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
The problem was this time, Albert didn't have the patience to do it gently. Normally he'd give Jet some space for a time before coming to see him and tell him what an ingrate he's being, long enough for the permanent teen to see it himself first. That was key with Jet, not telling him things he needed to figure for himself. This is beyond idiotic though, even for that hot head. Arguing over who's the leader? How petty can you get! Albert's just a little too frayed to deal with this right now.
"You know you're not leaving, just put that stuff down."
no subject
But this time he didn't need someone to hold his hand as he figure out what he was doing wrong and how to fix it because he already knew, the problem was that he just wasn't going to go that extra step and follow through with the solution.
The speed he'd lost as his thoughts went south returned with Albert's words, as if to prove him wrong. He was mostly done now and he waited until he was zipping the thing closed to respond. "Fuck off, Heinrich. I am leaving and you're not going to stop me."
no subject
Albert's tone reminds level despite the inward cringe at being called by his last name. It's one thing if Joe says it that way. For the Japanese, he's learned its a way of being polite, but in the romance languages? It adds a sense of distance, even animosity to the address. It hurts, as Albert suspects Jet was aiming to do. Albert has the sudden urge to shoot him but restrains himself. "No one can stop you when you're hellbent on doing something."
He stands up from the door frame, knocking his heel against it once as he runs his left hand through his too-short hair and the stuffs both hands in his pockets as he turns to go. "See you, 002."
It's a low blow, but he doesn't care at this point. If Jet's going to throw away everything they've built, then let him. He's used to being alone.
no subject
He pressed his forearm against the wall and rested his forehead against it while his eyes clenched shut.It hurt, the whole damn thing hurt...but he really didn't feel like there was any fixing it. This was it and he could feel his heart breaking.
He pushed away from the wall, shoving the tightness in his chest down as he made his way to the backdoor, his one good shot at getting out of there without incident. And as his jets ignited and he took off into the sky, he didn't bother looking back, if he had he might have stopped himself.