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

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."

He doesn't know what it is: Albert pushing something that makes Jet so uncomfortable and uncertain and scared, the fact that he is scared and he hates that, or the fact that Jet had let Albert into some part of his life and now the teen was wondering if that had been good idea; if maybe it would have been better to just leave that part of his past silent. He didn't want to tell Albert things and then regret them, that was scary too.

There was too much going on in his head that he didn't know where to start so he did the one thing he was really good at.

In less than a second, Jet was on his feet and a couple steps back from the table, folder clutched tightly in his hand. "What do you know? I didn't ask you to do this, I was fine not thinking about it!"

Those couple steps turned into a couple more only, this time, in the direction of the front door. "I hate my parents and I don't give a shit what happened to them!"

Shit.

"Jet, be reasonable! You don't have to look but I just thought-..." He schools his expression and takes a breath. "The way you're acting now tells me you do care. You don't get worked up about things you don't care about."

It's probably the wrong way to go, facing Jet here like it's some analytic problem to be solved, but he's afraid too. Afraid he's overstepped the trust Jet has in him, and he desperately feels the need to explain, even if him explaining rarely works when it involves observations of his partner and his moods.

He almost flinched at how easily Albert could read him. Normally, it didn't bother him. If anything it would make him feel better knowing Albert understood him, but right now it just made him feel exposed and more fire brewed in opposition to that weak feeling.

He was trapped. Trapped between wanting to open the folder and be done with it, his partner who was only trying to help him the best way he could think of and Jet's own pride and fear that left him wanting to fly away instead.

"You can take your damn psych-crap and shove it, Albert!"

He didn't wait for a reply, he was gone and slamming the door behind him just so he didn't have to wait and see if he'd hurt the German's feelings.

He was pretty sure he had.

The sound of the door rattling on its hinges dies away in Albert's stillness. He hates when this happens, when Jet flies off the handle and out the door in a fit of attitude. Usually it's over something menial and eventually Jet comes back or Albert goes after him, apologies are had, and they move on with their lives. It hurts, but it's manageable and it's happened less and less as time passes.

This is different. This is something where he's not certain he was in the right for bringing it up or even for pursuing it. Jet wasn't just angry, he was frightened. More than frightened, and in his haste to try and help, Albert had been incredibly insensitive to that. He doesn't know the details and so he couldn't have guessed how deeply Jet had been wounded by his past, yet he'd blundered through and pressed anyway.

No wonder Jet had left.

He's silent still for a few more minutes, moving to clean up the dinner he'd prepared. He finds he has no appetite now. Standing at the sink, he decides he'll give Jet at least a few hours of space, maybe a full day, enough time for the younger man to calm down, and then he'll seek him out to apologize. In the mean time, he can punish himself for his stupidity through loneliness.

Jet had flown off, but only so far as the roof of the apartment building. He paced a bit and found himself at the small door that was the roof access. He didn't reach for it.

His mind was racing with the conversation that was really more of an argument he'd just had with Albert. The older man was trying to help him, he knew that, but it felt like anything but help which, coming from his partner, made it more like a smack in the face.

It wasn't even Albert's fault, not really. He'd done the research, yes, but anyone in their situation would want to know this stuff, it wasn't Albert's fault Jet didn't. He didn't deserve to have his head bitten off because sweeping problems under the rug doesn't mean they go away, they're just as ugly if not uglier once that rug's been thrown aside.

The hand unknowingly still holding the folder tightened.

Albert had gone a little too far in not asking Jet first, but Jet shouldn't have blown up at him. When he did things like that, the only difference between father and son was that Jet's fists didn't fly. Most of the time. Sometimes they did and after he'd calmed down he'd sink into his own personal ocean of self-loathing. Every time he drank, every time he lost his temper, every time he felt like he'd hurt those around him, he wondered if this was just a symptom or a sign of things to come.

That was the fear that plagued him, never mind all the shit his dad had said that part of him still believed, he'd rather it all turn out true than turn out like his pa. Not knowing, not even thinking about it, it had made him feel like he could distance himself from all of that so it wouldn't happen, but now he could know and he felt closer to it than ever.

And the worst thing was realizing the distancing hadn't helped in the slightest.

A dull thunk reached his ears just and pain receptors flared up his hand and into his arm as his empty right fist collided with the metal door.

The pain and anger and fear that had filled him dulled as a listless haze filled his mind and took the strength from his knees. He stayed there a long while, propped up against the metal door, damaged knuckles stinging and the folder laid in front of him like it was mocking him.

An hour passed and his hand found the front cover, another half and his thumb hooked under the edge, another fifteen minutes and the front cover peeled away to show the information he dreaded and desired.

Another hour found him leaning against the door frame, eyes staring at the familiar number printed on the door. The undamaged knuckles of his right hand tapped lightly at the door after another five minutes passed. For all he knew, the door was open, but he didn't feel like he was in a position to walk in if it was.

It's getting past one am and Albert's still awake, periodically pacing his apartment and wondering if he should forget the whole 'space' idea and go look for Jet. It's not snowing for the first time in maybe a week, but it's cold and he's certain Jet does't have any money...

His hand's almost on the handle already when there's a knock. Breathing a cautious but relieved sigh, Albert pulls it open, seizing the red head up. He doesn't know what to say. 'I'm sorry' sticks in his throat so he can't get it out. Instead he settles for something simpler. "Are you alright?"

Jet's tone is even and calm, more sedated than the anxious and angry ball of uncertainty he'd been earlier. He held up his right hand so he could show his scraped up knuckles. "I got in a fight with a metal door."

It was an attempt at humor but it was small and his eyes fell to Albert's chest as he continued leaning his shoulder against the door frame.

"Yes, I'm fine." It came out instinctively but his lips twitched down at the corners. "No...I'm not. I'm sorry I snapped at you." His eyes drifted back up to find Albert's and his tone developed a note of hope. "Can I come in?"

Need another story, something that I can confess

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

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)