makinglies | Til the siren come calling

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

It was almost like waking up only without the grogginess that usually came with sleep. Blue eyes opened to see water all around and a concrete 'shore' a little further ahead. If it wasn't for the fact he seemed to be sitting in a chair on the wster's surface, he'd have thought he was in Italy. It would figure the afterlife would look like Italy, at least if all those catholic lessons he'd had decades back were actually right. And that was even assuming he didn't find himself in Hell. If he was, it was nice enough for being what it was.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. He stayed where he was, lounging in the chair, eyes unmoving from the water's still surface in front of him. Whether he was in Heaven or Hell didn't really matter to him now, he was out of the picture for good and an echo reverberated in the back of his head that made his chest clench.

'I love you.'

It was probably just a delusion cooked up by his dying brain, something he'd decided he wanted to hear in his last moments instead of reality. There was no real reason for the man whose voice had said it to say it then, not when he was dying and they'd barely had any time to reconcile in their few hours not on the outs with each other.

That didn't really matter now either.

Jet sat in a somber but peaceful silence until it was broken by the sound of a motorboat pulling up and stopping behind and to the right of him before carrying on. He thought it strange, but didn't turn to look at it, not until he heard two very familiar voices that flooded him with relief and brought a smile to his face. He was quite as alone as he'd been fearing...and no matter where this technically was, it definitely seemed a little but more like the nicer place.

The world had changed.

It wasn't just Francoise's sudden and understandable though still no less strange turn to religion. It wasn't his government commending him for a job well done in thwarting the 'American threat to the globe.' It wasn't even the new ability to walk on water, wherever that came from.

It was the empty silences and the sting of loss. It was the finality of it, knowing there was no longer any hope of the future he'd still entertained they could still someday manage to build even with 27 years of Jet not speaking to him. The future he'd wished for in a fit of desperation watching the stars fall.

It's impossible now.

He loses track of the days since it happened, taking a leave of absence to help Geronimo with reconstructing what of the Foundation had been damaged, to go with Gilmore to give personal apologies and condolences to the families of those injured or killed when the main building had been attacked. They were kind and held no grudges, every one of them, but Albert felt the need to explain that it hadn't been Jet's fault regardless.

He works with Ivan to make sure Samuel Klein sees justice as a criminal in the eyes of the United Nations, not just the United States. They leak a document here, a recorded conversation there, working from data Francoise had scanned when Jet had finally come home.

He stays late, long after Ivan is asleep, picking through the recordings and scans and readouts, picking through all that remains of that stupid wish of his that won't come true. Can't come true.

And then, one day, he gets a call, and life becomes a series of moments instead of a continual flow.

Here he is running across canals.

Here, passing Gilmore and the rest as if he doesn't see them. He does, but that's hardly what his attention is on at the moment. They don't try to stop him.

And here, ignoring Pyunma and GB, ignoring everything but the shock of blond hair, the crystal blue eyes, and his heart in his throat as he throws his arms around Jet, stumbling to his knees in front of the chair and holding on tightly to his future. To his wish.

The thought that this was actually real and for whatever reason, he and his family members weren't dead, had barely solidified in his head when he noticed the dark streak of a man running towards him. Silver hair and eyes, and an angular face he recognized sent his heart into his throat and he sat up a little more, intending to stand to meet either the hug or the fist that figured was headed his way. He never got the chance to really move and it was probably for the best or they might have gone tumbling if Jet had lost his footing.

A solid form pressed tightly against him as strong and familiar arms encircled him and suddenly everything else fell away. Right this second, it was just them and his heart choking him, making his eyes sting and words impossible. He broght his own arms up to wrap tightly around the German, his hands clenching the fabric of Albert's shirt as though he might just vanish if even a single aspect if Het's hold doesn't indicate that he wants the other man exactly where he is. And he does, he needs Albert against him, holding him, because that was what cemented if for him, that was what told Jet he truly was alive and well and had am honest second chance to make things right.

His hold never loosening, he shifts and slides out of the chair so he's sitting on his knees and can make them be that much closer. Jet buries his face in the junction of Albert's neck and shoulder, willing his eyes to stay dry despite the stinging and fighting back the lump that prevented him from speaking. Finally he won enough to get a rough whisper out.

"I'm sorry. For everything, for all of it. I want to try again, I want to fix it. Albert, I'm so sorry." I love you.

Edited 2013-12-17 22:19 (UTC)

"Shut up," I know.

His voice is strained Albert struggling and failing miserably to keep his own emotions under control. He swallows around his throat not wanting to cooperate, though he successfully bites back a sob even as he tastes salt from the corners of his mouth.

I thought I'd never see you again.

For once, he does as he's told and doesn't let any of the hundreds of words spinning in his head, similarly pointless, come spilling out. Instead, he squeezes tighter before pulling away only enough to move his hands to the sides of Albert's face.

The sight of those tears breaks the dam on some of his own, but he doesn't notice, he was too focused on Albert's face, his eyes, his lips, lips he pressed his own against in an effort to convey the stuff that mattered.

Let me fix this.

I'm here to stay for as long as you'll have me.

Nothing's more important than you.

He kisses everywhere he can reach on Jet's face after that first kiss, his own hands mirroring Jet's and tears falling freely and unheeded but joy and relief apparent in every movement. He pulls him close, not caring that the surface of the water is getting their knees wet and apparently not even cognizant that Gilmore and the others have approached.

A quiet cough and a polite chuckle finally break the moment, Albert taking a moment to rub his eyes on his sleeve with a quiet and soggy laugh, looking to Jet warmly before shakily getting them both back to their feet.

Albert's lips, his hands, his face, nothing else exists for a long moment, not even the feeling of the water beneath them, but then there's another sound and that feeling that reminds the blond they're far from alone here and it sends bright color to his face, though he doesn't bother covering for it either. Right this second, he just didn't care.

He stood when Albert did and finally finally parted with the other man enough to greet the rest of his family.

It was odd how much easier it was to step back into the fold this time around, like his hope to redeem himself had actually panned out for him, something he hadn't really even though of since he'd thought he was going to die.

It was comforting to be able to find the hole he'd left and fit back into place and have everything that he'd ripped away from himself sew itself back together around him; there was an underlying current that was the only indication that there was anything wrong at all and even he knew a little bit of time and that would dry up too.

It was a hundred times more than what he expected and a lot more than what he thought he deserved, all things considered, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, either. For having died earlier, it was one of the best days he'd had in a really long time. Especially since he went out of his way to hold Albert's hand whenever he was allowed, still riding that high of just not even caring who saw.

Even once Gilmore and the others left the two older cyborgs for the night, Jet still had a smile on his face like nothing in the world could take it back off; there was still some stuff to deal with but, for today, it didn't exist.

"Guess it's just us...now what?"

With even holding hands being such a thrill, Albert feels like a schoolboy. Once again he slips his larger palm around Jet's narrow fingers and plants a gentle kiss on the taller man's jaw.

It's not as simple as all that. There are still things to work out between them... but what if it could be that simple? Can they both just let go of everything, all of the built up anger and doubt, and just live? It sounds like a perfect solution, just forget those years of separation and keep going as if they never happened.

He wants that, he does, but there's the little treacherous voice in the back of Albert's skull that has to be rational and ask the questions he should be asking. Will Jet just leave again at the first sign of trouble? What if he really has changed - they both have changed - in all that time?

He keeps his grip on Jet's hand but his voice is soft and low. "We should talk."

He honestly wasn't surprised, it probably would have surprised him more if Albert hadn't said anything about the fact there were still some loose ends to tie.

He nodded and moved his hand to intertwine their fingers, a show that he was willing to do just that, he wasn't going to run away from things anymore, even if they were likely to sting. "Yeah, ok. Whatever you want to talk about. I know I've still got some things to answer for."

Edited 2014-01-06 20:54 (UTC)

A nod, a squeeze of that precious hand, and Albert moves to sit at the breakfast table with all the gravity of someone conducting an interview. It's all so surreal, sitting here, looking into Jet's face when the last time he'd seen him he'd been about to go die. And he'd said...

The tips of Albert's ears grow a bit pink but he tries valiantly not to acknowledge it. "When I-"

No. He looks down at the surface of the table for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. What does he really want to know? Want Jet to know? They'd been over the major points, how Jet could stay with the US government after they proved to be working nefariously, how he didn't come home for years. Albert can understand all that and he can forgive. What they'd left out of that was the personal.

So this is where they get personal, then.

Alright. Start again.

"You left me." It's a simple statement of fact but it carries enormous weight in the way Albert says it. He doesn't meet the taller man's eyes, instead his gaze unfocused on the collar of the other man's shirt or his shoulder or the wall past his left ear. Anywhere but his eyes as he forces his voice to stay steady, to not crack. It probably wouldn't have anyway but there's a strain in it from the effort regardless, a strain mirrored in the tightness of his jaw as he waits for a response.

His insides squirmed at the painfully true statement and he took a moment to think over his words as he sat across from Albert. He'd said they'd talk and they would, he just hoped he didn't end up eating his foot in the process.

"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't, it was done in anger when I thought you didn't have any faith in me and thought you didn't want me around. It was a stupid mistake." One that had cost them nearly three decades of hurt feelings. Jet had honestly believed all of that when he'd flown off and hurt Albert and by the time it occurred to him he might be wrong, he'd already been gone months and didn't know how to apologize. The answer was to just call but he'd never been able to and had switched from feeling angry to feeling like maybe Albert should find someone who wasn't just a young punk, all with an undercurrent of guilt that had kept him from actually pressing the call button.

"I thought I'd proved to you by then that wasn't the case." Of course he's not blameless. He'd agreed that Jet wasn't suited to lead, having a rational conversation with his team when he should have been diffusing an argument among family. He doesn't know what it was about that day that had made him too tired to do the same dance he and Jet had done for so long, that had made him act in the same stubborn fashion he always protested.

Fingers drum on the table in a metallic rhythm for a moment, the older man looking out of the window quietly. "If we go into this again... how many other 'stupid mistakes' will there be? I want to be a equals in this, not your wrangler. And I don't take loss well."

That's the closest he'll say of how deeply Jet hurt him, of how he'd nearly tumbled into a bottle for some time after the anger had faded and he was just left with loss and loneliness and a damned American shaped hole in his life. Of how when they'd finally convinced him to be upgraded he'd wanted nothing more than Jet sitting by before they wheeled him in, going on about sports or New York or pizza or anything mundane enough to drown out and just focus on the voice of someone who's goal in speaking is to keep him afloat. Of how he hated the empty silences even now.

"I don't want to do this if you're just going to vanish like a petulant, thankless child."

Edited 2014-01-08 18:01 (UTC)

Jet knew what a smack in the face felt like, he knew what it was like to get punched in the gut and Albert's words weren't either of those things. They were a hundred times worse and maybe it was only magnified because Jet couldn't argue that that hadn't been what he'd acted like because it had.

How could he say he'd changed when words only did and meant so much. He'd have to show, but that didn't mean Albert was willing to wait and see.

"I don't know. You don't need to be my wrangler, I don't need one and that's not what I want you to be. But I can't name you a number, I can't promise I won't make mistakes. I can promise I won't run off again but...if that's not enough to buy me time to show you the rest...I don't know what I can do."

It hurt to say it, to hold the door open on this whole thing so Albert could walk out now if he wanted, but it was better than making empty promises. Jet was overly familiar with those too.

"I'm not asking you to be perfect. I don't think I'm asking the impossible either, and I'm not trying to hurt you with this. I want to make it work." He leans back in his chair, folding arms over his stomach loosely and meeting Jet's eyes again. "I just need some stability. I need to know that you'll be here and that you'll communicate with me."

He lets the words hang for a moment, watching Jet. It's obvious the conversation is just as uncomfortable for him as it is for Albert, but the added dimension of looking like a kicked puppy, of endless remorse and hurt, makes Albert want to forget talking and just gather the younger man up. Instead he just leans forward to take Jet's hands in his own. "I'm not saying this to be cruel. I want this to work. I-..."

Funny. He'd said it before, but now those three simple words get stuck in his throat. He squeezes Jet's hands. "I need you."

Those words and the way Albert faultered at first reminded Jet of the dream he'd had before waking up hours ago. But what if it wasn't a dream? People didn't really dream when they died, what if he 'd actually heard Albert say those words and they hadn't just been a spurt of the moment deceleration? Maybe, but now wasn't the time to ask, not when it wouldn't really matter if they couldn't work through this.

"I already said I'm not going to leave, that applies to you as much as everyone else. More than, if you want me around like I'd like to be." Communication...it had never been his sting suit, not in words and while his words had gotten better, he'd talked less and less with no one around that he actually wanted to talk to. But that didn't mean he was incapable.
"But, yes, I can promise to try. I want to put everything into making it work again. I know you don't deserve anything less."

He squeezed Albert's hands in his, hoping the pressure or at least the movement wouldn't go unnoticed since he doubted the other man could actually feel it. He just needed to try and get his point across in case his words didn't make it... But he had to try and say it as part of that very thing he said he'd try to do better at. "I need you too. More than I've ever wanted or needed anyone.that's why...I want a second chance, so I can show that to you better."

"Then you have it." He wants this more than anything but he's frightened, he's so terribly frightened that something else will happen to rip them apart, something that will call for a sacrifice again and Jet's been saved twice now. The first time was luck. The second was a miracle. There likely wouldn't be a third. And that's not something he can prepare for by keeping Jet at arm's length.

There's also not knowing if the younger man can keep his temper or if he'll run out on Albert again. He'd promised, yes, but in the heat of an argument it would hardly be the first thing on his mind. They used to simply function that way, arguing until Jet left to cool his head and then returning to be more civil, Albert secure in the knowledge that Jet would be back because he always comes back and a bit of that distance is healthier. And then he hadn't come back. And now Albert can't be certain that if Jet flew off the handle as he used to, he would make his way home again.

He'll have his second chance, the German means that with all his heart, but there will be conditions.

"Gilmore has some safe houses dotted around the world, several right here in Venice close by, or near the Foundation HQ in Istanbul. I'm certain he'd give you the keys to one if you ask." Or if he hadn't already while they were all catching up and Albert hadn't heard. "I'd... prefer if you were close by, though."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject