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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"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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