makinglies | When I opened my eyes the world was gone

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When I opened my eyes the world was gone

It's was a routine mission; some remnant of Black Ghost had gotten their hands on money and were building ludicrous robots again and so Doctor Gilmore had sent Albert, Joe, and Chang out to investigate. They'd mopped up fairly well, but they hadn't counted on the big reptilian robots going berserk after they'd presumably shut down the main reactor, spitting acid and shooting laser eyes left and right. As a result, the three cyborgs returned to base battered and wounded despite their victory, Albert in particular having taken a nasty shot of acid directly to his eyes. He'd refused sedation on the way back, stubbornly insisting he didn't need drugs and finally threatening Joe with his gun hand to prevent their well-meaning leader from trying to coax him into it yet again. As a result, he's conscious when Gilmore finally gets a look at him, tutting scoldingly under his breath as he shines a penlight into the German's unresponsive gaze.

"I can't imagine the pain you must be in right now, 004. This is one of the few organic parts you have left! Are you really so against-"

"Yes."

"You could have made an exception this o-"

"No."

"Albert, please stop being so stubb-"

The fussy cyborg gives a long suffering sigh, effectively drowning out the doctor's protests. "Will I heal?"

Cowed, Gilmore puts away his penlight and sighs in return, walking a bit away from the examination table with his hands folded behind his back. "I should be able to reconstruct what was damaged on the outside with a bit of careful grafting but your retinas will need to be rewired and you won't be able to see for at least a couple of months."

Gilmore's assessment is met with a stony silence that continues well into the doctor bandaging around his sightless eyes. He may not be able to see, but he can tell Gilmore is worried over how he's taking the news. It's an internal struggle, but finally Albert manages a wry grin. "I guess I'll have to look the part of an old man for awhile then, cane and everything."

Even without his sight, Albert can tell the little joke lets Gilmore relax a bit. It's always how it is when Albert needs to be upgraded or repaired, at least among those who remember what Albert was like when he was first remodeled. There's always the question of if he'll be able to handle it or if this will be the thing that drags him back down. Even Albert is never sure.

Gilmore digs a medical cane out of a nearby closet and places it under Albert's hand gently, patting the back of it as one would when trying to comfort an injured child. "I'll go make some calls."

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Generally, he didn't worry too much when the others went on a mission and he wasn't with them; they were all capable people, they hardly needed hand holding. But there was always that part of him that worried that something might happen that he could have stopped or imagined one of his family members falling from some height and hitting the ground because he wasn't there to catch them. Generally, it was a needless concern.

He was pretty successful at sounding nonchalant when he asked after Albert and why he hadn't come in with the other two. What he got in response was a simple 'he got hurt pretty badly' that sent a not so simple lance of cold through him.

He stopped just inside the doorway, listening for if Gilmore was anywhere within earshot before he said anything too questionable. "I heard you got roughed up pretty good. Figures you'd get yourself into trouble without me there to cover you."

He kept up the bravado all the way up until he was level with Albert and could see the bindings around his eyes and the cane in his hand. Judging the doctor a safe enough distance away, Jet closed the distance between them and gently put his hand over the German's, his tone softening. "Al...what happened?"

"Just a flesh wound, nothing too serious," Albert shrugs in the direction of Jet's voice, the picture of nonchalance, but truth be told he's glad the younger man is there. Facing the foreseeable future blindly - pun intended - seems somewhat more tolerable if Jet's there with him.

He places his free hand over Jet's, stacking them on the cane. "I might just bump into things for awhile."

His hand curls tightly around Albert's, concern flaring. Jet might not know exactly what Albert was feeling, but he knew the older man and he knew this was what he did: pretend everything was fine when it wasn't. Jet could guess why too, Albert had never made a secret of his disdain for his cybernetics and it weighed on him just how obviously cybernetic he was, especially in comparison to the others. Something happening to his eyes--one of the few things that was still his was bound to hurt.

And for his part, Jet could sympathize at least a little at least with the situation, the thought of being blind--even temporarily--made his stomach flip and his mouth go dry. You can't fly blind.

"Well, isn't it a good thing I'll be here to make sure you avoid the door frames and the tables, huh? ...it'll be okay, I'll watch out for you 'till the doc gets your eyes fixed up."

True that Albert had developed a knack for pushing down the things that really got under his skin. He's still a realist in most other regards, playing devil's advocate to the team when they seem to grow too idealistic or too jaded, but when it comes to his own problems he prefers to keep them private as much as possible. Especially considering the time he'd spent in that hopeless dark in the first few years after being remodeled. Jet, Francoise, and even Ivan do the same as Gilmore each time he's injured and needs something replaced or repaired; they hold their breaths and pray he doesn't backslide.

He does the same thing.

With a soft grunt, Albert rises to his feet, trying to mentally picture the woefully familiar confines of the downstairs lab. There should be stairs to his left. Maybe. If he's actually facing the direction he thinks he is. Which he's not certain of.

"Care to lead an invalid back upstairs, then?" He may not be able to see the lab he hates so much, but he can still smell the mix of antiseptic and oil and it makes him want to claw at the walls.

"Yeah. To your room or somewhere else?" Either way, he took Albert's left hand and tugged the older man in the direction of the stairs--the left--and only started walking once Albert was following.

He kept their pace slow, allowing for Albert to keep up and get used to walking without his sight to help him. Luckily, it was a fairly clear shot to the stairs, so Jet didn't feel the need to make them pause until he'd gotten to the first step. "Okay, the stairs are about six inches ahead, you should just be able to step up onto the first step."

Despite what he said, Jet's grip only got a little tighter and his other hand found a place on the German's shoulder to steady him if he needed it or catch him if he somehow misjudged and stepped wrong.

"The porch, please." It's annoying to have to rely on Jet for this even though Albert trusts him. It's irritating to have to rely on anyone for something as basic as mobility, as making sure you don't trip over an obvious obstacle. But he keeps that frustration down, feeling ahead of himself with the end of his cane to find the step roughly where Jet said it is.

"I'm not going to topple over, Jet. I'm blind but my balance is fine." He steps up not just the first stair but the first few with ease as if to prove his point. So maybe his frustration isn't as under wraps as he thought. Albert gives a rueful smile. "Thank you, though."

He manages the rest of the staircase himself, but once on the landing he has some trouble finding the door handle that leads into the house proper, feeling across the wooden surface with his right hand.

Albert was right, Jet was hovering a bit more than necessary, but it was born from his concern and his desire to just fix Albert's problem even though he knew he couldn't. He was worried about his partner and he didn't know how else to express that than to hover.

When he noticed the German's difficulty locating the door handle, his first thought was to just open the door, but he paused and reached for Albert's hand instead. Palm to the back of the metal hand, he directed Albert's fingers to where the handle was in relation to where he'd been looking, then let go to let his partner open the door himself, reaching for his left wrist instead.

Albert had his pride as much as Jet did and the previous reprimand rung as a reminder not to help the older man, not treat him as some invalid who couldn't do anything for himself. That wasn't fair.

The knee-jerk reaction is to pull away and growl at Jet that he's fine, but Albert doesn't do that. It doesn't even really show on his face over than a blandness crossing his expression before he steps through the now open door with a quiet thank you. Jet didn't just do it for him, he helped instead, which speaks volumes about how hard the younger cyborg is trying to make this easier.

The rest of the walk out onto the back porch is mostly uneventful, Albert getting used to using the cane to sweep gently in front of himself in order to find obstacles, thought he does bump his knee once on a side table. The table ended up more injured than Albert did, a nice dent now set in the top edge.

Finally, the German can feel the salt air on his face and he pauses for a moment to breathe in and let out a long breath, trying to calm all of the frustration he thinks he shouldn't be feeling.

"I'm just going to sit out here for awhile. Would you mind bringing me my-" he pauses, nearly asking for his book. There's a tightness in his jaw as he smirks at his stupid mistake. "A cup of tea."

Maybe that will help.

"Yeah, no problem."

He left the older cyborg to settle where he wanted and retreated into the kitchen to get some water heating. He didn't like the stuff, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to make it.

Francoise offered to help, but he turned her down as politely as he could. He wanted to do more for his partner, especially since he was clearly having a lot harder time with it than he was letting on, but all he could do was make tea and be there to help Albert with whatever he needed.

Hopefully the older man would talk to Jet sooner rather than later about what was going through his head, cause the red-head had a feeling that pushing it instead of waiting would just get him shut down.

As soon as the water was ready, he placed Albert's favorite kind of tea in a mug and poured the water over the packet to let the leaves do their thing.

Once he was back outside, he took Albert's hand and placed the mug in it before stepping away to drag a low table over to the chair. "There's a table here to your left to put the cup on, if you want it." Better than setting it on the wide armrests and then accidentally knocking it over--at least, that's what Jet thought.

"What else can I do?"

"Thank you," another smile, this one more gentle as Albert feels the string of the tea bag over the fingers of his left hand. Generally he agrees with GB that tea in a bag isn't proper tea but Jet and Joe can't seem to wrap their heads around making it otherwise, either for convenience's sake or general lack of kitchen prowess in Jet's case. It's because of this that Albert knows Jet made the tea himself and didn't ask for help. It's a comfort.

Even so, he can't ask Jet to sit around and coddle him all day. It would be rude to ask Jet for something he knows would likely bore the younger man to tears considering all Albert intends to do is sit there for awhile, drink his tea, and quietly try to find some calm center that will allow him to bear with his temporary disability. So he lies. For Jet's own good, after all. Albert would rather he find something he actually would like to do than waste time in boredom with an old man. "Nothing I can think of. I'll be alright out here and call you if I need to."

"...Okay..." He hesitated, almost as though he were waiting for Albert to change his mind even though he already knew the older man wasn't going to. He really didn't mind waiting out here with him, he'd just take a nap or get one of his comics or something, but he didn't want to impose if Albert would truly prefer to be alone either.

They worked differently, whereas Jet was sure he'd rather have the older man there with him if something like that had happened to him, that didn't mean it worked the same the other way.

"I'll just be right here in the living room if you need me. Don't worry about asking too much or anything."

Jet took a moment to look around and make sure no one would see before leaning over and placing a small kiss on Albert's cheek. His hand lingered on the German's shoulder, but then he went back inside as prompted to leave Albert in whatever peace it was he wanted.

The peck on the cheek garners a real smile from the German, if sheepish, and he reaches back to pat Jet's hand before the American's footsteps can be heard retreating back into the house.

Which left Albert alone. Just himself, a warm cup of tea, and the sounds of the ocean he can't see stretching out from below the cliff side house. He thought it would be calming, out here in the breeze, but instead it's just incredibly lonely.

He sips his tea quietly, head bowed and body very still. This is more difficult than he thought, to the point where he almost gives in to his selfish desire to call Jet back outside to sit with him, not even to talk but just for the companionship. He can't do that to Jet though, as much as his partner being at his side would help. Sitting still isn't one of Jet's strengths and Albert's fairly sure he'd go stir crazy in no time. And besides, Albert's mood leaves much to be desired and it's more frightening to think he would inadvertently chase Jet off through being morose than telling him to go on purpose.

He'd rather suffer in silence than inflict himself on someone he cares for.

Jet sat on the couch in the living room and turned the T.V. on, low so he could still hear Albert if the German called, but he needed to do something. What he ended up doing was looking out the back windows at his partner far more than paying attention to the screen.

The gears in his mind started working as he took in his partner's body language and tried to think about what he knew of Albert to work through what the older man might be thinking. It took a good handful of minutes before he pieced together a theory, a theory that sort of ran hand-in-hand with his earlier thought about when the German would tell him what was actually going on.

He stood and mindlessly turned off the T.V. before striding back to and through the backdoor. He didn't speak until after he'd closed the door again and moved in front of his partner where he leaned against the porch's banister.

"You're pushin' me away cause you know I'll listen to every direction you give right now. You need to cut that crap out. I know this is bothering you but all you've given me is this false bravado crap.

You can talk to me. Remember?"

His mind briefly flitted to dark nights with Albert's then-cold voice talk to Jet, trying to reach out after months of Jet doing the reaching on his own. He'd talked to Jet then and told him what was in his head, told him just about anything the teen wanted to know. This was no different than that in Jet's mind. In fact, it seemed to make more sense to him that Albert talk to him now that they were something more than just a voice through a grate.

"Either way, I'm not going anywhere no matter how much you try and send me off, got it?"

"You hate just sitting." Albert grumbles, settling in his chair a bit further and feeling attacked for what he'd thought was a kindness he'd offered the teen in giving him freedom. "And reading anything that doesn't have superheroes and copious amounts of pictures."

It's harsher than he means to be, which is another reason why he'd sent Jet away. Albert rubs his forehead with his left hand, trying not to grimace at himself for his attitude. "You don't deserve this and I don't want to snap at you for foolish things."

"Yeah, well, that's probably going to happen anyway. I can take you being a bit of an ass, it's not like I blame you, but I want to help you with this so let me."

Jet could tell he was glaring a bit and realized it was pretty ineffective on a guy who couldn't see it. The teen sighed and flopped down on the deck so he could lean against Albert's legs. It wasn't the most comfortable,considering they were metal, but he hoped the pressure would comfort his partner a bit.

"And, for the record, I can do sitting still just fine, it's just not my favorite thing. Also I don't just read comics, ya jerk."

That first part was a little bit true, he could do the sitting still thing if he needed to or occasionally wanted to, but most of the time it made him feel antsy. This was one of those 'needed to' times, so he'd be fine. The second part was a hundred percent true, though jet could feel that flustered heat in him at admitting it. He'd given Albert plenty of ribbing over the older man's choice in books and that had probably translated to Al thinking he didn't like to read.

Normally, he would be fine with that, but right now it just rubbed him the wrong way.

"You don't read Tolstoy either." Not that he's only reading that. Albert generally has three or four books of different genres going at any given time, but he was almost to the end of Anna Karenina before they left on the mission. The German is fairly certain Jet would hate the book entirely. But... that's no reason not to compromise.

He sighs. "Alright, then... if you don't mind, could you read aloud? There are a few Tom Clancy and Ian Fleming novels on the shelf that Great has been wanting me to read. I don't care which." Spies and espionage. Maybe it will be entertaining enough to keep Jet from getting bored and resenting him.

"Sure, no problem." Jet rolled back to his feet and let his hand trace against the older man's shoulder as he passed by. It didn't take him long to find the books in question and after a moment or two of deliberation, he chose one of the Bond books. It was bound to be different than the movie, but he was more familiar with it than the others.

He came back to the porch and settled against the slats running from banister to porch so he was facing Albert.

"Two things: don't make fun of me while I'm reading and tell me if you're just bored or whatever. Okay?"

"Why would I make fun of you?" That doesn't make sense. He'll just be reading. "And I'll tell you, though Great's recommendations have all been good so far and we watched that one Bond film last week that I enjoyed. What was it.. You Only Live Twice? We missed some good films while we were frozen."

Catching up has been something of a game for himself, Jet, and Francoise, though they're all interested in different things even if there's some overlap. Right now they're still in the stages of other members of the team suggesting their favorites of various media. Movies, television, books, and music. Albert supposes anything on a screen will have to wait awhile now, at least for him.

"Yeah...we'll catch up eventually."

He decides not to answer Albert's question about what could provoke him to laugh, he'd find out soon enough. Jet could make it easier on himself and just not read like he normally did, but it was more fun for him to read out loud like this than to save face. Besides, who knew, Albert might enjoy it more simply because he couldn't see.

"All right, here goes: Diamonds Are Forever."

Jet set in to reading with full energy. The reason Albert might make fun of him becoming clear almost immediately: Jet read very dramatically, as though he were the one telling the story and not reading someone else's words. He made dramatic pauses where necessary and each character had their own voice, even the woman (which, considering it was a Bond book, there were plenty). It was a verbal show for all intents and purposes and Jet was performing it to the best of his ability.

There's no laughter, but Albert does settle into a smile as Jet delves into the book. His English accent is atrocious, even worse when he briefly attempts Connery's Scottish brogue and quickly backpedals into something more comfortable, but once the American finds his rhythm, the story plays out almost like a film in Albert's mind's eye.

Not for the first time, Albert's glad that Jet is more stubborn than he is.

Jet carried on for several chapters, even continuing to read once the sun had gone down (what else were porch lights for?) It wasn't until Chang called them in for dinner that Jet stopped.

The teen stood and stretched before reaching for Albert's hand to help the older man up.

"If you want, we can keep going after dinner. We'll just have to sit in your room or something." They probably wouldn't get too much suspicion from that, the others knew he was reading to Albert, they probably wouldn't think twice about Jet continuing to do it indoors.

Except for the fact Jet wasn't going to do it in the living room where everyone could hear him and they were probably wondering why Jet was doing it to begin with since he and Albert were infamous for fighting with each other in front of the others, but oh well.

"Sure, if it's what you want too." He could go either way. Honestly, he'd rather sit and talk with Jet now instead of idly sitting and listening, as much as he enjoyed Jet's performance.

He accepts the help into the house without complaint, though he does almost stumble over the door frame. The rest of the trek to the dining room is uneventful, though Albert's mood tanks as he realizes he's going to have to figure out how to feed himself without being able to see. He can just picture it, missing the plate, missing his mouth entirely and getting whatever Chang had prepared all down his front until finally he's handed a bib and forced to be fed like Ivan.

"I'm not hungry," he grumbles, trying to refuse GB when he places a dish near him on the table.

Jet gave Albert a concerned look; it didn't take a genius to figure out what was wrong. Albert had his pride and the thought that he might make a mess of himself trying to eat probably didn't sit well with him and the thought of someone else feeding him was probably right out. Jet scrambled to think of something, he doubted Albert would just eat at his prodding either. Then he had an idea.

Jet pushed his plate away and stood. "Me neither, someone else can have it." 'Come on, old man.' Jet spoke to Albert through the transmitter before reaching to take him by the wrist. He didn't give the older cyborg much of a chance to resist as Jet dragged him to the front door.

"Stay here a sec." Without explanation, Jet left and was back in a flash. "Alright, we're going out, come on."

Dragged unceremoniously from the table, Albert's grateful he can't see the looks on any of the rest of the cyborgs faces as Jet manhandles him to what he assumes is the front door from the sound of it. Another sound, this time the whine of Jet's accelerator - a different pitch from Joe's, more wild and shaking - and then his partner is back and grabbing his arm again.

"What are you up to?" There's irritation in his voice, true, but also a bit of trepidation and a mess of curiosity.

"You'll see. Just trust me, okay?"

Jet took Albert's wrist again and led him outside. Once the door was closed and he'd led the German out to the lawn, Jet gave him a quick kiss and wrapped his arms around the other man.

In a blast of heat and the distinct smell of rocket fuel, Jet took off. They were in the air a good fifteen minutes before Jet set down again, this time in the back alley of the city.

"We're almost there, it's just around the corner. Here."

Jet turned towards his partner and placed a pair of sunglasses on his face to cover his eyes, then took his hand and gently led him out onto the sidewalk.

There's something about flying that makes it easier when he's not looking. True, if this were a combat situation he'd be useless, but this way he can feel the dying warmth of the evening sun on his face and the wind in his hair and almost imagines he knows why Jet loves it so much.

The sounds of the city below catch his ear, cars and other general bustle. He can hear the cross over a train and imagines it in his mind, rocking gently back and forth as it trundles across its track. Soon after, Jet brings them in to land, Albert's feet firmly planted before the smell of ozone eases and he can hear Jet take the two steps from behind him to his side.

"Where are we going?" He has to ask again as Jet plants the sunglasses on his nose and takes his right hand to lead him on. Albert stumbles a little to keep up, preoccupied by running his left hand over the glasses, finding out their shape and function. Aviators. Figures.

"Won't I look odd wearing sunglasses at night?" Down here in the city it's cooler, telling him that the sun is below the skyline and they're probably illuminated by the street lamps and neon signs of Tokyo's thoroughfares.

"Not any odder than you usually look." It's a gentle jab, but Jet squeezed Albert's hand, knowing the pressure at least would register. "Don't worry about it, no one'll really even notice.

Beyond that assurance, he was silent, purposefully leaving off answering the 'where they were going' part of that. Not eve three minutes later, and Jet pulled open a door and led his partner in.

Once in, Jet led them through what was now obviously a restaurant featuring fish and deposited the older man on a booth in a back corner. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

He was gone a few minutes, but then he returned and the sound of a couple plates being set down followed him as he set down a drink to Albert's upper left. Once the waiter was gone, Jet pushed one of the plates slightly towards Albert and sat back to watch the German.

"The plate's three inches in front of you and it's got a bunch of sushi I know you like. Your drink's at your 10 and there's not a single fork or chopstick at this table; tonight, we both eat with our hands."

Sitting at the booth, Albert can hear the soft ebb and flow of conversations, various people talking about their jobs, their school, their day. None of them having to worry about if they'll ever be able to see again with their own eyes. He tries not to pay attention to them or his own head throwing gloomy thoughts, instead trying to track Jet's progress through what he thinks is a small restaurant. His sneakers have a particular sound when they scuff, a little hollow because of the holes in the soles. He hears that sound retreat, stopping a bit away so Jet can speak to someone, presumably the chef behind the bar. He can see it in his mind's eye, Jet leaning one elbow on the counter, towering over the assorted business men and teenagers; he sticks out like a sore thumb in Tokyo, Jet being a head and shoulders taller than most of the people in the city.

The exchange of voices ends and Jet returns with a clatter of plates and glasses, too many for just one person to carry so Albert has to assume he'd brought an employee to help. He's proven right when the waiter gives a quiet "douzo meshiagare" with a rustle of fabric that makes Albert think he's bowing, then retreats with the sound of soft-soled shoes.

Jet describes their meal, sitting across from him by the sound of his voice and Albert's suddenly filled with gratitude. He has someone this thoughtful, someone to just whisk him away and irrationally turn the day around completely twice now. He's touched, and it takes him a moment to say anything because of the emotion thick in his throat.

"Thank you," the words come softly, just carrying across the booth and nowhere else as Albert's head remains bowed, trying to school his expression. He's not just thanking him for the meal, but for sticking by him, for conspiring to make this easier when Albert keeps having moments of profound frustration not through coddling or doing things for him, but by arranging matters so that he can do them himself. It's no small thing.

"Don't worry about it." Jet smiled even though he knew his partner couldn't see it. The fact Albert was quiet about it meant Jet had done the right thing, Albert only got that quiet when he was feeling too much to say anything else.

"I thought this might make you feel a little better. If you want, we can do finger foods every day until your eyes are working. Toast, hot dogs, chicken, sandwiches, there's plenty you can eat without a fork and Chang'll get over it sooner or later."

Hell, he might have already figured it out, it wasn't like Jet had let them stick around long enough to find out.

Jet's tone went a little softer. "I know it sucks, but we'll figure out ways to work around whatever makes you uncomfortable until you're better, okay? So don't get too worked up if I'm stickin' around you more often, got it?" Hang their worry about the others finding out, it wasn't as important

"I won't," he busies himself with his drink, creeping his hand carefully across the table to his left as Jet had mentioned. His fingers come in contact with a smooth surface, cold and wet with condensation. A beer glass. He manages to grasp it and take a drink without mishap, which is a satisfying victory in and of itself.

"Well, not any more worked up than you get me normally." He smirks around the rim of the glass.

Color filled Jet's cheeks as the teen flustered over how to respond.

"Albert." He hissed. "You jerk."

A suitable response came to mind that made him smirk despite the pink in his face. "I can take care of that for ya too, if you want."

"Provided you contain yourself until we get back home." Still carefully but with a smirk, Albert reaches for a sushi roll and pops it into his mouth, knowing his comment likely made Jet blush further and savoring the image in his mind's eye just as much as he does the fish. He chews and swallows thoughtfully.

"Apparently sensory deprivation can be... stimulating." Well, it seems Albert's starting to look on the bright side. No pun intended.

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When I opened my eyes the world was gone

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