Jet Link | 002 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
metalicarus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
makinglies2013-06-02 03:20 pm
metalicarus) wrote in makinglies2013-06-02 03:20 pm
Entry tags:
You cannot change what you are, only what you do.
The room was too quiet. The only sound that accompanied his thoughts was the ticking of the clock on the wall and that was too loud. It reminded him that time would keep moving even if he sat here, nothing was going to change just because he didn't move and, most of all, time only ever moved onwards.
As much as he may want to, he couldn't wind back the clock and undo what had been done. He didn't regret his decision to fly into space and save his best friend, without him Joe would have drifted forever and none of them would have seen him again, at least now Francoise wouldn't have to cry anymore. But...maybe it would have been better if he hadn't been saved, if he'd just died like he'd been prepared to do. Of course, sitting there, alive, it was harder to find that kind of resolve again. But, in the end, what was the cost of his living?
He looked down at his hands and how his wrists ended in the crease of a panel, the first sign of a difference. His eyes followed up from his wrist to his shoulders and then back down his own chest, creases ran along the surface of his too-pale skin like a web. They were closed now, but he knew it only took a second, a thought, and nearly all of them could flair up, open, or even separate to allow him better maneuverability and speed.
He knew this was like Pyunma, the doctor had only been trying to save him, to make him stronger. But he wasn't like the eighth cyborg, he couldn't have plated armor to defend from hits; he needed to be fast and light and aerodynamic. What he now had in speed and evasiveness he had gained at the cost of the defense he didn't have much of to begin with. He'd always been light on defense and built more for the get in quick and hit hard tactic rather than the barrel through approach for Albert or G, but he felt fragile and he hated it. Logically, he knew he could still take a hit better than most people, but he would have to rely more on not being hit in comparison to what he'd had before.
It was frustrating beyond belief, he didn't want to feel like this...and he certainly didn't want to look like this. He understood now, what his partners had been through and how they felt about being mostly machine. And it sucked. But it was more than even that. He looked up and into the mirror across the room where someone unrecognizable stared back. Blue eyes, finer features, and blonde hair stood out like beacons and he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Part of him thought that maybe, if he looked long enough and hard enough, he'd be able to see something that told him yes this was still Jet Link...but he hadn't found it yet.
Everyone always said it was what was inside that counted, not outside, but when you couldn't recognize anything of yourself, it was like you were in someone else's body, like one of those movies where it's some mistake and by the end of it everything would be back to normal. Except there wasn't an ending like that waiting for him, only blue eyes, blonde hair, and panels.
As much as he may want to, he couldn't wind back the clock and undo what had been done. He didn't regret his decision to fly into space and save his best friend, without him Joe would have drifted forever and none of them would have seen him again, at least now Francoise wouldn't have to cry anymore. But...maybe it would have been better if he hadn't been saved, if he'd just died like he'd been prepared to do. Of course, sitting there, alive, it was harder to find that kind of resolve again. But, in the end, what was the cost of his living?
He looked down at his hands and how his wrists ended in the crease of a panel, the first sign of a difference. His eyes followed up from his wrist to his shoulders and then back down his own chest, creases ran along the surface of his too-pale skin like a web. They were closed now, but he knew it only took a second, a thought, and nearly all of them could flair up, open, or even separate to allow him better maneuverability and speed.
He knew this was like Pyunma, the doctor had only been trying to save him, to make him stronger. But he wasn't like the eighth cyborg, he couldn't have plated armor to defend from hits; he needed to be fast and light and aerodynamic. What he now had in speed and evasiveness he had gained at the cost of the defense he didn't have much of to begin with. He'd always been light on defense and built more for the get in quick and hit hard tactic rather than the barrel through approach for Albert or G, but he felt fragile and he hated it. Logically, he knew he could still take a hit better than most people, but he would have to rely more on not being hit in comparison to what he'd had before.
It was frustrating beyond belief, he didn't want to feel like this...and he certainly didn't want to look like this. He understood now, what his partners had been through and how they felt about being mostly machine. And it sucked. But it was more than even that. He looked up and into the mirror across the room where someone unrecognizable stared back. Blue eyes, finer features, and blonde hair stood out like beacons and he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Part of him thought that maybe, if he looked long enough and hard enough, he'd be able to see something that told him yes this was still Jet Link...but he hadn't found it yet.
Everyone always said it was what was inside that counted, not outside, but when you couldn't recognize anything of yourself, it was like you were in someone else's body, like one of those movies where it's some mistake and by the end of it everything would be back to normal. Except there wasn't an ending like that waiting for him, only blue eyes, blonde hair, and panels.
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His thoughts are suddenly distracted by the feeling of Albert's hands on his bare shoulders and how he can feel them, he knows they're there, but it feels different, like how things had felt to his legs and feet, and less how they had felt to his arms and back and chest, less like how it should feel. He'll get used to it, he knows, and soon enough it'll be just like any other sensation, but it's a bit jarring to know it should be different.
But then there's that smirk, the one that both made him want to punch the man in the face and kiss him at the same time. The one that he loved and hated and couldn't remember appreciating more than he did now. He tilted his chin down, the way he would before when he wanted to hide his eyes in his hair. It was often something he did when he was giving serious consideration or when he was upset or when he was embarrassed, he could even remember doing it right before he decided to go after Joe. This time, however, nothing was achieved but blue eyes falling on Albert's chin and then widening ever so slightly when he realized his hair didn't do that anymore.
The realization just made him frustrated again and he clenched his fists at his side. "The whole damn thing doesn't suit me." He couldn't even feel like himself.
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Albert can't help it. He starts to laugh.
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Out of everything he could do, why did he have to laugh at him? He could remember the times that smirk was directed at him after he'd say something he knew was brash or even stupid and it had always pissed him off cause it felt like Albert was laughing at him. That had been the last thing he'd wanted then and it was the last thing he wanted now; that wasn't the kind of familiarity he'd been looking for.
He grit his teeth and jerked back out of Albert's hold--though he missed it as soon as it was gone--and took another step back for good measure. Hastily, he grabbed the shirt that had been set aside for him and threw it over his head in a subconscious effort to stop that feeling of vulnerability that was creeping up on him. Of course, it was short sleeved and he could see those lines that traced along his arms and ended just before his wrists and it just made his anger and self-consciousness flair up more.
"Don't laugh at me, you jackass! It's not-I'm not-!" His jaw clenched just as tightly as his fists and his eyes snapped shut in the face of his utter frustration and the fresh feeling of wanting to cry. He was trying to put into words what he was thinking and feeling but it just wasn't working, like he stopped himself before he could and he didn't want to. So he only lashed out more, like it was all Albert's fault somehow. "Just...fuck you! Leave me alone." His eyes snapped open and into a glare as he tried to push past the shorter cyborg and head for the door so he could escape all of these feelings.
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Jet trying to shove past him kills the laughter quickly, sending Albert turning on the balls of his feet as he's pushed aside so the younger man can make for the door. He reaches for Jet's wrist, catching it in his left hand and trying to keep things from falling apart.
"I'm not going to leave you alone!" It's meant to be reassuring but it comes out desperate, a desperation that Albert hadn't even been fully aware of and made more poignant by the presence of mirth moments before. The hell with it. "You're the same, alright? You still move the same, and have the same immature way of thinking, the same hot temper. You're still you and I'm not going to leave!"
His fingers tighten around Jet's wrist, feeling the grain of his new skin, the crease where he'd seen before that flaps could be opened for easier navigation in the air. And even so, he doesn't let go. He can't. "You're still the same idiot who-"
God this is hard. Albert turns his face to the wall, hand still clamped tightly with unmoving fingers but unable to look Jet in the eye as he bares his own feelings. It's not something he's used to doing. Not that he isn't in touch with them, just that it's so much easier to be the rock, to be something solid for others to depend on, even cry on on occasion. He's not used to being in that position himself, yet his heart is tight in his chest and he can feel the stinging in his eyes. He hadn't cried since Hilda died; even in the retelling he'd simply gone stone faced. He hadn't even cried after they found what remained of Jet on that beach despite the general unspoken question of if the cyborg would live, of if Albert would be left alone again. But there are tears now, hidden under the fringe of silver hair.
His voice gets quiet, as if trying to hide the emotion it so obviously conveys. "You're still the same person who made me want to open up again."
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He didn't just hear the words, but he listened, and part of him felt bad for loosing his temper like that. He'd already hurt Albert with his risky rescue operation, he didn't want to hurt his friend more. He didn't want to push him away.
He wanted more than anything to believe Albert and trust him just as much as Jet trusted him in any other situation, but there was a disconnect. He knew he still thought the same, he knew he still had the same temper, but he didn't feel the same and it was even harder to try and fix that disconnect when the mirror was his greatest reminder that something was wrong.
"...I don't want you to leave." His voice was also quiet when he finally spoke, the anger and hurt lessened in the face of Albert's emotions. "But...I don't feel the same. I don't know, it's hard to explain. Like I'm walking around with clothes on that aren't my style and when I look in the mirror I know I look stupid in them, but I can't take them off either." Only more complicated than that. Why was explaining things always so hard?
He looked down at where Albert's hand held his wrist, deciding to focus on that instead of risk catching those light eyes should the German look back his way. "I just wish things could be the way they were."
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He can't dwell on it himself either. He shoves that away for another time and tugs Jet's wrist just so, turning the other cyborg around so they're face to face, Albert standing on his toes to make them even. The German rests his forehead against his friend's, as if to share that pain he'd just described.
"I know," He slides his other hand, the metal one, around Jet's other wrist. It's not a tight grip, not meant to keep him anywhere, just contact for its own sake and an illustration to Jet that his companion well and truly understands. "Professor Gillmore had to do it to save you. If he hadn't, then you wouldn't be here at all."
He knows Jet knows that, but for as much as he hates his reflection right now, he'll never understand the memory Albert has of coming upon that piece of him on the beach. Albert will never forget it, and he'd seen some terrible things in his lifetime. That was the worst. His stomach clenches at the memory and his hands tremble for just a moment...
And then his lips are on Jet's and his hands are in the other's hair and gently pressing cool metal against skin. He's always hesitant with using his gun arm to do anything intimate, but he hopes this time it serves as a reminder to Jet that he's not alone in dealing with this.
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Then there were those lips on his and he felt a surge of relief that formed a lump in his throat at the fact they felt as familiar and warm as he remembered them to be; he didn't think he would have been able to take it if that had felt different as well.
The coolness of Albert's gun hand on his skin does exactly as he'd intended and reminds Jet that he's not the only one to have a problem with the mirror. True, things might be different because it wasn't just his body but his entire face as well, but it wasn't like 004 didn't understand how it felt to be stuck in a body that felt wrong. He reached up and covered the metal hand with his own and returned the kiss with everything he couldn't say. The fear that things were irreparable, that he wasn't himself anymore, the need to have something to hold on to, to have Albert to hold on to, they were all there and he hoped Albert would understand, because he didn't think he could ever really explain it.
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It's this sort of thing that reminds him he is. Humanity is in emotion, real emotion, and if Jet can still reciprocate that, there's no doubt that even if neither of their bodies contain much flesh any longer, they're still the same two people.
He breaks the kiss slowly, loathe to do it, but leaves his metal hand lightly against Jet's cheek and in turn under the other cyborg's hand. It's a comfort to both of them, he realizes with a smirk. Even in his distress, Jet's still showing he not only understands Albert is there for him, but that he's there for Albert too.
"Everything's fine." He's not sure if he says it for Jet's benefit or his own, but it needs to be out there, something else to hold onto.
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Jet brought his free hand up to grip at Albert's shoulder and leaned in to kiss him again. He needed that feeling, that knowledge that, at the very least, they would be all right. 004 was often right about the the things he said and some part of Jet knew that this as probably one of those time, but he wasn't known for his patience or his optimism; this at least he could find assurance in sooner rather than later.
If there was one thing that he felt could make him feel like himself again, it was his friend and partner. He finally let that metal hand go and brought his hand to Albert's hair so he could deepen the kiss.
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God had he missed this.
He slid his tongue against Jet's teeth, pulling them the two steps back to collapse into sitting on the bed. Albert's hands wound into the fabric of Jet's shirt, pulling him close and securely, ignoring the unnatural tap of metal as their bodies shift together. Honestly he doesn't even notice, too distracted by simply wanting Jet close, surrounding himself in the fact that his partner is well and truly alive.
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His arms find their way completely around the other's body and for just a moment he recognizes that his fists are clenched tightly in the other man's shirt and he's clinging. He doesn't care, because this is what feels normal and right and it's what's telling him that everything really will be okay. they will be okay. Out of everything that happened and all the times they'd almost lost each other, it was okay because they always made it through.
This was why it was okay that he'd survived. Albert would never see him as anything less than Jet, no matter what he looked like or what he was made of.
He broke the kiss from 004's lips to his jaw before moving to his neck. He was being a bit hasty and he was definitely trying to take charge (no matter how often that didn't work out for him) but he knew he wasn't good with words and he knew not to expect any unnecessary ones from the older cyborg, so he had to show how he felt. He wanted Albert to know how much Jet appreciated him and how much he actually needed him and, maybe it was due to recent events, but he felt like he needed to do it now before the whole damn world crashed down on them and ruined it.
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Albert never felt more like a machine than when he was nude. All the unnatural shapes of his body, the creases and seams where panels were fit together, where metal pistons and wires lay beneath instead of muscle and bone. He hated it. So much so that he was never caught nude if he could help it. He would shower as fast as possible, even going so far as to take the mirror off the wall in his own apartment's bathroom, only sleeping shirtless if the heat was truly unbearable and he was alone. On holidays, if the group went to the beach or anything of that nature, he was the one in the long-sleeved turtleneck in 32 degree weather (or 90, as Jet stubbornly called it. Why the United States refused to convert to metric he'll never know). Even when he and Jet had previously started spending nights together, he'd never fully disrobed. Jet had never commented, a fact Albert was thankful for. They'd never addressed it at all, the American just accepting it as quirk of Albert's.
So the fact that he shrugs out of his shirt now without so much of a word is an obvious and incredible show of trust, as close to the bearing of his soul that Albert can get. He feels vulnerable, chest plate naked to the room; shoulders and arms bare, but it's okay. Everything's alright.
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Jet gave a slower but lighter kiss to the man's lips, his way of thanking Albert for trusting Jet enough to do that, before he returned to the kissing, sucking, and biting he'd been doing to Albert's neck. His lips traveled from his lover's neck to his shoulder, kissing along the edge where skin turned to metal. He did this for all of the parts of the man's body that were organic and mechanic. His hands also wandered freely, not discriminating between textures when it came to gentle and intimate touches.
He hadn't said it, and he didn't know when or if he would, but he knew he loved this man and when it came to loving Albert, that meant loving every single inch of him. Metal and skin, man and machine, gentle heart and lethal hands, Jet would love them all because they were all part of Albert and he would do anything he could to show him that.
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The split second passes and Jets kisses turn gracious, understanding and acknowledging just how difficult this step is for the other cyborg. Whenever he'd been released from having been repaired, he always had a stoic moment of vulnerability that he shrugged off easily, played like he didn't care. Only Jet ever had the experience to guess at how vulnerable seeing Albert like that made the German feel.
He still feels it now, tension obvious throughout his body as he watches Jet plant kisses and nips everywhere indiscriminately. He's frozen in place, as if he's afraid to break whatever spell makes this possible, though each light touch on synthetic and organic skin alike sets pleasant little tremors running through him. It's embarrassing just how sensitive something as normal as his arms or stomach are under gentle caress like this and his face turns a bit red as he keeps his eyes trained on the cause, though the blush is less from the sensitivity and more from the implications of Jet's near worshipful mapping of his body.
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A little desperately he attacked Albert's lips with his own, just trying to find that peace he'd had only moments ago, the feeling that everything was fine. He let up so he could take a moment to tear his shirt over his head before putting his attention back on the older man's body, but now the doubt had begun to grow and dwell on the changes, on the things that were different. He knew everything would be fine, he knew everything would feel normal again, but it wasn't normal now, it wasn't fine now and that feeling surged up in him again.
He could feel his new eyes stinging as his thoughts ruined the moment and turned it into something desperate and clingy. Why couldn't this one thing be fine? He just wanted to spend his time in Albert's arms until everything was okay again, but his own brain wouldn't let him. He felt like a child throwing a tantrum against his own thoughts. Tears slipped from his eyes and down his new features before falling off his chin, but he didn't stop what he was doing. Like, if he could just keep going then what he was feeling and thinking would go away and they could have sex and then lie there together like they usually did.
But that wasn't going to happen. He was breaking down.
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He can tell now that was a mistake. Or maybe this is how it was going to be anyway, he's not sure, but when the feels the tears fall alongside those kisses that are quickly ascending into desperation, he knows its something else 002 needs now, not this.
He breathes out slowly, almost in a meditative way, re-centering his attention on what needs to be done, on what Jet needs. He'd been selfish, pushing things this way just because his arms had been empty for over a month as Jet recovered. He's still not done with that recovery, maybe he wouldn't ever be, but the German certainly hadn't been helping.
Gently, Albert takes his hold and carefully pulls Jet close, enveloping the lithe figure in an encompassing embrace and taking a moment to kiss the tear tracts that now line his face. There's a stalwart serenity to his mien, the way Albert gets when something other than him overly upsets one of the team. He needs to be the cool head, the unmoving rock, so Jet doesn't have to. He gladly takes the role if it means he can give his lover the support he needs.
He doesn't shush him, no lip service about how everything's alright this time, just a loving embrace and a solid foundation when it feels like everything else is breaking.
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This time, he decided not to fight it, not to throw a fuss at having been found out, because all he really wanted right now was for those arms to do what they were doing. His own long arms circled around Albert's torso and he buried his face in the German's neck, not bothering to try and stop the tears this time. It was a build up of frustrations and fears barely acknowledged that he'd had for months. Nearly dying and finding Albert waiting for him was just the thing to break the dam.
When Jet broke down, it was hardly what he'd call an event. He rarely cried over anything because really, unless someone you cared about was dying, what was the point? Growing up, tears were a sign of weakness so you couldn't show them and that mindset was nearly impossible to break. So when he did cry, it was often over everything and it was (in his opinion) a wholly pathetic display. Tears, sobs that shook his frame, and clingyness to whatever he could get his hands on whether it be the nearest pillow or the nearest lover, where the most common aspects. The one saving grace of the whole thing was that it rarely lasted longer than a few minutes at most.
So, eventually, the sobs died down and the tears slowed, though he kept his hold on Albert. His partner felt like the only thing he could trust not to feel weird right now, the only thing he could trust to care about him no matter what. If he was holding on to Albert than that meant he was safe and loved and the world wasn't falling in around them and he wasn't burning up in the atmosphere with the only consolation being that his best friend didn't have to die alone.
He could still feel the tears on his face and in his eyes, but he was at least calm enough to make his voice sound stable when he finally decided to speak. "Sorry."
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He sounds bemused, not at Jet's expense but because it's what he sounds like when he's unsure of what to say. He'd never seen Jet lose it like this before and while it didn't worry him because he knows the reason all too well, it still tugs at his heart. He wants nothing more than for his arms to be an honest shield, protecting Jet from the world, from their own miserable lives.
He lifts a hand, his gun hand, usually used to rain down death and judgement, to delicately wipe the remaining tears from Jet's face, looking unflinchingly into those now bright blue eyes. "Just don't scare me like that again, alright? You can't die before I do."
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He brought one of his arms down from where he'd been clinging to Albert to take hold of that gun hand and intertwine their fingers. A lot slower and more gentle than before, 002 shifted so he could kiss his partner again. It wasn't passionate, but it was careful and affectionate.
"I won't. If we go, we go together." He didn't want Albert to die ever, but he knew it wasn't fair to either of them to leave the other alone. Albert had already lost so much and had suffered and recovered because of it, while Jet hadn't had anything before and he'd have nothing again if he ever lost this. And, really, it wasn't likely they'd never see life-threatening battles again, so the only fair thing was to plan to stay together till the very end.
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For the first time since before the Yomi, Albert relaxed.
He plants a gentle kiss on the side of Jet's head and slips his knife hand from the other cyborg's back in order to flip out the blade. He smirks at any curious expression Jet makes and proceeds to shear off the fringe of hair that so often hides his expression, leaving most of his forehead bare, similar to 002's. If he'd just slicked it back, it would be too tempting to let it fall in and hide his face again. This way he's not even inclined to hide anymore.
"There, now it's a pact. Can't back out now," he grins ruefully, already irrationally missing the small protection his hair had offered. Still, it's a gesture he knows Jet will appreciate. The flyer shouldn't be the only one who has to adjust to changes.
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He could feel warmth blooming in his chest and spreading through him at the realization. The fact that the German just looked so silly with the self-done hair cut only caused Jet to laugh. "Thank you." That was all he really felt he could say with everything he was feeling. It would be all right and, even if it was going to be hard sometimes, Albert would be there and that made it that much more bearable.
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He plants another kiss, this time on Jet's forehead, and rests his chin on top of the other's head in a gesture of comfortable acceptance, but also weariness. He's exhausted. He's slept since the day of Black Ghost's defeat of course, but never managed to shake the tension and absence that had been a constant for him since then. So much so that he hadn't realized just how much it was affecting him until it was gone.
He's marginally aware that Jet may not want to sleep anymore, having been in a coma for quite some time, but Albert can't bring himself to let go. Not just yet. For now, he holds Jet close, cradled in mechanical arms, and silently thanks God or whoever may be listening for bringing Jet back.