makinglies | 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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

When I opened my eyes the world was gone

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject