an: I love the Sunbow animated show, but especially the cobra crew. I was kind of disappointed to see a general lack of shippy fics...so here's my rubbish contribution. Enjoy or do not! I'm writing this crap anyway.
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The Unpaid Bonus
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It was likely that the commander was probably insane.
Zartan had known this for some time now, and it had never been much of a turn off. Quite the contrary, actually.
And anyway, probably insane commanders dealt out their rewards in much the same way the average uninteresting joe on the street might. The end result was always the same: wads of luscious green cash.
Money was money, wherever and whoever it came from. Zartan wasn't picky about that, so long as he got some in the end.
"Zartan, where are you?...if you're dead...I-I swear I'm going to kill you..."
Zartan smirked. The only difference being that probably insane commanders provided far more entertainment than the average and uninteresting joe on the street. They also tended to be a bit more generous with their payouts, due to the probable insanity issue.
"I'm right behind you, commander. Don't fret."
"Don't tell me what to do...!"
Zartan thrashed the rest of the way through the wild bush, following the angry trill of the other's voice. Soon enough, he reached a small and marshy clearing, which seemed to be the main source of the wreckage site.
The first thing he noticed was the swamp skier. It had seen better days; streaked with mud and violent indents struck all across it's sides. Smoke still plumed from it's rear, although it didn't seem like it was going to explode anymore. It was also still half-floating on the water edge, even if it was mostly capsized. A small miracle.
They'd crashed pretty spectacularly, and for a few moments, within the blur of the accident, Zartan had thought he might never get to spend that bonus the commander had so carelessly promised him that morning.
Amongst all the other bonuses Zartan had been enjoying that morning, of course.
"Zartan!"
"I'm right here, commander."
Luck must have been with them today, since they were both still alive, apparently. Zartan had counted up a few cuts on his own arms, but they were nothing to write home about. He had a feeling the commander had bared the brunt of the crash.
"I think I'm dying," the commander said, as if in confirmation.
Zartan turned round to look at him.
The commander was only a little way from the crash site. He sat on his knees and was clutching his side, like a pitiful child.
Zartan stepped quickly over to him. "Can you get up?"
"Of course. Just a minute."
Zartan bent down, but the commander swatted his hand away, accompanying an angry hiss.
"I told you, Zartan. Just a minute."
"You also just told me you might be dying?"
"I might have exaggerated. Also I was trying to make you feel bad."
Zartan snorted. In better circumstances he might have laughed. The commander was always interesting, if nothing else.
Zartan sometimes wondered if that was why he bothered to stick around. Or ever agreed to any of this lunacy, for that matter. Maybe he just enjoyed poking at something that was a bit unhinged every now and then, just to see what would happen next. It was kind of fun.
He prodded the commander in the side, with the toe of his boot. The commander hissed again, shoving his foot away.
Zartan grinned. "Good to know you're not actually dying, then. I'll have a go at fixing this thing."
"Fixing what? That gaping hole in your brain?"
Zartan ignored him, and turned his attention back to the swamp skier. It was in dire condition for sure, but Zartan was handy with things like that, and he didn't like to pass up the chance to impress his sullen employer.
"I think it looks much worse than it actually is," he assessed.
"I think that's very wishful thinking."
"It's fixable. Have some faith, commander."
The commander scoffed.
"Oh, I have faith, Zartan. Faith that Destro is going to enjoy rubbing this latest failure in our faces. And he's going to have a huge 'I told you so' party about it."
Zartan pressed a hand to the skier's side, and pushed it upright with a heavy grunt. Dirty water spewed all around it, as it righted itself back onto the waters.
Wafting away the smoke that already seemed to be thinning away, Zartan grinned triumphantly over his shoulder.
"A party? You think we'll be invited to it?"
"I'd much rather die."
Zartan wiped the mud from his gloved hands. "Who cares what that metal face thinks, anyway? And see, what did I tell you? It's fine," he patted the side of the skier.
"Congratulations, Zartan. You made a boat float. I'm very proud," the commander stood up, albeit quite slowly. He placed a hand on a tree trunk, clutching it, for whatever reason. "And that's all very easy for you to say. You're not the one paying out ludicrous sums of money to keep Destro in line..."
Zartan stepped onto the skier with a little tentativeness. It bobbed in the waters (no surprise), and he silently commended himself for another small miracle.
He offered the commander a smug look. "I don't even know why you still keep that tin-face in your employment. Nor Mindbender, for that matter. I wouldn't trust any of them. Except me, obviously."
The commander laughed, though it sounded somewhat resigned.
"What would you have me do? Ask Serpentor to make some drastic redundancies? I'm sure that'd go down extremely well."
Zartan rolled his eyes. "Oh, to hell with Serpentor."
He turned back to the skier.
The control panel was blinking with life, and Zartan flicked a switch, listening as the vibrations melded into a stuttering revving sound. It didn't sound very healthy, but it was better than nothing.
"Oh ye of little faith, commander. Works like an absolute charm."
He waited for a sheepish response, but it took longer, and when it did, it was only an uneven sort of sigh.
Zartan turned round, and forgot all of his smugness at once.
The commander had slumped back against the tree, and Zartan could already see the tremor in his chest as he sunk slowly down to the ground.
Zartan ran over, and knelt down to him. "Are you alright-"
"Of course," the commander pushed Zartan's hand away, rather feebly this time. "Perfectly fine..."
"No point lying, commander," Zartan grasped his wrist, holding it still. "I know you too well for all that nonsense."
The simple gesture seemed to do the trick, and the other stopped struggling, although with some reluctance.
"I wish you didn't know me so well," the commander said, in a sulky voice.
"Ah, well that's too bad, isn't it."
Zartan felt his sneer settle into something a bit more amiable.
As it was, he'd never expected, nor ever even wanted to develop any sort of familiarity with the commander. It wasn't very professional, for one. And a mercenary was supposed to keep all of his employers at arms length, if at all possible.
But this one had crept up on him, somehow. Gotten much closer than arms length in too many ways. Sneaky little bastard.
It wasn't so terrible, though. And maybe it was something more than familiarity.
Whatever it was, it was enough to sting at Zartan's elusive conscience.
"Tell me where it hurts, commander."
"...it doesn't hurt. Leave me alone."
Zartan grimaced. He could easily imagine the angry pout behind that mask, even if he'd never seen it.
"If you won't cooperate, I might have to be a bit more forceful about it, commander."
The commander's chest hitched, with what might have been a thin laugh.
"Nothing new there, Zartan."
Zartan snorted, and decided to take the jibe as a means of consent. He began to unfasten buttons he was already indecently familiar with, and ignored the commander's scandalised curse.
"...careful! You're...you're never usually this eager, Zartan-"
"Hah. And you're never usually this nervous, commander."
"I'm not nervous, I'm furious!"
"My mistake."
Zartan's sneer faded, as he opened the commander's jacket up to an exposed chest. The flesh there was already purplish, with nasty and blossoming bruises around the rib area. It didn't look pleasant at all, but it probably wasn't going to be life threatening either.
Do you think I'm going to die?" the commander asked, his mirrored gaze apparently not leaving Zartan's face.
Zartan shook his head. "Not likely. Probably just some cracked ribs. Aren't you a lucky son of a bitch? "
"How awful. Serpentor will be disappointed."
Zartan pulled a face, unable to help himself.
"Like I said. To hell with him."
"Careful. I could have you done for treasonous behaviour, Zartan," the commander sounded like he might be smirking.
Zartan did not return it, for once.
In all honesty, the Cobra Emperor had become a tiresome concept to Zartan long before he'd ever been properly introduced to him, and he didn't need any details to know exactly how he operated as a leader. Zartan could gage it, and he realised it well enough. It was easy; just seeing the way the commander flinched, whenever Serpentor got too close to him. Or sometimes when he merely spoke to him.
Zartan had never seen the commander like that before, and it had been surprisingly upsetting.
He stared at the bruised chest, something compelling him to wonder about it all.
"Are you enjoying the view?" the commander seemed amused, as he batted Zartan's curious hand away. He quickly began fastening his jacket back up. "Serpentor probably thinks we're already dead, anyway."
"Good," Zartan muttered. "And good riddance to all of them, I say."
The commander shook his head with a short laugh that was probably ill-judged. He winced, and gripped his chest as he spoke;
"...you couldn't abandon Cobra, Zartan. You receive your biggest pay checks from us."
Zartan rolled his eyes, but found himself unable to argue the point, even as he placed a placating hand on the commander's shoulder. As if that was supposed to ease his pain.
It was true, he couldn't bring himself to turn down any of Cobra's more generous offers, even if he tried. And the commander, despite some of his naivety, seemed to know that better than anyone.
Zartan grasped his shoulder a bit tighter.
"Why don't you just stay?"
"...what?"
"Forget going back to Cobra base," Zartan shrugged. "Stay here."
The suggestion felt so easy and inconsequential in the moment.
Besides, talking to the commander was always very different to talking to anyone else. There were no eyes to decipher the various and complicated emotions of. No frowns or smirks or scowls that might indicate what Zartan was supposed say, or even take from their conversations.
Zartan could make it all up if he wanted to. He could imagine the frowns and smirks wherever they suited him, and in the meantime he only had to contend with his own mirrored reflection in that mask. Always somewhat abstracted, but also confident in the knowledge that he'd get his way in the end.
The commander was always too soft with him, after all.
"Stay here? Hah...you're quite funny, Zartan," the commander said at last, in an alarmingly quieter voice. "That's why I like you."
He tilted his head away, in a gesture that could have meant literally anything at all.
Zartan knew exactly what it meant, though.
"Are you so embarrassed, commander?"
The commander scoffed. "...don't flatter yourself so much, Zartan."
But he didn't turn his head back, and Zartan could hear the uneven edge in his tone.
He smiled, and tipped the commander's head back to face him, as if he could gather any sort of expression from that. His own cocksure grin reflected back at him, as usual.
"What?" the commander demanded, but his words were shaken. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Zartan said. "I was just thinking it's very endearing, that's all."
Then he pushed the commander the rest of the way down, and into the grass.
Perhaps that was why he stuck around.
Just knowing that he was the only one who got to push at buttons nobody else knew about, or even dared to think existed within their terrible commander. It must have been that; as he pressed at skin which was always softer than he remembered, and listened to sounds that were always more fragile than he could ever recall afterwards.
There was a pained hiss, and he felt limbs trembling to reach around his back.
Zartan murmured a vague apology, remembering bruised skin. It was hardly going to stop him, though.
"...am I...am I supposed to pay you extra for this...?" the commander asked. He sounded breathless and overwhelmed. "I-I didn't plan for it..."
Zartan snorted, if only to disguise the strange pang that had found his chest.
It must have been another attack of conscience. And then the slow realisation that he hadn't even thought about the damned money this time.
Not even once.
"...I don't expect payment for my own unplanned pleasures, commander."
Then he felt a much more delicate sigh, like relief, moving slowly beneath him.
"...hah...very well, then..."
The commander's voice became brittle, and his hands uncurled into clinging fingers around Zartan's back, like some very urgent invitation.
Zartan was only happy to accept it, and for a while, as the sun peaked through the overhanging trees, he didn't need to think about anything but his own selfish desires.
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Mercenary work was often fairly easy business, if not always easy money.
No ties to anyone. No Serpentors or petty middle management to have to answer to or contend with. Straightforward transactions that didn't pertain to dodgy small print he hadn't bothered to read the first time round. It was easy, and the bonuses were something else.
Zartan stretched his arms out around his head, and watched the blueish sky with a serene satisfaction, even as an elbow jabbed into his side.
"I think you've broken some of my bones, you beast."
"Nonsense," Zartan turned round anyway, to appraise the commander. "I was extra gentle."
The commander looked mildly affronted, in the only way a faceless person possibly could; back straightened and huffing sounds, like a kid having a barely constrained sulk. It always made Zartan want to laugh.
"Gentle, my eye. You're like some kind of wild animal, Zartan."
"I didn't hear any complaints at the time. Quite the opposite, actually..."
The commander shoved him, halfheartedly, in the side.
"We have to go. They'll be wondering where we are."
He sounded resentful about it, and Zartan noticed him rubbing his ribs again, with another spark of conscience.
He offered the commander a steadier look.
"I didn't really hurt you, did I?"
"You mean when you sent us crashing off that cursed swamp skier? I'd say you did, and most magnificently-"
"I don't mean that," Zartan hesitated. "But I am sorry about that."
The commander folded his arms, as if seriously considering the apology.
"You know, swamp skier's aren't designed to fly, Zartan. But...I suppose it was good fun while it lasted," he paused, and then seemed to shake his head, more to himself. "I seem to have way more fun with you these days, Zartan. Even at the cost of a few cracked ribs. Isn't that funny?"
"Not really," Zartan said, and smiled anyway. "But I understand."
The commander looked away. "You didn't really hurt me, by the way."
His words were uncharacteristically shy, and Zartan was compelled to catch his hand.
"You could still stay, you know."
"And become an honorary Dreadnok? I think I'd rather have Serpentor kill me off first."
Zartan grimaced. "Then I'd have to finish him off for that."
The commander laughed, but perhaps too quickly. "What would you do? Take him down all by yourself?"
"It'd be my absolute pleasure."
The commander stood up, but teetered on his feet.
"You're crazy, Zartan. Crazy and stupid."
Zartan followed after him, hooking an arm round his shoulder.
"Stop listing your best attributes, commander."
They stood still and quiet for a moment, in part to allow the commander to regain some of his composure. Zartan could feel the exerted shake in the other's muscles, and he knew that they'd do better getting back to Cobra base sooner rather than later.
Eventually the commander shook his head.
"Your concern is misplaced, Zartan, touching as it is," he took another shortened breath. "Serpentor will get what's coming to him one of these days. Don't worry about that."
"I can hardly wait, then."
Zartan easily scooped the commander the rest of the way into his arms, and carried him over to the swamp skier before he could even begin to protest it. There, he replaced him on the passenger seat.
The commander looked up at Zartan, and spoke in a sarcastic tone;
"That wasn't necessary at all."
"Perhaps not. But we both enjoy it, don't we?"
"Cocky bastard," the commander folded his arms, but didn't say anything else.
Zartan could imagine his smirk.
He settled into the driver's seat, listening to the hum of the motor. It sounded a little healthier, at least.
He felt the commander's arms, moving automatically around his waist. And then his voice, quieter, and very close to his shoulder.
"Did you really mean it, Zartan?"
Zartan blinked, in some vague confusion. "About Serpentor-?"
"No, not him."
There was a pause, which felt awkward because of their close proximity. And that was strange too, considering how intimate they'd been only a few minutes ago.
"You said you didn't want any payment this time, Zartan. For us."
"Oh, that," Zartan flicked a couple more switches on the control panel, and the water splashed up, all round them. "Well. Obviously I meant it. Or I wouldn't have said it, would I?"
"...I...I suppose not."
The commander sounded so surprised, and it made Zartan smile.
"Just think of it as my unpaid bonus, commander."
As the swamp skier kicked into gear and began to tear across the muddy waters, Zartan tried to remember when it was that he'd allowed probably insane commanders to get so deep under his skin.
It hardly seemed to matter, as hands twitched around his chest, holding onto him a bit tighter, and the deft heartbeat that pulsed against his back seemed to quicken with every passing second between them.
Zartan's smile stretched some more.
Unpaid or not, he was beginning to realise that this bonus was pretty priceless just as it was.
END