makinglies | Need another story, something that I can confess

Entry tags:

Need another story, something that I can confess

He tried to be understanding and patient and he was generally pretty good at it when he came to this stuff--or at least, he tried. He didn't say anything about Albert coming here every year, rain or shine and the few times he came with, like now, he hung back and let Albert do his thing.

But today was overcast and rainy and chilly and Jet got cold easily so his jacket just wasn't cutting it, making him more cranky than usual. Besides, as he watched Albert's body language change signalling he was finally done talking or whatever he did, it occurred to Jet that he honestly didn't understand the point of coming every year. He could understand paying respects, but he didn't think it had to be a yearly thing....or that Hilda would be horribly offended if they'd waited for a day that was a little warmer.

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, rubbing at them a bit, as he waited for Albert to head back over. "It's freezing, I don't get why you come here every year, it's always cold." A bit of a sour look crossed his face, but it passed and he actually sought out the older cyborg's eyes. "You okay?" As much as he didn't get it, he did know it was important to his partner and Jet wasn't so insensitive to not understand how hard it probably still was even years later.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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?"

"I think so. It gets easier every year." There's no dullness in his tone as there would have been in years past, though a quiet stillness still carries the weight of his words. Deciding his fingers are warm enough, he softly slips them into Jet's hand with a tentative press, ready to pull away again if he'd misjudged and they're still too cold to be held.

Even so, that gentle smile that is indeed just for Jet tugs at the corners of his eyes and lips, the dancing light of the fire turning it into something a little mischievous even if that's not his intent. His cheek rests against the top of Jet's head. "It gets easier when I think of the happiness I have now."

The metal was still chilly, but it didn't make Jet flinch or need to pull away, he just curled their fingers together and set to warming it the rest of the way with his own body heat.

Albert's words made his breath catch quietly and he half-heartedly scowled at the fire. That was what he hoped--that he could help Albert through the pain Jet knew would never leave his partner completely, but hearing it so bluntly just made his mind go blank and his embarrassment flair. He wanted to respond, but the words refused to surface. His grip turned tighter and his tone turned a frustration-fueled sour. "Not fair. You know I suck at coming up with things to say to that kind of stuff."

But he pulled Albert's hand closer to him and nuzzled more into the older man's side subtly, hoping it would be enough to say what he couldn't.

"I know. I use it to stop you talking," he chuckles into Jet's hair. He's not in a good mood any more than he was earlier, per se, but it's rapidly improving for Jet's company. What he'd said, as true as it was, is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg and if Albert were to say everything he felt, he's certain Jet would either run screaming or die of blood-rush to the head.

What's comforting is he's mostly certain that Jet feels the same, otherwise he wouldn't still be here and show Albert so much patience. Patience he can't seem to find a place for in most other aspects of his life but somehow has a near endless reserve when it comes to the German. It's not something he wants to take for granted and so he lets his feelings show in small ways and little phrases with a joke to follow as a chaser, making it easier for Jet to accept.

What he has planned though - finding Jet's mother, if she's still alive - is a very big gesture and he hopes Jet won't be angry with him for overstepping some unspoken boundary.

Days passed and nearly two weeks later the conversation had faded a bit, just another conversation between them. It wasn't forgotten, the fact that Albert knew all that about him was hardly forgettable; it was one of the two big things he'd purposefully stepped around. But when the next morning came and nothing different happened, he relaxed and let things go back to normal.

Things were good.

Which was why, when he'd come back to the apartment and stepped in far enough to notice Albert's expression, he felt lead pool in his stomach. That wasn't a good expression, it was usually one that came around when Albert had something to say that Jet wasn't going to like.

The lanky teen strode in and held up a finger to stave off the conversation a few seconds longer as he went to the fridge to deposit the beer he'd grabbed while out, snagging one for himself and his partner before moving to sit backwards in the other chair.

"Alright. What is it? You're making that 'I've got bad news' face so out with it."

"Am I?" Albert blinks as he takes the beer and sets it aside for the moment, unaware of the face he'd been making. He supposes he had been sitting rather seriously when Jet came in. "It's not bad news, not really, but it's up to you what you want to do with the information."

He picks up the plain manila folder he'd had his arms folded over on the table and offers it for Jet to take. Before relinquishing it however, he wants to prepare Jet for what's inside, just in case he doesn't want to see it at all. His voice is quiet, knowing he's treading on shaky and possibly sacred ground with this. "I think I found your mother."

He goes cold with the words, choosing the easier path of not feeling than the path that has anger t Albert for doing something like that without asking and fear at what he'd find when he opened the folder--if he opened the folder, maybe it would be better if he just didn't.

It wound up back on the table, only a little closer to Jet this time as the teen stared at it.

What if he opened it to find she'd stayed with his dad this whole time and what if he were still alive? What if he'd killed her?

What if she were fine and alive somewhere or even had died peacefully and happy? Would the former be worse than the latter?

If he opened the folder, he'd find out.

"Why...why did you do this?" It wasn't accusatory like he felt, it wasn't angry or even fearful, it was more quiet, closer to the lost feeling that had whitewashed everything else. He at least wanted to know that before he even considered opening the thing.

It may not have been accusatory but Albert felt as if he'd made a grave misstep. Jet rarely was so quiet or shaken yet the German was seeing both at once. "I thought..."

He clears his throat and tries again, sounding a little more clinical, a mechanism he uses when he's intensely nervous. "I did the same for Francoise and her brother. She was so happy to know what had happened to him, and Ivan was more calm after there was closure with Gamo despite what he'd done, I just thought it would..."

The words trail into nothing as Albert sees little change in that lost expression on Jet's face and the older man seems to deflate somewhat, slouching a little in his chair and trying not to sound sullen. "I got closure, and however short it was I had to chance to say goodbye. I just thought you all deserved the chance too."

That and he can't get the look Jet had that night he'd first told Albert about his childhood out of his head. Maybe to know that his mother survived that too, that his father hadn't won in that respect, would do him some good, but he won't say without Jet overtly telling him that he wants to know. All he offers is the file. The rest is up to Jet whether he wants to forget the whole thing, find out alone, or let Albert in.

He doesn't know. That was all fine for Francoise and Ivan and Albert, but he didn't know if it was fine for him. He was fine not knowing and burying the thought any time it ever came up, but if he opened the folder in front of him he'd actually know for sure.

His hand found it's way to folder, resting there as his mind just went blank under the indecision. He was scared for a lot of reasons, for over half the scenarios that ran through his head and there was a part of him that resented that Albert had even decided to go looking.

He pulled his hand away and crossed his arms tight over his chest to stop himself from reaching out again. "I don't know."

At least... Albert had intended to only offer the file, but Jet's uncharacteristic indecision spurs him to speak on it again, pushing just a little, trying to guide Jet to some sort of conclusion. The problem being he's hardly unbiased. "You want to, don't you? The way you talk about her... she's still important to you. Parents always are, regardless of what they've done."

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