makinglies | 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.

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Surgery is always exhausting and no matter how many times Albert has to go through it he can't shake the lingering feeling that he loses something to his inattention. Not that Gilmore takes, not on purpose, but each time something is replaced a little bit of what makes Albert himself goes with it. Still, the feeling has lessened over the years and now he's readily able to make the decision to replace parts if necessary. It's why his body has a much more human look now, after all. It hadn't even been anything spectacular, just normal wear and tear on his physical body had taken its toll and Gilmore had insisted on upgrading him when he'd started to have joint problems and chest pains thanks to warping plates. So now he has a body closer to his original, even if it's still metallic, and the whole experience had taught him that organic or not, the body still suffers from age.

It was strangely comforting at the time.

Now he turns his head as Jet comes in, the last dregs of the sedatives weening out of his system as he moves to sit up, smiling at the American gently as he gets close. "Better. More in one piece. What about you?"

"Same. Joe helped me patch up." He smiled a bit at Albert in return while the buzzing in his head only got louder. This was dumb, ridiculous, it was how he'd felt when he'd first approached Albert about having feelings for the older man at all; he felt like some high school girl trying to talk to her crush and it was ridiculous.

He moved to sit next to Albert, a bit of space between them, but not too much, while he quieted the buzzing by focusing on the first thing that came to mind. He didn't have a plan for this conversation, so he'd just have to go with whatever came out of his mouth and hope it was good enough. "I'm glad you're okay...and, as dumb as it was, I'm glad you came for me. I thought...I guess I thought I wouldn't see you or any of the others again." He kept his eyes on his hands in his lap, his voice even though the fear of dying alone and forgotten still pulled at his memory. "I was afraid you'd think I'd just gone again and give up on me. I mean, I can see why. I guess what I'm trying to get out is thank you for not thinking that, whatever reason it was you didn't, I appreciate it."

"How are you still such an idiot, even after so long?" Albert's hand finds Jet's and curls his silver fingers between Jet's long flesh covered digits. "I can't give up on you."

Even if he tries, and oh God did he ever try. Burying himself in work with the GSG, trying every hobby or sport known to mankind, trying to ignore that just a small ocean away was someone who'd managed to crawl into that empty space at his core that he thought would never be filled again. But that's Jet, breaking all the rules, pulling him every which way.

And he needs it, Albert's come to understand. He needs Jet's fire to keep him young, to keep him engaged and not folding in on himself. He needs Jet to remind him to let go sometimes, to take off and let life take care of itself for awhile. And in turn, Jet needs him to keep him tethered, to remind him not to fly so high that he can't come back down.

To rescue him when gravity fails.

Still somewhat drowsy, Albert leans against Jet's shoulder. "You made me a promise and I believed you."

His hand curled around Albert's in return, words escaping him for the time being while what Albert said rattled around with what he'd been thinking about before.

Jet had made a promise to stay and Albert believed him...but the fact he'd had to make the promise at all was what pushed him to keep going with his plan that wasn't really a plan at all. Maybe finally saying it wouldn't change anything, but it couldn't hurt. Maybe that solidness that seemed so daunting was exactly what they needed.

His grip tightened and he kept his gaze on the color contrast of metal and synthetic skin. "There's something else. Something I have to try and say, so bare with me a bit. When we were in that warehouse, I thought we were gonna bite it. There was something I wanted to say...and it wasn't the thing about the Maltese Falcon, it was something else. It's not the first time I thought about saying it, either, but right then it seemed like a really bad time to finally get up the courage for it. But...when I was talking with Joe earlier, he said some things that made me realize that maybe that wasn't the best time cause I should've said it sooner. I don't know."

He was rambling, just like that night in Albert's safe house, he was just spilling out words like a river and hoping they made more sense outside of his head than they did in. He shrugged the shoulder Albert wasn't leaning against. "It's dumb 'cause I've tried to say it in the past and it just never worked, but maybe I wasn't trying hard enough. Honestly, I don't even know if it matters that I say it, but--" But he was circling around and around it like he always did, saying everything but what he actually wanted to say the same way he usually did. He'd come this far. "...fuck it. Albert...I love you. Have for a long time, I guess, so I figure now's better than never to tell you. You know, before we nearly get shot to hell again."

Oh yeah, perfect execution. His face burned hot and the words were weird but not really unpleasant on his tongue, but now it was out there and up for Albert to decide what to do with it. At least he didn't have to worry about it getting stomped on or anything. He was 99% certain, anyway.

He'd known what Jet was trying to say since the second the blond opened his mouth to speak and it's all Albert could do not to let his amusement at the other man dancing around the words bubble into laughter.

But something strange comes over him when they're finally out there. He thought he could just take it in stride. It doesn't change anything. It's something they've known for so long now, how they feel for each other, but those three little words have such power on their own and these two men are not known for sharing their feelings readily.

Albert doesn't respond right away. He needs a moment to breathe first, to take it in, to make sure he really did hear what he'd been certain Jet was going to say. He needs a moment to pull Jet in close and kiss him slowly, tenderly, showing exactly his response. He doesn't pull away right away when he comes up for air, instead resting his forehead against Jet's and keeping his eyes closed feeling instead of seeing his partner.

"I love you too."

The words are whispered back, kept just for them to hear, to hold, to keep.

It's strengthening to hear and even more so to say and he gives another, slower and more gently chaste kiss after.

Jet pressed into the kiss just as gently, but with a sense of assurance. No, it didn't change anything, but hearing those whispered words echo in his head was solidifying and it sent a warmth through him he wasn't expecting. It had been a long time since he'd heard those words...surely his parents had said them at least once, but he couldn't remember it now. But he was a little thankful for that too, because now the only point of reference he had for that feeling that came with the simple phrase was Albert and that was the only reference he wanted.

There was something else, another feeling he wasn't expecting and it seemed sort of silly, but it was also kind of nice, so he wasn't going to mock it. He'd expressed his feelings because he wanted to erase any doubt Albert still had about Jet wanting to stay at his side. He didn't know if he'd accomplished that and he didn't want to ask, but what he wasn't expecting was a feeling of being tethered, like the words had tied him down to the very man who constantly made certain Jet didn't fly too high. It was the thing needed to push the remaining feelings of separation that the last 27 years had caused out.

It was more than likely all in his head, but it was a surprisingly pleasant feeling so he took it. Finally, he pulled away a bit, his volume low but still audible. "Let's go home."

You cannot change what you are, only what you do.

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