning, deliberately saving Zanka's ring for last. He polished each of the other Mankira pieces first, buffing the silver until they caught the light like fresh blades. Zanka had gradually shifted closer during the process, until he was practically draped over Jabber's lap, left hand extended impatiently, fingers flexing.
"Okay, you're done now? Put it back on."
Jabber glanced up with a slow, knowing smile and slid the ring back onto Zanka's finger. The metal settled into place with a familiar, comforting weight, nestling against the faint scars beneath. Zanka exhaled softly, shoulders relaxing for the first time since the ring had come off.
Jabber did not stop there. He reached for the rest of Mankira, methodically slipping the other rings back onto his own fingers, one by one. The quiet clicks of metal against skin filled the room.
Zanka cleared his throat.
Jabber paused, one eyebrow quirking upward. "Yes?"
"The blades," Zanka said, voice low but firm.
"What about them?"
"Stop playing with me. Put them on correctly."
Jabber's smile turned teasing, though his eyes held something softer, more careful. "You sure? You don't have to wear them extended if it hurts too much. I can leave them retracted for tonight."
"Jabber."
The single word carried quiet insistence. Jabber sighed, the sound fond rather than frustrated. He leaned in and captured Zanka's mouth in a slow kiss. Zanka responded immediately, hands sliding up to cup Jabber's face, pulling him closer.
As their kiss deepened, Jabber's fingers found the subtle mechanism on the band. With a gentle press and twist, the tiny blades extended again, sliding out to anchor into the old, familiar grooves on Zanka's finger. A sharp sting flared through the skin, drawing a small, pained noise from Zanka's throat.
Jabber swallowed the sound, kissing him harder, deeper, one hand cradling the back of Zanka's neck to keep him steady. The pain ebbed quickly into the dull, grounding ache Zanka had grown used to over the past few months, the blades settling like they had always belonged there.
When they finally parted, breaths mingling, Jabber rested his forehead against Zanka's.
"Better?" he murmured.
Zanka flexed his hand once, testing the familiar bite. Then he nodded, curling his fingers around Jabber's. "Much better."
Jabber chuckled softly and pressed another quick kiss to his knuckles, right over the ring.