makinglies | Til the siren come calling

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Til the siren come calling

"We appreciate your hard work. We have one last mission for you."

The words rang through his mind and made him burn with anger and betrayal. He tried to make his body move, to force it to get up and fight back, to stop the Lazarus from doing whatever it was about to do as it approached, but he couldn't move except to squirm and flinch.

The zombie cyborg knelt down beside him and put a hand on his head, tilting it back to expose his neck as something bit into the human skin there. He watched as Void left the room, unconcerned with what was going on behind him and Jet's thoughts slowly slipped away. Then there was something else in his head. A voice was whispering to him, a familiar voice..someone he could trust; there was nothing but that voice and it's reminder how there was someone who betrayed him...no, multiple someones, people he'd trusted and thought wanted him around but were just using him, he needed to get back at them.

Istanbul. That was where they were.

'Go! Go! Traitors don't deserve to live anyway.' It whispered and he listened. His jets burned hot as they propelled him into the sky, indiscriminate of the building around him, it didn't matter, there was no time to waste.

He flew as fast as he could for the Gilmore Foundation.

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"It's alright," he chokes on the words, emotion running too strong and thick to speak without some weight. 27 years apart, all those times he should have called and didn't. Could have prevented this, could have kept Jet from being used or hurt. Should have acted when he'd been playing the petulant child this time, the animal of wounded pride.

He doesn't let Jet pull away, instead his hands sinking to Jet's shoulders, his arms as the blond tries. Metal fingers circle paneled wrists and he tugs Jet close again instead, this time pulling Jet to his shoulder, wrapping his arms around the man. He doesn't need to see the look in Jet's eyes to know it's there, that confused pain of being controlled, of what he could have done. He knows how he would feel.

"You're safe now. You're home."

Just like that? It was hard to believe he was suddenly forgiven for everything, not just the last several minutes, but the last twenty-seven years as well, how stupid he'd been. He'd had years to realize and acknowledge how stupid he'd been and years more to bury any hope of reconciliation. He'd wrecked the foundation, attacked Geronimo and Albert, thrown Joe into a goddamn nuclear explosion and kept silent while his government pulled the very same bull he'd fought against for so long. How would he ever be able to explain that one without butchering it?

But With Albert's arms around him, making him feel for the first time in forever that he truly was safely with people who genuinely cared, he wanted more than anything to believe it was possible.

He didn't try to pull away again and instead brought his arms up to encircle Albert, his hands clutching at him like the German might disappear as the blond woke up from a very bad dream. These arms had always made him feel safe and cared for, all those nights wrapped in them whether it was on a couch or in a bed, ran through his mind and made him cling even more. How could he have walked away from this?

He choked on another apology, overpowering emotions forcing it to be whispered into Albert's shoulder where Jet was burying his face lest it all reach his eyes and bring the stinging in his them past the simple watering they were already doing. But he could apologize a million times like he wanted to and it would never be enough.

"...I-I'm sorry I've been an idiot. I never--" Never meant to hurt them, never should have left, never should have let this go on as long as it had, there were too many to choose from. "...are you okay?"

"I'll be alright," his breath still rattles a little even as he says it, Jet having smashed him so hard into the metal plated wall of the corridor that he must have dented something on the older cyborg's body. That's not for Jet to worry about now, as far as Albert's concerned. He knows Gilmore will be cautious, if not downright paranoid to have Jet suddenly back so soon after mounting an assault. Chang and Junior may have misgivings as well, as well they should since Jet had been the last to see GB before he disappeared and given what Jet had done to Geronimo when he'd arrived. Francoise and Ivan though, Albert has no doubt they'll welcome Jet back readily. They shared a special bond, the four of them, and between Francoise's unshakable faith and Ivan's ability to sort their motivations even when they can't figure it out Jet still has friends to welcome him home.

The others will come around.

That on top of Joe's fate, which Albert suspects Jet likely blames himself for, and whatever method they'd used to coerce Jet into riding along with the United States' poor plans, the blond has enough to worry about.

Albert pushes his hand lightly through Jet's hair with a small smile, an assurance that everything will be alright, and opens the brainwave to the others. "Everything's under control. Target neutralized."

Silence, then Francoise.

"Is he..?"

"He's fine. He's come to his senses."

There's a soft sigh of relief, giving way to choked words. "Thank goodness."

Deaf to the transmission taking place, Jet took the momentary silence to compose himself a bit better. As much as he may want to, he couldn't just stay in this hall, wrapped in Albert's hold, there were things that needed doing and damages he had to answer for.

A hand came up to cup Albert's cheek as Jet lingered there a moment longer, but then he was pulling away a bit, still close, but no longer leaning on the German like he was the only thing holding the blond up.

"You should go see Gilmore so he can fix whatever got damaged." Whatever he'd damaged. "I need to go check on Geronimo." It was entirely possible the giant of a man would still think Jet was attacking once he woke up, but he'd just have to hope he'd be believed before he got smashed into the ground.

But even he knew it was a little more than just wanting to check on the larger cyborg, it was that he was afraid. Even with Albert's assurances, Jet still wasn't convinced the others wouldn't just kick him out as soon as they could. They had ever reason to do so and only one reason he could think of not to and it was a shaky reason.

Again Albert prevents Jet from pulling away, grasping the blond's hand in his tightly. "You need to see him too, your arm is shredded. We'll check on Geronimo and then we'll go down to the control room together."

Tone even and matter of fact, Albert's stance brokers no arguments. "There will be questions, I'm sure, and the Professor has gotten somewhat... wary in his old age, but you have my support. Francoise's too."

Jet looked at him a moment, still uncertain, but nodded and returned the tight hold Albert had on his hand. They went to retrieve and rouse their fallen friend who, as suspected, didn't immediately react well to Jet being right there. The blond apologized, but he didn't blame Geronimo for still being a bit wary for the time being.

The three of them went down to the control room only to face Doctor Gilmore with a gun turned on Jet the moment he walked in, suspicion obvious in his movements and his voice. He demanded to know what had happened and why Jet had attacked, leaving the blond to explain what the government had been doing since January and what he knew of His voice and what Void had done in throwing the zero zero cyborgs under the bus for the Dubai incident. It was only then that Gilmore lowered the weapon and agreed to fix them up, though it was obvious he still didn't trust Jet.

The whole thing hurt. Having to explain about a plot he should have spoken out against if not stopped, having to admit he'd been betrayed by the very people he'd wrongly put his faith in and more than that, seeing the anger and mistrust and hurt in the doctor's eyes and knowing it had every right to be there.

He was largely silent while Gilmore fixed damaged synth skin and stitched together torn organic skin, only responding when he had to and when Francoise insisted on giving him the tightest hug he'd ever received from the petite blonde. After years of wanting nothing more than to find a way back in with his family, now that he had that in, he felt more like a stranger that didn't belong than anything else.

To his credit, Albert does his best to be a buffer between Jet and the others. His patience holds unknowable depths when facing Gilmore's gun waving and Chang and Geronimo's unease. He remains calm and politic, suggesting Francoise run a scan on Jet's brain to mollify their suspicious surrogate father. He knows it's all with reason. They're all hurting but Gilmore takes these things particularly hard and after the losses they've already suffered, he's utterly terrified of letting Jet back in and finding he's still just as gone. Sometimes, it's too difficult to care without proof.

Finally, after all the haranguing and examinations, Albert and Jet are left in the relative quiet of the medical lab, Jet with a long cable snaking from the back of his neck to a nearby console that Francoise has remote access to from he chair and Albert with half of his chest plate removed to be hammered back out. Jet's attack had put a prodigious dent in the metal, enough to hamper his lungs expanding fully, so it had been handed off to Geronimo to be fixed. He sits with Jet, applying the last of repairs to the blond's arm, his own internal workings temporarily visible until his plate is returned.

The silence stretches between them for miles, Albert's hands working methodically to smooth a synthskin patch over the last remaining tear on Jet's arm.

Usually, silence would bug him beyond belief, but feeling Albert next to him and working on his arm, it felt oddly comfortable and strained at the same time. Part of him was waiting for something, some kind if dismissal or something similar from the older man now that he knew the full story, but it hadn't come yet. Maybe it would come once he broke the silence. Maybe that would be better.

He glanced over, letting his eyes run along the once familiar form. Concern sparked through him as he took in exactly how much had been updated and modified. "What happened? You updated your cybernetics...were you hurt?"

"No, not really." He finishes with Jet's arm and puts away the supplies carefully, trying not to jostle his mechanics. It feels strange, having them open to the air like this. It makes him feel hollow and uncomfortable. He sits back down next to Jet, gaze squarely on his hands as he answers.

"I came in for routine maintenance some time ago, just after Gilmore had set up the whole foundation. He and Chang had made their peace over the licencing and Chang's donations allowed the Professor to build this." He motions to the lab at large, all the latest technology gracing the walls and counters. "Technology's advanced a lot since we were initially remodeled."

He chuckles at that. It's been over half a century since then, after all. "Everyone knew I was coming, it's not as if it was a secret, but what I didn't know is they knew my old part grafts were still causing me a lot of pain. I didn't think much of it anymore back then, I'd been dealing with it for so long, but they had a sort of intervention anyway. They convinced me to upgrade."

He lets out a quiet little sigh. "Most of the parts themselves are still the same, but the plating is more organically shaped and lighter so I don't look like such an automaton under my clothing anymore, and everything was removed and reintegrated with new techniques so there's not any pain anymore, not unless I'm fighting for an extended period of time."

It had been quite the decision at the time, but he'd ended up glad that he did it. He even sounds a little cheerful as he leans back, folding his arms loosely. "It may be synthetic, but I even have a heartbeat again."

Somehow it's easier to talk about his cybernetics than it is to address the elephant on the room. How Jet could have gone along with all that, why he hadn't at least called, or tried to subvert them or... anything. He struggles to understand it on his own quietly, mind working silently to sort it out, but he knows he's likely going to have to ask. It's not a conversation he wants to have; he's a little afraid of the answers.

Jet listened, almost smiling at the thought of an intervention; he could see it pretty clearly in his mind, likely Francoise was the leading force behind what had finally convinced the German. "Ah...good. I'm glad." Glad it wasn't something life threatening and glad Albert wasn't in pain anymore. Jet had known about that, but he'd always figured Albert would be stubborn for eternity and just deal with it. He was happy to know he was wrong.

But, ultimately, he couldn't think of what to say. Everything that came to mind seemed too intimate considering he didn't know where they stood. They'd kissed and had said some things to each other, but that was before the blond had torn a bigger gap between them.

And now, faced with that thick silence all over again, he wished he could run, but he was still hooked up to the brain scanner. He hadn't felt this flighty since he actually had run, but he was scared and anxiety ripped at his stomach and it wasn't a feeling he was used to, he didn't know what to do with it.

What if he'd changed while he wasn't looking? What if he'd changed so much that he wasn't what the person they considered family anymore? He couldn't even blame them if that were the case. He'd been so afraid of trying to come back only to find the door closed to him that he'd done that to himself.

He was pretty damn sure his younger self would slam the door in his face, if given the chance.

Maybe all he had left was the government he'd already thrown everything away for, even with their plans for him. Slowly, as the silence stretched on, that was the seed he planted and watered in his mind. But there was still one thing he could do, one thing that might be able to make up for all of it.

"Once they're done scanning me, I think I should go. Maybe I can fix some of this if I can get back and find out what their doing. Maybe even sneak into Samuel Capital and pull the whole thing down a peg." He looked at his hands, now mostly repaired with exception to the things that would just take time, and listened to the faint beating sound he could hear of the other man's new heart.

"Good to know things haven't changed with you," he hadn't meant to sound so harsh but there it is, a little bite behind the irritated words. "You're still a complete idiot."

He's angry. He doesn't want to be angry and he thought he'd had it under control but hearing Jet immediately wanting to leave just after he- they had gotten him back? It turns his tone to ice. That's always how it was with Albert; his ire rarely rises in flames but instead freezes over, seeming to drop the room temperature by degrees.

"You're not going back there. We'll figure it out, but we'll do it the way we're supposed to. As a team." I'm not letting you run off again.

"And what if I'm not part of that team anymore, Albert!?" He hadn't meant to say anything about what was swirling in his head, but it had slipped out and stopping there wasn't enough of an explanation. "Gilmore made it pretty clear how he felt and G and Chang don't seem too keen on keeping me around! And...you can't tell me you're just fine with everything I've done. I've got my reasons...but none of them seem to really matter right now."

Blue eyes shifted to find silver, a glare that lacked the fire in his tone fixed on the older man. "How're we supposed to do anything as a team when I'm more like some add-on than an ally? If I'm supposed to be any help, it'd be to try and sneak back...behind enemy lines." Because that's what his government had become, whether he liked it or not. "Can you honestly tell me you'd trust me to watch your back after everything I've told you? Cause I'm pretty sure they wouldn't." He gestured to the door as though the members in question were just behind it.

He wanted to be wrong, he wanted to believe there was a way to find his place again but he just couldn't see it right now.

"You're the one that left, Jet, not us," as Jet's voice raises in volume, Albert's lowers, his eyes near slits as his frigid gaze never leaves Jet's face. "You fucked up. Royally. That doesn't mean you should run off with your tail between your legs just because it's going to take some work to make things right again. If you've changed enough to quit, then you're not the Jet Link I still put my faith in."

He lets it sink in for a moment, giving the impression of cold fury barely contained as he folds his arms over the gap in his chest, mechanical heart pumping just a little faster. "If they don't trust you, earn it back. Unless a cushy desk job has made you a coward."

Leaning forward so his face is right in Jet's, Albert seems to loom even at his two inch deficit. "Man up."

"I'm not giving up!" It's said with fire, not in anger, but in defiance, more like how his younger self would have said it, but he looked away after a moment. He wasn't giving up, but Albert wasn't completely wrong, either. He was scared of failing at regaining his family's trust, so instead of face that fear, he was looking for an alternate; some way he could help and maybe gain a few points in his favor without anyone relying on him directly.

He could do things that threatened his life without even thinking about it, but faced with this he suddenly found that determination hard to find. Maybe he was just a coward.

"You're right, I did leave, that's on me...and I am scared. But I'm not giving up either. I want to fix things." He just didn't know how or where to start. "I haven't been on a team in thirty years and I didn't exactly do a good job of it the first time around." What if he didn't know how to be a part of one anymore?

He leaned forward a bit, elbows resting on his knees as a small, humorless, smirk played across his lips. "And it wasn't a desk job."

"Good," he tries not to let the wave of relief that washes over him invade his response but it manages to lap at the corners of the word. After everything, he'd been afraid Jet really would just leave again, that he'd grown so far apart or that his values had changed enough that he'd changed fundementally. Albert leans back again, out of Jet's space, more to prevent himself from gathering the blond in his arms than anything.

"You were fine before, at least until that last bit." Spectacularly flying overseas in a massive hissy fit kind of overshadows his performance the rest of the time. Albert drops his arms, posture less tight as he talks. "You need to tell everyone that you intend to make things right and then demonstrate it, not go running off to try and get yourself killed in an effort to avoid it. Jet, you know us. The whole His Voice thing and you coming in here guns blazing definitely put us on edge, but it's not as if we decided good riddance the moment you left. Far from it. Francoise tried to call you for months, Great finagled his schedule to visit America for work as often as he could and make sure you were alright and give the team updates."

He leaves out anything personal. He leaves out how he'd been so angry that Jet could throw away everything they had together over some petty power struggle. He leaves out that he'd deleted Jet's information from his cell phone in a fit of bitterness only to add it back a week later from memory. He leaves out how he avoided Great Britain's check ins because it hurt too much to think about things happening in Jet's life that he couldn't share first hand. That he was fine, or even happier, without Albert. He leaves out how worried the entire sordid mess makes him, that the government Albert knows Jet trusted at least as much as he once trusted them betrayed him, used him, and tried to discard him. That maybe if either of them had just picked up the damn phone and tried to sort this out a decade or two sooner, this wouldn't be happening. He wouldn't be sick with worry and fear that what they had isn't still there.

He leaves it out because now isn't the time, and he leaves it out because there are some things about which Albert is a coward too. He'd already struggled with losing Jet once, managed to coast along back on his feet. He's not sure he can do it again with Jet right there again telling him for certain things have changed and he's been outgrown. But there's one thing that remains true regardless of where they stand with each other romantically. No matter what.

"You're part of this family we've built, Jet. Even now."

Edited 2013-12-07 17:49 (UTC)

Albert had this annoying habit of being right a good deal of the time, particularly when Jet thought he wasn't. Usually, this would broker some sort of vague annoyance in the American that would pass quickly enough. This time, that annoyance was absent and in it's place there was a tentative feeling of relief.

He knew Albert was right in principle, the sentiment was true, Jet just didn't know if he could actually pull off what he needed to on his side of things; there was still a scared little voice in the back of his mind wondering if he'd just make it worse. Oil on flame. But that didn't mean he was going to give up either, if he was going to fail, he might as well do it by trying first.

And at least one part was true, Frannie had tried to call him a bunch of times and he'd only picked up the phone once only to hang up on her less than a minute later. GB had called him up several times, a lot more than Jet had expected their circles to run, but all of it he'd just pushed away and buried under his determination that it wasn't salvageable. Because, if he closed that door, then it would hurt less than having it shut in his face. And if he believed it was sealed shut behind him, that made the what ifs that followed him every time he glanced at Albert's number in his phone easier to ignore.

Maybe he could fix things, if he tried hard enough, there would be a lot to make up for but that was what twenty-seven years away got him. At least when it came to the others.

He didn't know about the man next to him. He supposed he should be thankful he was being talked to.

"Yeah, you're right." It only lasted a moment, but his hand reached to Albert's wrist, held tight a moment and then fell away. It was less than he wanted and more than he hoped for, but it was enough to convey the thanks that hadn't escaped his lips.

Metal fingers catch Jet's longer ones as he pulls away and Albert looks down as he runs his thumb over the pale white skin on the back of his hand. He knows it's not the time, not the place the discuss this, to sort things out between them. Hell, Francoise can probably hear everything they're saying as she runs through all of Jet's brain functions and processes. It should be done in private, if at all. Maybe they should just leave it, instead. Spare each other any more pain.

But that feels wrong too.

There is something he needs to know, something still personal but not so focused on them and their relationship, such as it is or isn't.

"Jet... Why did you go along with their plans if you knew it was wrong?" He has a little inkling of why. He knows the psychology of joining gangs, of humanity's search for belonging, but it doesn't track with Albert. They'd never made Jet feel as if he didn't belong, or so he thinks. Yes there'd been a fight, but they hadn't kicked him out. Moreover, he knows Jet to have a distinct moral compass when it comes to innocents getting hurt. How could he compromise that?

Feeling Albert's hand on his made his heart skip a beat and he squeezed it back, but that question made his heart sink instead and his hand went loose in Albert's hold all over again. His eyes found the floor in front of them and try as he might to keep his tone even, the shame licked at the edges and threatened to come pouring out. This was one of those reasons that wasn't good enough. It had fueled his actions, but even he'd known it was weak and stupid at the time. As he didn't want to, he would explain.

"I'd been working there for years already, getting a name for myself, finding a new niche, but I was ultimately still new; just different enough to be kept on the edges and not on the inner circle, if I said anything, they'd have been perfectly willing to drop me. It's stupid, but...I wasn't as strong as I like to think I am. I'd been part of a group for so long, the thought of being alone again..." He shook his head. He sounded pathetic. People had died and he'd been worried about what would happen to him.

Maybe he had changed too much to fit in.

"They probably would have locked me away for treason if I'd actually said anything against them because of all that I knew. I probably could have stopped them, even at that coast, if I'd just gotten the word out. But I got scared. By that time, it had already been two and a half decades, I didn't think I'd have anywhere else to go." So thousands upon thousands of innocent people had died. True, maybe he wouldn't have been able to blow the whistle before he got stopped, maybe he'd be rotting in a prison somewhere instead of in the Foundation right now, and those people would have died anyway, but at least he would have tried. But he hadn't.

It had grown outside of what they'd been planning with His Voice and all of the extra bombings, but that didn't excuse the attack on American soil or any of the others that had been carried out by those damn Lazarus cyborgs that he might have been able to prevent. And he hated himself for it.

A small voice said that, worse, if he'd said anything they might have overpowered him and used him more than they had already, maybe taken advantage of Black Ghost's technology or the information he had that they could access with the right software and a few well-placed keystrokes. But the point was, he hadn't and they hadn't and it didn't matter in the face of what he had let happen. He'd kept silent.

"That makes sense." It's a little bit of a relief that it does. Painful too, but still a relief.

He goes quiet again, not certain what to say. He wishes he could let go of the separation, that he could just feel what he did in the rush of emotion when Jet had faced him down in the hallway, giving no thought to anything but pressing his lips to the American's as he'd imagined almost to the day since their parting. He wonders if Jet holds the same desire. It meant something, Albert can tell that much. If it didn't he wouldn't have snapped out of it, he wouldn't have reached for Albert's hand moments ago either, but Albert still fears it's something he's not thinking of, that what they had is unsalvageable because of the time apart.

He won't know unless he asks. He's being a hypocrite.

But it's such a big question, something so personal and important and something he doesn't want to bring up if it will just cause Jet more distress. It likely will. Better to wait.

But... what if Jet goes off again, or if they meet their end because of this His Voice thing. Like Joe. Like Pyunma and GB. He could die without telling Jet he's still the most important person to him, as selfish a notion as it is feeling he has to tell him.

All the best and worst case scenarios swirl back and forth across Albert's mind until finally he resolves to say something, test the waters... of course that's when Geronimo comes back with his reshaped chest plate and a welcome visitor in tow.

Joe is alive.

Any disappointment or fear he feels at possibly having lost that connection with the older man he pushes down when Geronimo comes back and Joe follows him in. Now's not the time.

He leaves Albert to put himself back together as Jet approached his once-friend with uncertainty. He barely got an apology out before he found himself trapped in and returning a tight hug from the other cyborg.

Unfortunately, there's barely time for that either before Gilmore has them back in the control room and talking plans. Jet offered the security codes to the NSA systems he knew Francoise had collected in the brain scan as a way to see what was going on and it was those that led to them learning about the crisis the American government was currently facing: a sub in some unknown location was intending to shoot off a bunch of highly destructive missiles to 'help humanity start over.'

A short discussion later led to a decision to board a ship off the coast of Hawaii and use it to send intercepting missiles. Jet volunteered to go and for the first time in years, suited up like old times. Some weird mixture of emotions swirled in him when he found one of the new uniforms had been made for him as well, even in his absence, and it made him pause for only a second before moving on with what they had to do. He could think about it later.

Ivan teleported them to the ship, Albert got them in and Joe and Jet took out everyone else in the ship while Frannie and Albert took the control room. Everything seemed to be going well, until one of their missiles missed one of the submarine's. It wouldn't destroy the world on it's own, but millions upon millions would still die if it wasn't stopped.

And, of course, Joe had an idea, one that mirrored actions taken decades ago and while Jet listened to Francoise question the other cyborg's decision, the other blond was already coming to one himself. "I'll go too. If we go together, we'll be more likely to be able to stop it."

It's too dangerous. Your engines weren't constructed for low-oxygen functionality. How many times are you going to run off and disappear?! I only just now got you back, we have so much work to do, so much to fix, and you're going to get yourself killed again. I can't take losing you again!

He wants to say it, his heart twists at it even behind his stony expression. That's all it is now, a mask. But it's the face he need to give. This really is the best option. Between the two of them the success rate goes up - he can see a little more hope in Francoise face at Jet's decision, tears still stinging the corners of her eyes but not falling. Albert nearly wishes he could show even that much but he just remains blank. It's easier that way, at least for the others.

He speaks up, meaning to sound his usual mix of paternal authority but it comes out soft and sad and he hates himself for making the right decision just that much harder. "Both of you, then."

Jet nodded and waited as Francoise asked Ivan to teleport them to the missile. But then she and Joe were saying good-bye and Jet couldn't watch because the thought of 'what if they died anyway and this was it' ran through his head.

He became painfully aware of the older man still near him and how much his hands ached to reach out to him. Just in case. It was light and nearly unnoticeable, but his fingers did manage a small pass along Albert's sleeve before being pulled away again.

The blue light was growing stronger and he could feel the pull at his center as Ivan started to rip them from where they were. Blue eyes tinged in sadness finally darted over to find silver, even if it was only to find a stony mask--Albert's tough decision coping mechanism of choice--before the light engulfed him and he and Joe vanished in a snap.

It was strange floating in the atmosphere there, the world continuing on beneath them, but he only let the thrill of it chase through him a moment before he kicked his boosters on and grabbed Joe's wrist, positioning them to catch the rocket as Joe sped them up enough to grab on. Even as Joe was attaching the detonation device, Jet could tell his systems had been none too thrilled to find limited oxygen to pull in and burn. They needed to get this done soon and head back down in case Jet had overestimated himself.

That was when the paneling on the missile flew off and sent both cyborgs flying.

He feels Jet's fingers at his sleeve as the light from Ivan's power grows more insistent, enveloping Jet and Joe with sparks and kicking up a preternatural wind in the control room of the ship. Knowing their time is short, Albert clutches Jet's hand tightly. Every modicum of worry, every bubbling emotion he keeps firmly pushed under the surface is inherent in that grasp, as if he can tether Jet back to Earth with his bare hand.

Their eyes barely lock before Jet's gone.

And all that's left to do is watch.

And wait.

And hope.

Jet didn't hesitate, the engines in his legs kicked on to full power as he reached out to grab Joe and push them towards the missile. It wasn't enough. The panels on his back opened, straining at his uniform until the boosters there kicked on and burned the fabric out of their way.

Slowly, slowly, they caught up to their target as it totated itself. Joe's voice sounded in his head, telling him how close they were, just a little further. But it was a distance he couldn't afford. Already, he could see warning after warning appearing in the corners of his vision; the boosters were straining, the oxygen level was too low to properly ignite it, his system was trying to cannibalise itself and reaching into fuel reserves to meet the demands Jet was making of it. He was burning out.

Warning pain lanced through his shoulder as one booster died and more ran up his legs to tell him the jets were giving out, but he pushed them more. They had to stop this missile.

Further, further, until he finally felt Joe grab on to the thing and let go of his hand. Just as his system finally quit, burned out by trying to do what it couldn't. He was vaguely aware that Joe was trying to talk to him, but he was already drifting back, caught by gravity and dead in the air. The warnings in his eyes told him which parts were shutting down first and the impending overload in the ignition system in his left leg and it took longer to register that Joe was yelling his name as pain lanced through that leg and his eyes closed.

They'd succeeded, but now he regretted not talking to Albert more, not just outright kissing the older man instead of the brief touch they'd had. At least he hadn't promised to return, even if he'd had every intention of doing so.

Jet couldn't feel himself breaking up as he fell through the stratosphere, but he could feel the pressure of Albert's hand squeezing his and he tried to reach through the brainwave to talk to just the older man. He didn't know if it worked, but it didn't ultimately matter as the heat and pressure claimed him.

"I'm sorry."

Francoise jumps as the console bucks under the force of Albert's fist slamming down onto it, leaving a divot in its metallic surface and causing the screen nearby to flicker for just a second. The screen that shows three blips; Joe and the missile, and Jet falling away slowly.

"I'm sorry."

He squeezes his eyes shut, head remaining bowed over the counter. This can't be happening, not when he'd only just gotten Jet back, not when they still had so much to work out and to say and do.

He doesn't know how much time he has. For all he knows Jet could be gone already, but as Joe starts speaking, his words echoing over the brainwave even though it's directed at none of the cyborgs, Albert hopes his words are still heard.

"I love you."

It's terrible to say it now, to not even know if he heard it, to not have said it every single time he'd wanted to. Maybe if he'd said it on that day Jet had left, maybe if he'd said it before Yomi, maybe if he'd said it any of the hundreds of times he'd thought it then it would have made a difference.

Or maybe not.

But Jet needs to know. Before Albert loses him for good, he needs to know.

Francoise presses gentle fingers to Albert's shoulder as there's a small blip and the screen clears, the brainwave suddenly silent. He takes a shuddering breath and follows her to the deck numbly. He should be comforting her, like that time standing in the choppy shallows of the pacific, the blonde crying into his chest and Albert silently mirroring her sorrow. But this time she's the strong one. He can't even bring himself to leave the shadow of the cabin looming on the starlit deck, but she walks to the bow of the ship, watching light streak across the sky. He watches as she folds her hands, bows her head, and wishes on those falling stars.

And he makes a wish of his own, too.

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