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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.