makinglies | There are no cats in America

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There are no cats in America

Moving to a new country is difficult but if you're a child it seems impossible. True, things had been terrifying with the bombings and soldiers and the news of that their government had been doing behind the country's back. Thirteen years old, but Albert still reads the news, still listens to the radio. Soon after they're on a boat, crammed in with other emigrants chattering in a cacophony of languages, pushing and shoving. There were other children, but mostly Albert opted to keep to himself, helping his mother but otherwise holed up in their tiny shared cabin and waited to see the spines of Lady Liberty's crown welcoming them to what his mother calls "a land of new opportunities". Albert, always a practical child, just hoped it would be a land of fresher air.

It's been a few months since then. They'd arrived at the start of summer with New York City sweltering. With his mother working two jobs and a little saved up, they'd managed to get a small fan and some other things for the little apartment, but despite the hardships they'd managed to make a nice little life for themselves in this new country. Their community on the lower east side is friendly and breathes of home in Dresden, or so Albert feels. He even made friends with the old man who runs the bookshop on the corner, his son having been claimed by the war on the side of the Allies. He'd also been named Albert, and the man would often reminisce in German and sometimes share the haribo candies he'd always have around. He may be the only friend Albert had made, but he was content with that.

Even so, as the weather turned colder and fall set in, Albert's mother enrolled him in school. Albert had always liked school back home, strict as it was, but here in America it seemed all the other boys were so loud and tall and frightening. He'd mostly stayed away from other children since arriving, but now he's been thrown in the front of a class and as the teacher pushes him to introduce himself to the room every eye is on him and he can't help but fidgit and look anywhere except at all the unfamiliar faces.

"Ha-hallo, I-I am Albert Heinrich..." He trails off, brutally self conscious at his accent and flushing a red which he knows reaches his ears. The teacher - Miss Jones - waits for an interminable moment to see if he'll say something else, then simply shoos him to an empty desk with some annoyance and begins to write the day's lesson on the blackboard. Safe for the moment, Albert sinks as low as he can in his seat and pulls his oversized newsy cap down around his ears in an attempt to hide the fact that they're still pink.

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"Not random pigeons." Albert's voice drops lower so as not to be overheard by the empty hallway. "Just you."

He grins all the wider, knowing that saying so will turn Jet about as red as his hair, though Albert flushes some as well in announcing his feelings.

As predicted, color blazed across Jet's face and he steadfastly kept his eyes pointed ahead of them. "S-shut up."

The day passed slowly until those last fifteen minutes seemed to crawl past covered in molasses. But once the bell had rung, Jet flashed a smile at Albert along with a 'see you later' and headed back home.

He was hoping he'd get there and find his dad passed out in his chair so Jet could gather his things and leave before the old guy woke up. Unfortunately, that wasn't quite the case.

No more than an hour and a half later, Jet was back at Albert's door, a couple bags and his backpack at his feet. He didn't look any worse for wear except a small, shallow, cut along his cheek that had stopped bleeding with the help of his jacket sleeve.

He knocked. "Al? You home yet?" He didn't sound any worse either in fact, if anything, he sounded better.

"No, but I am now," Albert's voice comes from behind Jet, keys jangling as he pulls them out. His conversation with his mother had been inconclusive, but she'd at least said Jet could stay for dinner so it was a start. He tries to keep how much that troubles him out of his expression.

"Scoot back, I gotta open the do-... What happened to your face?" The cut might be small, but Albert notices it immediately and he frowns deeply, staring at it as if the intensity of his gaze could make it heal over out of embarrassment for existing.

He brought his sleeve to the cut again, afraid it'd started bleeding again, that small smile he'd been wearing not slipping even an inch. "It's nothing. Pa was home when I got there. At first, he didn't even notice but by the time I was trying to leave, he saw the bags and flipped."

His hand lightly fell to his arm just above the e;bow and he shrugged. "He grabbed me and I punched him. I was almost to the door when he chucked a bottle at me; guess the damn thing was broken already or something cause it nicked me."

Not once did he sound dour or put out or uncertain and skittish during his explanation, he was just a step away from vibrant and couldn't stop that small smile from persisting. In his mind, it had gone a lot better than he'd expected, and he'd gotten to sock his father one for the first time ever.

It felt good.

"How about your end of things?"

The door rattles open and Albert resists the urge to shove Jet inside, trying not to be angry at the other teen's unconcerned attitude when he could have been way more severely injured. He's probably just happy to be out and free of that mess, but Albert still worries for Jet's safety and well being. He heads for the first aid kit as he continues the conversation.

"She said you could stay tonight for dinner. Later than that if we do homework and stuff. The rest she said she had to think." He tries to make it sound like it's no big deal and he manages somehow to exude the confidence that she'll decide in their favor when he doesn't feel it. "She's gonna get pizza, so I told her to get sausage on it."

He brings the kit to the kitchen table and takes out the iodine. "C'mere."

As Albert was talking, Jet took the opportunity to stash his stuff in a corner of Albert's room, deciding he'll move it later if he has to, though he's finding it easier to have faith in Albert's determination now that he was here. In the end, even the roof of the apartment complex seemed like a better option than what used to be home.

By the time he's back out in the main room, his smile's only gotten wider at the thought of pizza with his favorite topping and everything...although that smile dampens at the sight of the iodine.

He hesitates and his hand comes up to cover the cut in defense. "It's not that bad, Al...we can just leave it." That shit stung and he wanted none of it.

Of course, Albert could be forceful when he wanted to be. He sat backwards in one of the chairs...safely out of arm's reach of the other teen.

"Only if you want it to get infected and have your face rot off." So basically no.

Albert dabs a cotton ball in the viscous liquid and advances on Jet, ready to pounce and hold him down if he has to but he hopes he doesn't. "Frankly I don't think face rot is very attractive."

Face rot didn't sound pleasant, no. Although that last comment had something to do with his reluctant stillness. He winced and tried not to pull away when the burning touch of iodine filled the cut.

"That's just mean." But stay put he did, although not without some fidgeting. There was even a trace of kicked puppy look once the medicinal torture had ended.

"What, you wanna look like you're starring in House of Wax?" Albert makes a face. He'd been particularly put off by that movie when they'd snuck into it, all the melting wax dummies and all.

He puts a band-aid on Jet's cheek then snaps the kit shut and takes it back into the bathroom. A moment later he peeks around the door frame to make sure his mother hasn't miraculously arrived in the last two seconds, then shoots Jet a shy grin. "I like your face the way it is."

Jet pulled a face at the thought of looking like those melting dummies but continued to pout as Albert put the kit away. Right up until Albert basically said he liked Jet's looks and then the younger teen's face caught fire.

"W-whatever..." Jet looked away and stood up. He didn't make eye contact again until he'd crossed over to the shorter teen and leaned down to steal a kiss--albeit a short one since the feeling that Mrs. Heinrich would be home any second weighed in the back of his mind.

The kiss turns Albert red too and he deals with it by diving into his bookbag and pulling out their homework even if that's the last thing he wants to do. What he'd rather be doing is shoving Jet up against the fridge for another kiss, lips locked and tongues twining. He can imagine he feels Jet's hands on him, sneaking under his shirt, untucked with buttons askew. One sliding up alone his sternum, the other down under the hem of his jeans, the hem of his boxers, cupping his ass as Albert presses in closer, his knee between the taller teen's...

No no no no not now his mom could be home any minute! Homework is safer. Right. Because he can totally concentrate.

Jet smirks to himself as he follows Albert's lead and sets up with his own homework. Of course he barely has his pencil in his hand before thoughts start going about what if they just kissed instead? What if Jet stuck his hand down Albert's pants and made the older teen moan and writhe on whatever surface they found themselves on? What if they were on the table? What if he had Albert half undressed and pinned to the smooth wooden surface, his hands on that broad body and--

Heat bloomed across his face and he had to take the pressure off the pencil that threatened to break against the already lead-marred page. Homework was going to be hard if he didn't start actively trying to concentrate.

"Maybe...we should work on this stuff together...till your ma gets home..." Which he actually sort of hoped would be sooner rather than later just so his temptation to jump his best friend right then and there wouldn't be as strong.

"Uhh... y-yeah, sure." Though being right next to Jet as they pretend to pour over their math or English while really trying to concentrate on not noticing the curve of neck and shoulder under Jet's shirt, how his bangs have gotten so long in places that they nearly brush his jaw but catch the light in brilliant copper and bronze. How long his fingers are when he sets down his pencil, how tapered, how good they feel when they run up Albert's sides or down his legs...

"I gotta use the bathroom first!" He bolts, mostly to dunk his head under a freezing tap.

"U-uh...o..kay." Jet stared at Albert's retreating back as he ducked into the other room, both confused and slightly grateful the temptation to stick his tongue down his best friend's throat wasn't still there at the moment.

He forced himself to focus on the paper in front of him and get as much of it done as he could before Albert came back and Jet was put back in the position of staring blankly at the paper while his mind devoted itself to the shorter teen.

Luckily, he has almost all of it done by the time the bathroom door opens again.

At the same time Albert is emerging from the bathroom, hair wet and shivering from having dumped cold water on himself repeatedly, the front door rattles open to reveal Edda Heinrich, bustling in to set her purse on the counter. She raises an eyebrow at her son as he comes padding back into the kitchen. "Warum sind Sie nass?"

"I, uh..." Scheisse. "Etwas war in meinem Haar." Nice save! Only not. He sits back down at the table as Edda eyes him sidelong while she removes her coat and hat.

"Have you finished your homework?" This time she speaks in her heavily accented English, addressing both boys present.

He can't help but smirk a bit at Albert's misfortune when he sees the other teen's all wet; cold water, no doubt. Good to know he wasn't the only one having a hard time.

When Mrs. Heinrich speaks in English, however, it vanishes and a slight layer of nervousness rushes through him. "Hello, Mrs. Heinrich. I'm...almost finished, yeah. With this, at least. I've got one more thing too." He glanced over at her with a small smile he's pretty sure betrays his nervousness and quickly looks back to Albert, hoping the attention to his answer would take any off of him.

"Gut. You can come here for homework each night."

Albert lights up. "Mutti, dank-"

She raises one finger and her son falls silent as she resumes talking to Jet. "But you can't stay all night each night."

The silence that falls is so thick it has actual presence, an entity silently cackling at the horror on Albert's face. He's struck speechless. He was so certain she would see how important this was.

"Warum?" It's a single helpless word and Edda grimaces as she turns away.

Jet looked away and nodded, trying desperately to keep his emotions off his face. "Thanks. That sounds good." How could he argue when he couldn't blame her for not wanting him to stick around?

Of course, now he had a choice: he could stick with their hair-brained idea of him keeping shop on the roof for as long as that would last before someone noticed, or he could try and go back home. And possibly not come back if his pa was pissed enough.

He felt that twisting antsy feeling that made him want to bolt, but he remained seated and focused unseeing eyes on the paper in front of him.

Albert, on the other had, catches his second wind and rounds the table to stomp up next to his mother. "Warum?!" He demands this time, eye to eye with Edda.

"Da kann ich nicht für dich sorgen sowohl." She keeps her voice soft and patient but there's an edge of ice around the corners. "Und seine Eltern noch seine Eltern. Ich kann ihn nicht halten, würden sie die Polizei rufen."

"Das spielt keine Rolle! Und er sagte, er würde einen Arbeit zu bekommen, und ich auch!" Albert's breath comes hard, as if he'd been running. "bitte mutti! Ich glaube nicht, dass er nicht mehr verletzt werden. Er könnte sterben!"

"Sie müssen die Schule zu beenden, nicht arbeiten." Her tone is fully ice and hard now but Albert still opens his mouth to respond, still pressing and appealing, but he's cut off when there's a loud knock on the door.

They go silent again, listening.

Jet suddenly feels incredibly out of place as he listens to argument in German. He barely recognizes a few words here and there but not enough to paint an idea of what's being said, leaving him to sit and wonder if he needed to say anything. He didn't like seeing Albert upset like this and while he understood why he was, Jet wanted to put an end to it.

He stood and pushed his chair in as he gathered his homework together. "Look, I'll just--" A knock at the front door cut off his words and made him go still. It was kind of late, who'd be calling on the Heinrich's at this hour? He'd assume it was some friend stopping by, except they seemed as confused as Jet was. Still, whoever it was, he should leave and get out of his friend's hair.

He broke the stillness by stepping away from the table and starting toward's Albert's room, intent on retrieving his stuff so he could move it elsewhere. He was barely two steps away when a deep-voiced man speaking in gruff and drunken Italian leaked through the door frame. "Dove si trova? Lo so che sei lì, è animale inutile! Gianni, si ottiene il culo qui adesso o ti spezzo entrambe le gambe quando ti trovo!"

Jet went pale as a sheet and hesitated only a moment before stiffly making his way to the front door. If his father was going to kill him the minute he stepped outside this door, Jet wasn't going to be some kid about it.

He opened the door a crack, enough for Ciro to see his wayward son and for Jet to be able to smell the alcohol on his breath, then there was a large hand flying through that opening and wrapping itself around the teen's arm painfully. "Hai pensato che si sarebbe scappare? Who would take someone like you?"

Ciro pushed the door open a bit more, completely unaware or uncaring of anyone else in the room as he yanked Jet through the doorway, the red-head trying desperately not to make a sound throughout the whole 'conversation.'

Albert can only watch in horror as Ciro violently grabs Jet, trying to yank him out into the hall in a fit of vitriolic Italian and a cloud of alcoholic haze. He's rooted to the spot, frightened and shocked to silence.

Albert may not be able to move, but Edda is on Ciro in a flash, her left hand grabbing the Italian's meaty fist, not quite able to make him let Jet go but enough to stop him from yanking on Jet's arm. Her German accented English carries through the hall loudly, almost booming despite her cold and deceptively calm tone. "You will stop."

"Or what, Nazi bitch?" Ciro sneers, eyes too bright and stance unsteady and swaying. Even so, he draws himself up, not quite towering but looming forebodingly with the threat of violence.

Calmly and without releasing Ciro's hand, Edda reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls out a small revolver. It's nothing impressive, but right there at point blank it might as well be a mortar. "Or I will shoot you."

Ciro sneered at her as though he didn't believe her, but when a second or two passed and she didn't waver, his drunken mind caught up with the situation and he quickly let go of Jet's arm. The large man took two steps back and looked from Edda to Jet who--despite being startled by the German woman suddenly pulling out a gun on his father--had shrunk back closer to her once he'd been freed.

Anger flared clear as day on the Italian's face and his voice came out as a sharp growl. "Fine. You want something that worthless and weak, you can keep him!" Ciro looked right at his son who couldn't seem to look away despite knowing the verbal lashing likely wasn't over yet. "You're nothing but a walking disappointment, a waste of space. You'll see, it won't be long till they've kicked you out too and then you'll have nothing."

The older red-head turned and left, making no attempt to be quiet about his stomping and angry muttering under his breath. Jet knew why his father had felt the need to have the last word, it was the same reason he'd felt the need to do any of what he'd done over the years: he was projecting his anger and disappointment out at those around him, especially a son that looked enough like him to make it easy. Jet knew he shouldn't take the words to heart, but they cut their way there anyway and made themselves at home.

He stepped out of the doorway but hung awkwardly nearby like he wasn't sure if he was about to head back out of it or not, but he put on a smile anyway. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that. Like I was saying, I'll just get out of here, I appreciate what you've done for me, I don't want to cause you anymore crap."

Edited 2014-04-24 22:40 (UTC)

"Sit down and finish your work." Edda calmly slips the revolver back in her pocket and closes the door with a click. "You will not swear in my house."

Albert, still flat footed and frightened from Ciro's railing and the appearance of a gun from his mother's pocket, finally comes to his senses and hurries over to Jet, grasping his arm tightly. It's nothing like what Ciro had done, all parts rude and chafing, but it's just as tight in Albert's anxiety over what could have happened. His fingers are trembling just a little. "Mutti...?"

"You finish your work too, Süßling." Her voice softens just a little, recognizing the tremor in her son's voice. "Dinner will be soon."

"But Mutti-"

"We will have to find a proper bed for Jet on the weekend."

Albert's eyes grew big as saucers and he looked at Jet excitedly, hands still clasping tightly.

Jet was dumbstruck for a moment and didn't move even with the obvious dismissal. She hadn't wanted him there but now it was like his dad saying 'fine, keep him' had made her change her mind. It didn't make sense to him.

But then, where was the point in questioning when the alternative wasn't really pleasant?

His face went red and his eyes vanished behind copper bangs as he nodded his understanding. "Yes, ma'am." He managed a slightly overwhelmed smile at Albert and moved to lead them both back to the table so they could finish their work.

Honestly, Jet wasn't sure how he was going to be able to concentrate when his thoughts were spinning like a whirlwind.

Somehow they manage to get through their homework and even dinner despite Albert periodically catching himself staring at Jet and silently thanking God and his mother for letting this happen, for rescuing his best friend - his boyfriend? Maybe - but definitely one of the most important people in his life from suffering, pain, and possibly an early grave. It's all he can do to keep himself from throwing his arms around the taller teen and hanging on for dear life.

Edda, for her part, acts as if everything is perfectly normal and even asks Jet about school the same as she does Albert when they sit down to eat, speaking English despite the discomfort Albert had revealed days before. It's good practice, she's reasoned, and the poor redhead has had enough of being left out or made to feel lacking. She'll sacrifice a little dignity if it means the quiet defeated look he'd had when Ciro had attempted to manhandle him away doesn't show up again.

Edda can't stand people mistreating children. Or anyone, in point of fact. She's had enough of that for lifetimes.

But she keeps that to herself, instead instructing the boys to clean up the kitchen then letting them have the rest of the evening while she situates herself with the radio to knit and try to calm down. If Albert notices she's still keyed up he doesn't say anything, instead rushing through washing dishes so he and Jet can retreat to his room - no, their room - and close the door. The second it's shut the German boy throws his arms around Jet's neck and doesn't let go for a long time, face hidden in the taller teen's shoulder like he's wanted to do all evening.

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