Chapter Text
Vanta’s leg bounced anxiously against the cold linoleum floor of Zali’s lab. He was starting to regret not putting on a pair of shoes before he had left his room; the decreased temperature of the ground floor starting to seep through the fabric of his socks.
He observed Zali from where he sat perched on an examination table, watching as the healer rotated between typing something on his computer, walking over to his lab equipment, checking his notes, and repeating the process over again. Vanta didn’t dare speak, hesitant to interrupt whatever trance the medic had worked himself into.
They hadn’t spoken since it was determined that Wilson was, in fact, not at A.S.H. HQ, and Zali had immediately launched himself into a rhythm of methodical movements. Vanta couldn’t help but feel that he too should be doing something, guilt gnawing at his consciousness as he watched Zali’s dizzying dance, but he’d be the first person to admit that he was currently way out of his element.
The only sounds resonating throughout the sterile room were Zali’s quick steps, the muted rustle of Vanta’s clothing as his leg continuously jittered, and of course, that god-awful, never-ending hum of machinery that was driving Vanta insane.
Vanta had an elbow resting on his stagnant leg, his long fingers cradling the lower half of his face in contemplation. He resisted the growing urge to dig his blunt nails into the jagged scar adorning the left side of his face, the tissue throbbing and aching along with his growing unease.
“You’re going to hurt yourself thinking so hard,” Zali suddenly called out, his back facing Vanta as he siphoned translucent liquid into a pipette, “I can practically smell the smoke coming out of your ears.”
The tyrant maintained his repetitive ministrations, unphased by Zali’s interjection, only responding with a flat hum of acknowledgement. Zali glanced over his shoulder at the taller man, sighing softly as he took in his dishevelled state.
“Maybe you should go back to the dorm and try and get some sleep-”
“No.”
Vanta’s voice carried a dangerous finality that indicated he would not be argued with. Zali let out another sigh as he turned back towards his workstation, busying his hands once more.
“He’s going to be fine, Vanta,” Zali continued, used to the other’s outbursts and undeterred by his threatening tone.
“You don’t know that,” Vanta grit out from between clenched teeth, his leg moving faster as his agitation increased.
The medic didn’t respond, continuing to measure and record data in relative silence. A few moments passed before he set down his tools, facing Vanta once again and striding towards him. Vanta didn’t acknowledge the other man as he approached. His purple eyes remained firmly glued on the blank wall in front of him, unmoving even as Zali’s slim figure interrupted his line of sight.
Vezalius sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening and crouched down in front of Vanta’s rigid figure.
“Vanta,” Zali called, “Vanta, look at me.” The taller man briefly relented from boring a hole into the concrete wall and spared Zali an uninterested glance before returning to his previous spot of fixation. Zali frowned slightly at the other’s pointed silence and slowly extended a pale hand, placing it gently on Vanta’s overactive knee and causing the movement to falter.
The tyrant flinched slightly at the sensation of Zali’s cold hand through the fabric of his pyjama pants. He reluctantly peeled his tired eyes away from the wall and finally locked eyes with the medic gazing up at him patiently.
“Sorry,” Vanta croaked, his voice hoarse from stress. Zali’s eyes were unwavering as he held the other’s gaze, softening his expression as he looked at his team member.
“There is no need to be sorry. However,” Zali hummed thoughtfully before lifting his other hand and placing it softly on Vanta’s forearm, “I would like it if you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself.”
Vanta drew his eyebrows together in confusion before Zali’s hand skirted from his forearm to the fingers resting across his face. With a gentle tug, Zali disconnected Vanta’s hand from his face and held the tyrant’s calloused palm against his own.
“There,” Zali stated, not relenting his grasp on the other’s hand, “Much better.”
Vanta relaxed in the other’s hold. Only then, with his hand firmly grasped in Zali’s own, did Vanta become aware of the sharp stinging sensation across his cheek.
“Ah,” Vanta winced, realizing that he must have been unconsciously digging his nails into his scar. Zali’s eyes softened as he softly squeezed Vanta’s palm. “I didn’t realize,” the tyrant trailed off, glancing away from the healer in embarrassment. Zali just smiled softly before standing up from his crouched position.
“You drew a bit of blood,” the healer observed, using the hand not currently holding Vanta’s to gently inspect the side of the tyrant's face. “Stay put, I’ll clean it for you.”
Zali softly released his hold on Vanta’s face and hand, moving towards the bottom drawer of his desk where he kept the first aid kit. Vanta sat patiently, attempting to remain still as the other man rummaged through an unreasonable amount of hoarded medical supplies. The dark-haired man didn’t take long and returned to his position in front of Vanta quickly with his hands full of various items.
Setting the objects down on the exam table beside Vanta, Zali pinched the tyrant's sharp chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting the other’s face so he could get a better look at the damaged area. Vanta breathed softly, trying to minimize his movement so the other could work uninterrupted.
This wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that Zali had painstakingly treated every cut and bruise on the other’s tanned skin. The familiar sensation of feather-light touches, the methodical swipe of antiseptic against an open wound, and the practised application of sterile plaster onto skin, was a routine Vanta had come to find somewhat therapeutic. He took the opportunity to study the other’s expression, which was pinched in concentration as he began to repeat the methodical process on another cut.
Vanta examined how the medic’s thin eyebrows twitched slightly with every ministration, and how his golden eyes saccaded with intensity while he worked. Tracing the slope of his nose down to his mouth, Vanta observed how the healer’s bottom lip seemed to softly protrude into a minuscule pout whenever he became lost in focus. The soft inhale and exhale of Zali’s breath caused Vanta to tear his gaze away from the medic’s mouth, where he instead followed the curve of a sharp cheekbone until it was disrupted by a jagged sliver of raised skin.
Vanta was used to seeing Zali’s scar, much like his own, and it was something he rarely thought about if at all. The tyrant traced his eyes across the long line of the healed lesion, which began at the medic’s left cheekbone, and sliced straight through the socket of a golden eye and a slim brow, until it finally ended high on Zali’s forehead where it tapered off towards his dark hairline.
Vanta briefly wondered how the other had not lost the eye, or at least some vision, from the injury. However, it had never seemed appropriate to ask, and so it was a question that continued to remain unanswered. His fingers twitched against the fabric of the examination table as he carefully studied every minute stagger along the long line, memorizing the jagged patterns where small horizontal scars intersected with the larger vertical one. In the back of his mind, Vanta pondered if the smaller scars were a remnant of Vazalius’ past attempts to frantically piece himself back together. He had a sinking suspicion that he already knew the answer.
“Tada,” the black-haired man suddenly sang, taking a small step back to admire his handiwork, “Good as new.” Vanta snapped out of his reverie and brought a hand up to inspect the repairs to his face, but halted the movement when Zali shot him a sharp glare.
“Don’t touch,” he chided, “And try to keep it dry. I’ll change the dressings in a few days.” With his brief instruction, Zali stood, cracking his back as he stretched his lithe arms above his head.
Vanta hopped off the table and straightened his neck which was stiff from staying still for an extended period of time. “Thanks, Zali,” he smiled while shaking some feeling back into his legs.
“No need,” Zali dismissed, smiling back at the taller hero, “It’s my job after all.”
The tyrant rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Vanta moved to the desk, taking a glance at the notes Zali had been previously recording, “Just take the compliment, would you?”
Zali let out a soft chuckle as he moved to stand beside Vanta, “Okay, fine. You’re very welcome, Vantacrow Bringer.”
Vanta grimaced, “Wow, just had to pull out the government name didn’t you, Vezalius Bandage?” he quipped, which earned him another small laugh.
“So, anyways, what did you find out?” Vanta questioned after a brief pause, finally giving up on trying to decipher the medic’s illegible handwriting. Zali’s expression dropped slightly, and if Vanta hadn’t been working alongside the man for the past five months, he would have missed it.
“It isn’t good, is it,” the tyrant queried, the anxiety clawing its way back into his chest.
The medic sighed heavily, rubbing a frustrated hand against his forehead. “The calculations aren’t making sense,” he began, “The results of my past experiments should be replicable but this one isn’t.” Vanta stared at the other, confused. Zali stared back, his lips pursed into a hard line before continuing.
“I didn’t have any extra elixirs of teleportation. When you told me Wilson teleported, I quickly realized I hadn’t made any spares for him to take. Logically, I assumed someone had reproduced my research, but the faulty calculations mean nobody, let alone Wilson, could have possibly replicated the elixir's capabilities.” Zali’s expression was grim and although he was speaking, his eyes had a distant look in them, “There is only one other person on this planet who can grant others the ability of spacetime manipulation, and his methods are sacrilege, to say the least.”
Vanta inhaled sharply, awareness flooding his senses as it all clicked together. “Shu,” he gasped, feeling faint at the revelation, “Shu is using the crystals, isn’t he?” Zali nodded solemnly, eyes still eerily vacant as a suffocating silence fell over the two. Vanta couldn’t help but eye the long scar across Vezalius’ face at the mention of the crystals, and something ached deep inside his chest.
“We have to tell HQ,” Vanta concluded, moving towards the door before a slim hand firmly grasped his bicep and stopped him in his tracks.
“They know.”
“What?”
“They know, Vanta. I know they do.”
Vanta blinked, “What the fuck are you suggesting right now?” His voice rose with anger as the whole situation came crashing down on him. It felt like the world was falling at his feet and everyone was in on the joke except for him. “What do you mean, Zali?” the tyrant pressed with an edge to his voice that made Zali’s hair stand on end.
“The higher-ups at A.S.H. already know Shu is manipulating the Crystal Curse with his sorcery,” Zali confirmed, his tone severe, “Certain personnel have been made aware of the situation, and several other organizations have already sent units to investigate.”
“What does any of this have to do with Wilson-”
“I have a strong suspicion that A.S.H. has dispatched Wilson to further investigate the sudden resurgence in crystal activity,” Zali concluded, his face shadowed with an unreadable expression.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Vanta angrily exclaimed, “Wilson was home yesterday, remember? We saw him before dinner. How could he be actively dispatched on a mission and be at home at the same?” His chest rose and fell rapidly as Zali refused to meet his gaze.
“Wilson was never really home,” Zali said, and the implication made Vanta’s throat close up. “My best guess is that Wilson has been using the residual energy of the Crystal Curse to teleport home in short bursts, presumably so that we wouldn’t become aware of his prolonged absence.” The medic spoke lowly and even the hum of machinery seemed to halt in anticipation, “His plan probably would have worked too, if he hadn’t accidentally teleported into your bed tonight.”
Vanta’s mind raced with all the fleeting moments where he may have seen Wilson in the past week. He should have known; he should have been more caring, more attentive, more selfless. It all made sense, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought that he had not only been so easily fooled by A.S.H., but so ignorant of the struggles of his own teammate.
“Where,” Vanta heaved, trying and failing to catch his panicked breath, “Where is he?”
Zali pursed his lips again, still refusing to meet Vanta’s eyes and instead opted to stare soullessly into the black monitor of his now sleeping computer. The silence made Vanta seeth, and when Zali merely shook his head in a dejected manner, he saw red.
“Fuck this job,” he spat, venom punctuating every syllable, “And fuck you, too.”
Raising a hand to his bandaged cheek, Vanta dug his trimmed nails under carefully taped gauze and tore at it violently, throwing the used bandage to the ground in disgust. His cheek stung, and he could vaguely feel fresh blood beginning to drip down the plane of his cheek, but he was so angry he couldn’t bring himself to care.
In a flurry of movement, Vanta was storming out the door, never looking back even as the door slammed shut behind him.
Zali didn’t even flinch.