makinglies | Need another story, something that I can confess

"No." There's no hesitation in his answer, though there's not as much venomous warning in it as he'd like, either, leaving him sounding more passive than anything.

He knew he didn't want to know about his father, he didn't care. He'd rather live with the acknowledgement that he was a terrible person for accepting a reality where his father died horribly shortly after Jet had been taken, then find out a truth that the bastard had lived a long life in which he'd forgotten his 'pathetic' disgrace of a son ages ago.

His mother...he didn't know. She'd never done anything to him like the drunkard had, but she'd left him there to take it and never once tried to step in to help. But he could also remember times when she'd gotten smacked around too, spared only by the fact she was at work most of the time, so it wasn't like she didn't have a reason for not wanting to be around. It just didn't stop the thought from hurting.

And still, there was a part of him that whispered 'what if.' It was the same part, he was sure, that still plagued him with the sight of her beautiful smiling face looking down at him as she held his hand and took him to the park or danced with him or showed him how to hold a pen correctly to make the pictures it could create look better, all times from before his father had lost his job and they'd actually been a happy family.

He shrugged and pressed on, intent on going back to the car and getting in as soon as possible. "Nevermind."

Edited 2014-01-18 08:45 (UTC)

"Nevermind?" He unlocks the car and opens the door, hitting the lock so Jet can get in the passenger's side. There's a note of concern in his voice; Jet may speak disjointedly at times but he rarely responds to his own thoughts instead of spoken words unless something is deeply troubling or amiss.

He's carefully quiet as he gets into the car, closing the door and making sure Jet's in too and they're pulling safely into the street before asking again. "Nevermind what, Jet?"

He hesitated a moment, thinking on whether he should spill or not, but shook his head. "Just forget it, it's not worth talking about. My folks and I never got along at all and I hadn't talked to any of my other relatives in years by the time Black Ghost took me anyway."

He crossed his arms and slouched in the seat, eyes glued to the window as he waited for them to get back to Albert's apartment.

They ride in relative silence for another minute or so, Albert drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in thought before speaking again. "My father died just before my ninth birthday. He only missed it by a couple days and I remember being so angry that he would do that, as if it was his fault. My mother lived much longer but eventually she passed as well, from infection. It seemed so senseless to me that she would live through the war and then die from something so small."

He doesn't talk about his parents much, not out of any grudge but simply because there's not much to say. He, of all of the first four of them, at least had closure. "With them and Hilda all gone, I don't have anyone to find, all I have are memories." He casts a sidelong glance to Jet. "It's not the same for you and Francoise though, is it."

Francoise had her brother that she could go looking for, someone who had loved her and whom she had loved in return. Jet had no doubt that, if Albert had some sort of living relative to check in on, he would have simply out of curiosity. For closure.

But that was the difference, something he couldn't expect Albert to get on his own because it wasn't the norm and Jet didn't really fault him for that either, but Jet didn't have anyone who loved him and who he'd loved in return when he'd been taken. The closest had been his gang and not only had they all left him but there wasn't a single one that he'd have called 'close' to him. Now that he knew the difference, he really hadn't had anyone back then.

But Albert couldn't read minds and none of that was the German's fault...besides, he and Jet had been involved for a while now, it was probably only fair that he say something.

"Al...the difference between Frannie and me's that she and her brother were actually happy. I ran away from home when I was thirteen. I hadn't talked to or seen my folks since."

"I know. Or at least I figured." He looks back at the road, turning on the wipers and slowing a bit as snow starts to fall in the impending dusk.

"Wouldn't that be all the more reason to find out, though? They must have looked for you, even the years before you were taken." He can't help but put himself in the shoes of the parents, some fight having made Jet storm out and then not knowing what had happened to him for so long. He's been on the receiving end of that temper of Jet's before, even watched him walk out. He counts himself lucky that Jet's always returned to him, especially since Jet's own parents weren't so lucky.

Edited 2014-01-20 02:42 (UTC)

Jet gew noticeably uncomfortable, though he tried to cover it by tightening his arms across his chest and keeping unseeing eyes glued to the window rather than the older man's face. He was really going to have to tell him, huh?

"No...I don't think they looked for me at all. Certainly not my old man."

He only hesitated a second before deciding just going for it would be easiest.

"We were happy, never had much in the way of money, but we made it by. Then, when I was still in my single-digits my pop lost his job and couldn't get a new one. He took it hard that my ma was the one supporting us so he tried to distract himself. He found his way to the bottom of a bottle.

At first, that was it, but about a year later he just let the anger get to him and he started taking it out on us, the more time that passed the more fists and belts started to fly.

My mom...she got some of it too, but she was almost never home cause of her two jobs and by the time I got home from school he'd already drowned himself in the stuff so..." So the more violent with Jet he got. The red-head shrugged.

Some nights had been worse than others and it wasn't every single night either, it just depended on how early he started and how soon he passed out in his big recliner. Sometimes Jet would only go to school with a few bruises or red marks, other times he'd have to wear long sleeves or a jacket to hide how dark and sickly his pale skin looked for how bad it had gotten or even had to take extra band-aides to school to cover the cuts because the first ones could only do so much.

"After a few years, I found my gang and seeing them live the way they did, free from all of that junk, I grew a pair and had it out with the guy. It was a messy good-bye for sure so I'd be willing to bet it never even occurred to him to go looking."

And his mother...well, she probably just didn't care. One less person to provide for, most likely.

"Oh."

He shouldn't be surprised, in hindsight. All the signs were there; how Jet disregarded authority, how skittish he was to accept kindness. Knowing what he knows now, it's amazing Jet's as open as he is, as well adjusted, if you can call it that. They're all broken in some way, generally more by what Black Ghost did to them than anything, but Jet...

Jet had it bad even before they knew Black Ghost existed.

But Albert is surprised. Surprised and angry, so very angry that someone could do such a thing, could bring a child into the world and then take their own troubles out on them physically. Could make life so unbearable as to give that kid the only option of anywhere but there, anywhere but more pain and abuse. That kid, now a man, who deserved all the wonders of the world laid at his feet, all the support, all the love that he never got.

And all of that anger and upset, all of his own adoration of the somehow still strong and brave and most of all free man sitting in the seat beside him is impossibly contained in that one soft and very pregnant 'oh.'

He shrugged again, not knowing how to tell Albert 'oh' was a perfectly acceptable answer. If it was Jet in his position, he wouldn't know what to say either and, frankly, he'd prefer nothing over pity. It sucked a lot and sometimes he would catch himself feeling hurt by it, but he'd ultimately moved on. What other choice did he have? It wasn't like it could be changed.

"It's fine...but that's why I haven't gone looking. I don't care." He hesitated a moment but decided he might as well say what he was thinking instead of waiting to see if Albert would ask. "My mom's probably the only one I'd even consider looking up...if I thought she was alive. That was what the 'nevermind' was for; she probably isn't."

Whether from age or from abuse, he figured she'd likely bit it years ago.

Part of him wished he didn't care, that he could just say it didn't matter at all to him what had happened to her, but he couldn't. She was more of a mother to him than his father had been a dad and there was a part of him hat hoped she'd gotten out of there too.

"We're getting a beer." Instead of heading back to his apartment, Albert pulls into the parking lot of a corner alehouse a few blocks away, one he's familiar with and has walked home from before. He's not sure if that's what Jet wants, but he's guessing it might be since if he were in the same situation, he'd want a stiff drink after remembering that sort of thing as well. Hell, he does anyway. He always does after visiting the Wall. He'd thought he might be able to forgo it this time but...

Well.

The car rattles as Albert pulls into a spot and kills the engine, the headlights winking off a moment later and leaving the two men surrounded by dim light and snow in Albert's old heap. "So you don't want to know what happened to her?"

"Sounds good to me." Albert wasn't wrong, alcohol sounded pretty damn good to Jet right about now, ironic though it may be with his dad and everything, Jet didn't get like that and he wasn't an angry drunk without provocation. Plus, it was hard for him to get that kind of drunk these days, one or two was nothing.

As the engine cut and it was just him and Albert and the snow, Jet suddenly felt the chill again and a weird feeling settled in his chest. Brandy eyes finally peeled away from the window to look at his partner. "...does it really matter? Either she's dead or she's not. Either he killed her or she got away. Or maybe they're both still alive and well and living together. Me knowing won't change any of that."

Maybe, what it really was, was that he was scared. He was scared of knowing because there might be something he's not thinking of that would make him feel horrible for leaving...or just feel horrible in general. Or just feel. It was so easy to not care, what if he suddenly did? That scared him.

"I don't know, Albert."

"It wouldn't change anything tangible, no, but it might change how you feel." From where Albert's sitting, he can tell Jet never didn't care. There's a difference between not caring and burying your feelings so deep that you simply convince yourself that you don't have them. Jet may not care about some things, most frustratingly his own safety, but he clearly cares about this. Whether that's good or bad is open to debate.

With no preamble, Albert reaches over to take Jet's hand, sliding his gloved fingers between the younger man's longer digits and giving a soft squeeze. "It's up to you, but other than maybe some closure, you're right. It won't change anything."

There's a subtle shift in meaning with how he says that. It's meant to be comforting, a declaration that it may not change things for the better but it certainly wouldn't change anything for the worse either. It wouldn't change how Albert views Jet in the slightest no matter what decision he makes.

Jet squeezed Albert's hand back and kept their fingers tangled together. He didn't want pity, but a show of support didn't mean there was any; Albert was just doing what he did better than most in the red-head's life: show he was there for him.

"Maybe...I'll think about it." His partner was right, it wouldn't change anything at all, one way or the other and, who knew, maybe it would help in the long run. After all, it wasn't like he was going to reconnect with her if he found her either.

"Thanks, Al."

"Of course. C'mon, it's getting too cold to stay in the car." With a small smile Albert opens the door to step into the flickering sulfur glow of the street lamp above and waits for Jet to join him.

It's a quiet night in the bar and Albert doesn't bring up the subject of family again, not unless Jet does first. He nurses his beer with the same melancholy he does each year but it's starting to fade a little more into bittersweetness. He has his memories of Hilda and he does miss her terribly, but he has Jet here and now, living and breathing, and that's where his attention should be. Love is not and never has been a finite thing. It doesn't run out or get used up, but it should be focused on the person who needs it. Hilda's gone to rest now, it's Jet who needs - and has - his support and affections.

Whereas Albert nurses his beer, Jet downs the first one as quickly as possible then takes it easy on round two. His metabolism being what it was, he was hoping that would get him at least a faint buzz before it all burned off.

Usually, he didn't really mind that he couldn't get drunk so easily, but tonight he was looking to take that edge off for a little while. Thinking about his parents did that. Although, even when he was human he'd never gotten smashed if only because it hadn't seemed like such a good idea with his father's habits, so heavy drinking was never his intention.

After the second one, he laid off of the stuff and decided to people watch instead, waiting for Albert to call it a night. He wished he could be in contact with his partner in some way, hold hands or even just sit close enough to touch, but he maintained their friendly distance, not only for appearances sake but also for the fact that this was still the anniversary of his Albert's fiancee's death, he hardly wanted to make the older cyborg uncomfortable with that kind of stuff when it could just as easily wait for any other day.

Edited 2014-01-27 03:18 (UTC)

The glass is all dregs when Albert reaches under the table for Jet's hand. He doesn't say a word, but it's obvious enough the contact isn't just for his own sake but Jet's too, a mutual expression of need support and giving it at the same time. Albert swirls the bits of foam and drops in the bottom of his glass. "I think she'd be proud, if she's watching."

He sets it down and looks at Jet, eyes a bit sad but clear, not like previous years where his expression would remain dour or brooding for days after. "I'd like to think she'd be glad I survived, that we're all making the world better one step at a time. But even if there is no heaven or God, I can say now that I'm glad, too. For a lot of reasons."

He squeezes Jet's hand gently.

Jet squeezed back, silent a moment while at a loss as to how to respond. Jet had spared more than one thought to the idea of Hilda watching her fiancee from the afterlife, it had been what had prompted him to visit her grave by himself shortly after he'd started off with Albert.

Those where the times when he wished he knew her better so he could guess as to what she might be thinking, if only to satisfy his own curiosity. He had no doubt she was glad Albert had lived on and done something with himself rather than fall into the depression that had threatened him to begin with, but beyond that he wasn't sure.

Would she be happy he'd found someone else? Would she be okay with that someone? With Jet? That was the part Jet really doubted. But it didn't change anything, in the end, he wasn't about to leave Albert or anything, not as long as the older man was willing to have him. More times than he'd care to mention, the question of why Albert had chosen to go with the American when not only was he a guy, but--in Jet's mind--he was the furthest thing from Hilda (and thus, Albert's 'type') imaginable, but he never once asked. He wasn't brave enough.

He'd take times like this when Albert would look at him like that and say things that sent warmth through Jet's chest and use them to cover the doubts and questions that wriggled in the corners of his mind.

"I'm glad too." He smiled a bit and nodded towards the door. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Sure." He tosses some cash on the table and tips his hat to the barman who waves a bit in return as the pair steps back out into the quiet snowfall. Albert can't quite get his mind to stop turning even as he puts the key in the door to unlock it. Hilda would be proud, he knows that much. He thinks she'd be glad he'd mostly moved on; they had a conversation about it once, like many couples did in such a dangerous time after the war. He'd told her he'd want her to go on without him, to find someone new and be happy. She'd told him the same and they'd meant it, but he'd gotten the feeling that at the time, neither could see the reality of that outcome. He certainly hadn't. But his life took a sharp turn to say the least and this is where he is now, slipping into the driver's seat and pulling slowly out onto the snow-caked street with someone next to him so important that he would die a thousand deaths just to keep him safe and happy.

It's a strange thought, but he wishes he could have introduced them, almost like a little boy with a new best friend. If that were possible, the situation would be drastically different but nevermind the logistics. That's why it's strange, after all. Much less strange is his desire to tell Jet's mother that he's taking care of him, that she needn't worry. Likely it sounds like that would be to a gravestone, and he wouldn't go to see her without Jet's permission whether she's alive or not, but it's still a large facet of Jet's life he's only just been allowed to brush the surface of and he can't help but wonder about a woman who was in the situation Jet described.

"What was her name?" he risks a sidelong to the passenger's seat a while they're at a stop light. "Your mother, I mean."

They'd been off the topic for so long, Jet was surprised to hear it come back up. He hesitated, letting silence be Albert's answer for a little while as Jet tried to make up his mind.

He'd already said the biggest things, something like a name wasn't really a big deal, but after avoiding the topic for so long, trying to open up about it at all was proving difficult.

"Alba. Alba Licursi." He considered offering his father's name as well, but unless Albert asked he decided he'd rather never say the name 'Ciro' ever again. Of course it was a split second after the distinctly Italian last name was out of his mouth that he realized he'd let something else slip. It was probably inevitable and if there was one person in the world he didn't mind so much knowing the name he'd been born with, it was Albert.

"Licursi... Well, I can see where you got Link from. Did they change it when your family immigrated or was that you?" It's a little bit of a tangent from what he wants to know but Albert suspects that asking some things off the main topic will keep Jet at least marginally at ease. He doesn't enjoy making Jet uncomfortable, not like this, but the potential peace it could bring him is worth it.

Jet's always been cagey about his family life and now Albert knows why, but for all he'd like to have a word (or a fist) with Jet's father, what little the younger cyborg has mentioned of his mother tonight has hints of doubt, little notes of longing that Albert can hear in the undertones and see in his partner's expression. Or at least he imagines he does, but Jet's usually a fairly easy read and Albert knows him better than most.

Jet gladly takes the tangent, although there's still a thread of discomfort in his body language and just under his tone. He didn't mind answering so much, it was more the emotions and memories that were attached that were making him uneasy and more stiff.

"'Jet Link's' something I made up when I was little, before everything went to crap and started using more and more the older I got. When I ran out it was the only thing I went by."

Gianni Licursi was a nerdy little kid with no backbone and high hopes that turned to smashed dreams at the tip of a bottle. Jet Link was the kid who fought back and stood up for himself when he couldn't take any more. He'd chosen something else and got out of a sucky situation all on his own and while he wasn't perfect, that was the person he wanted to be.

He wouldn't mind telling Albert that name, but he hoped--if it came to that--his partner would understand why that wasn't what he wanted to be called anymore without Jet needing to try and explain.

He doesn't ask. He has Jet's mother's name, he knows where Jet grew up, it's enough information to do what he needs already. What's left is what he'd been wanting to do this whole time regardless, and what he needs in return after a day like today. Comfort.

The snow's still falling when Albert pulls into the sunken garage below the apartments where he lives, the air so cold that even his breath makes little clouds when he speaks. "C'mon, you must be freezing. I'll get the stove on."

He'll need to sit in front of it for some time before his metal parts are warm enough to not be terribly uncomfortable to the touch, but the sooner its lit, the sooner they can find solace in each other.

Jet can't deny he's cold and the shivering that starts up would have proven him a liar anyway. He follows Albert to his apartment and once the fire's started and they're sitting in front of it, he grabs the big blanket and an extra one and wraps the bigger one around both of their shoulders.

The smaller one gets wrapped around his left hand so it can hold Albert's right. The chill still bites through the blanket, but it's not painful like it would be if he'd touched it with his bare skin. But that extra contact is what he wants and he has a feeling it might be what Albert needs on some level too. He hopes so anyway.

As much as he wishes the blanket barrier wasn't something that's needed, Albert's glad for it. With the weather what it is, hurting Jet just by touching him is a real concern but at least this way they can curl into each other until the fire warms him enough that it's not necessary.

Jet's right, he does need it. He wants to let go on some level. He's leagues better than he was the first year he'd managed to make the pilgrimage to the fallen Wall, searching among the memorial plaques and markers for her name. She was a footnote, just one name among thousands, and while his name was also there it wasn't next to hers. They'd used her maiden name. He'd stood there for hours just staring, flowers limp and molting petals to the ground in the late evening's fading light there in the shadow of the Wall. He stayed so long a security guard had to ask him to leave. That night he didn't leave the bar until they closed and the next two days were spent in bed.

This was better than those times. The sting had faded to a dull ache over the years and that ache had come to all but vanish beneath the happiness Jet's bestowed upon him. It carries a mild guilt of his own, but Hilda had said to move on and when once he hadn't even been willing to try now he's moved by so many inches they've turned to miles before he realized all because he's lucky enough to have found Jet.

Albert places a gentle kiss on his partner's forehead and raises his hand to the fire, trying to warm up just that much more quickly. He owes Jet so much, owes him his life more than just in terms of their score of rescuing each other on the battlefield. Maybe being able to find Jet's mother, give him that sort of closure would help to even that score. Or... well, it's not a competition. He just wants to do something special for Jet, something deeply meaningful, and maybe it would do a little to know if he was missed, to know if his mother survived the harsh life Jet had described.

He presses into Albert's side, empty hand just waiting to find that metal one again once he's allowed and watches the dancing light of the fire. Despite the day, despite the conversation they'd had, this is comfortable and safe and so much more he couldn't name all because Albert was there at his side, providing a warmth the German didn't know was there and Jet couldn't manage to explain to him.

He hoped he offered some kind of warmth or comfort back, he wanted to give as much as he received. Sometimes he could see it there, reflected in a look his partner gave him both in bed and out of it or in that soft smile Jet liked to think was just for him or even in the small gestures like the kiss that had just been placed on his forehead, but he still found himself worried it wasn't enough. But he couldn't really ask that either, so he just hoped.

He turned his face to press his cheek against Albert's shoulder. "You okay?"

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