makinglies | Entries tagged with jet link

There was something muffled, some kind of sound. Talking, maybe? Yeah, talking, more than one voice. He couldn't make out the words, someone must have stuffed cotton into his ears. And maybe lined his eyelids with lead while they were at it cause opening his eyes was impossible. He tried and the talking seemed to stop, then he couldn't hear anything as unconsciousness grabbed him again.

The next time he came around, his eyes worked again. At least, they did once he realized wherever he was it was just dark and not that he couldn't see. The second thing he became aware of was that he was being carried. Whoever's back he was on hadn't realized he was awake yet and that sent Jet's mind racing. He'd been dead, he'd died in the arena which means they'd miraculously brought him back and now-? He did a quick mental check, he could control his own body so they hadn't turned him into a weapon, he was aware of his mind and it didn't feel any more or less jumbled than usual so no brainwashing....and thank god he still had his tongue. The next question was why he still had his tongue or anything for that matter. Maybe they were taking him off to do something worse, something new he hadn't seen yet because, surely, there had to be something coming.

Well, they weren't going to just do whatever to him without a fight. He had the element of surprise, he could get the jump on them and fight his way out of wherever he was and after that...well, he'd figure that out when he got there. For right now, he had to act.

He whipped his arms up to wrap around the neck of whoever was carrying him and twisted himself so he could pull out of their grip. He was a little taller, hopefully he could choke this guy out fast before anyone came to help him. Having metal arms would help with that.

metalicarus

As much as their little family unit stuck together these days, they each had their own things to do and places to go sometimes and that could mean they were gone for a long time, depending on where they were going and why. For Pyunma, it was his digs and various other cultural and historical things that he was called to and, as he gained notoriety, he was being called on more and more. This meant he was often away for months at a time. However, he always sent little things back for his family as he found them, for Albert and Jet they often came in the form of books, music and little models of whatever reminded Pyunma of Jet.

When Jet came home from shopping, it was to the sounds of Spanish-style music flooding their home. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't tell if it was the artist or just the type of music. Puerto Rican music had flowed nearly non-stop from certain parts of the city Jet had gone through and spent time in and he'd never had a problem with the music itself, just the people who played it. Older now, the prejudices had died and left behind was the pure appreciation for the sound. Besides, it made for good dancing music, especially the more sensual kind he didn't get to do all that often anymore.

He cast a quick glance to see Albert in his chair with one of his books before moving into the kitchen to unload the groceries. Just as he was finishing, a song came on that was just a little faster than the others, a little more, and it put a beat to Jet's movements.

That was when the lightbulb flashed over his head and spawned a somewhat evil little smirk on Jet's face.

A quiet 'zing' -easily missed under the music- and Jet accelerated upstairs, changed into a pair of distinctly tighter jeans and a tight tank top that he knew would move with him just like he wanted it to, and headed back down the stairs at a normal pace. As soon as his bare feet touched the slick wood of the bottom floor, Jet started to move.

It took no time at all to let the music flow into his system, taking control of his body as he moved around to the front of the couch. Gracefully, Jet's body flowed into moves he knew by muscle more than memory. He stood there in the middle of the living room, swirling hips and taking steps as the puppet of the music he was, though there could be no doubt by just a glance at his face that he was enjoying himself. However, he was also knowingly putting on a show for his husband, something he made clear by the looks and suggestive smirks he sent Albert's way.

fallenstar

Jet hated it when he wasn't taken on missions. It didn't happen often, but it drove him crazy when it did. He felt caged in the house on the beach and he couldn't even go flying because he needed to be near the transceiver if there was a problem. He was the cavalry in case what was a simple operation went wrong.

It was, admittedly, really stupid to be so worked up. He knew the more 'fragile' members of their team would be easily protected by the stronger ones and this wasn't an operation where they'd be facing magic, only military and bullets. The man he held the most concern for probably needed it the least since bullets would sting or chip at the most, but hardly cause much more damage than that. His partner was made of rock after all. At least, most of him was...not all of him and it was those few squishier spots left that made Jet fret.

He paced and preened and paced some more, his feathers getting disheveled in his anxious movements. It wasn't until Gilmore had snapped at him to stop fidgeting so much that Jet huffed and retreated into Albert's room. He knew he'd be called back if he was needed and at least this way he wasn't constantly orbiting the transceiver, waiting for it to click into life.

His brain had gone through twenty different possible scenarios from his perch on the edge of the window sill by the time Gilmore knocked and told him that the mission had gone well and everyone was on their way back with limited injuries. There was a knowing look in the old man's eye as he shut the door behind him that made Jet just want to scratch him...but he resisted. Albert would be back soon and Jet could check every inch of him over when he was.

In the meantime, he curled up on the pillows of their bed, wings tucked in around him, and dozed.

fallenstar

It had been a long day of classes and studying and preparations for final exams that were coming up over the next few weeks. Winter break was in the air and it was both exciting and stressful for students on the NYU campus. Thanks to his studies and preparations, as a matter of fact, he hadn't seen much of his partner all day. It was frustrating. But now he was on his way over to Albert's office where he knew the German would be settling in soon for his office hours.

Jet should probably leave him alone...but he'd gotten a thought into his head earlier in the day and he didn't want to wait to execute it.

The lanky teen was outside Albert's door in five minutes and the only reason he didn't barge in was the voice of a girl on the other side of the door. She was asking some question about some topic Albert had covered a few weeks ago, one that made Jet roll his eyes and tempt him to open the door and answer for her. It wasn't that hard. But he waited and Albert explained perfectly in that patient way he does, resulting in the girl thanking him and leaving the office.

Jet couldn't help but notice her cheeks were stained red as she left. A coil of possessive jealousy snaked itself in his chest, but he tried not to let it show as he walked into the office himself and shut the door. His backpack got slung in a corner as he folded himself onto the chair opposite the older man. his older man.

"She just asked that to have an excuse to come see you 'cause she's crushing on you hard." He was definitely trying his best to make it sound flippant.

metalicarus

This stupid party had been a bad idea from the start. He'd had to dress up in some dumb tux and then try and mingle with a bunch of people where the only common ground was the military, politics and world issues and, of course, the popular one was the trouble with America, at least once they found out where Jet was from.

Luckily, none of them knew he'd had a hand in the conflict or even that he'd worked for the NSA, those records had been wiped courtesy of Frannie and Ivan, but they still felt like it was an okay issue to broach. Like there weren't a thousand others Jet would rather talk about.

But even the niceties and the repeated conversations he could get through with little more than a headache and annoyance, he was there to support Albert after all, he was only at this function because of his partner needing to be there and have a 'plus one.' No, the reason Jet was finding this night so incredibly hard to bear was the fact that, since her arrival only ten minutes after theirs, Albert's boss hadn't left his side. She was a constant presence with her hands on him as often as she could manage--true, always a hand on an arm or shoulder, but every graze of contact sent fire through Jet's veins.

It wasn't even just the touches, it was the way she looked at him, or the way she acted as though they were there together and the way she was constantly in his space like she owned it; if Jet weren't against hitting women, he'd have decked her an hour ago. Jet had been trying to catch his partner's eye all night, but it seemed there was always someone talking to one of them or it was that woman monopolizing the older man's time. Jet was pretty sure that if he could kill her with his eyes, she'd be dead a hundred times over.

Jet sat in a chair in a corner, watching as she linked her arm with his and laughed at something someone was saying. Distantly, a clock chimed nine times, marking their third hour there and Jet decided the niceties were over. There was fire in his blood and in his wake as he crossed the room and none-to-gently gripped his partner's unfettered arm. He turned a sharp smile on the bane of this night's existence and gave a very weak response along the lines of it being late and how nice it was to 'meet' her before jerking Albert along with him and towards the elevator that would take them to their room. He didn't pause or let go until the metal doors slid shut behind them.

He'd had enough.

badassbird

Jett finished tying the knot of the scarf around Albert's wrists, making certain the man wouldn't be able to budge them while she worked her magic.

Discovering there was some alternate universe where she and her lover were men instead of women was interesting to say the least and plenty awkward in Albert's presence. But uncertainty had turned a little more comfortable and then they were left in the house alone, Albert sitting in one of the chairs in the den and looking pretty good in his dress shirt and slacks. Good enough Jett decided she wanted to see what all of the differences were between this man and the woman she loved.

She already knew that--other than public disposition and the way they carried themselves when they thought they were alone--it wasn't all that different. For all intents and purposes, he was the person she loved, the outside package didn't matter.

Really, she was more of a lady's lady, but her Bertie was a sexy man and it wasn't like she was inexperienced. In fact, wooing men and bedding them had been part of her job in her gang, she was just doing the same thing here, with one large exception: she wanted to do this a hundred percent.

She moved to stand in front of him, admiring her handiwork with her hands on her hips. She was kind of glad she'd chosen to wear the too-short skirt Francoise had lent her along with the scoop-neck shirt she'd stolen from her alternate self (tied at her waist to shorten the tent that it was on her). It would make what she wanted to do easier.

She slunk over to her 'prisoner' and bent forward, bracing her hands on his knees.

"Comfortable?"

fallenstar

They'd been really bad when he first woke up in that sterile cell masquerading as a room. They'd always been bad enough, bad enough to keep him sleeping away from the others in his gang so he wouldn't wake them with his sounds and movement, but now they were worse.

There would often be times when he would wake up in a cold sweat, eyes wide and breathing ragged. Sometimes he'd feel so sick he'd wonder if he was about to try and hurl an empty stomach. Sometimes he woke himself up with his own yelling.

When he lost the classification '001' and became '002' he quickly found out the reason that first night he had a nightmare. A voice had spoken to him and tried to calm him and eventually tried to help him have them less often or not as bad and it worked. Until all nine of them had escaped.

He had his own room again and still Ivan tried to help him best he could, but there would often be times when the baby would be in one of his comas and then Jet would be alone. Those nights were hard.

But as time went on, they became less and less frequent. He thought, maybe, he'd started controlling it better. Somehow. The nightmares that came seemed to only leave him jolting awake, sometimes in a cold sweat but less often and he was able to sleep again afterwards. It probably had a large part to do with them defeating Black Ghost.

He got comfortable enough to share a bed with Albert. If he had a nightmare, he'd wake up and find the German snoring contentedly beside him. If he couldn't sleep, he'd get up and walk around a bit until he calmed down, otherwise he'd just curl up against the German's side and doze the rest of the night away.

It was alright.

And then it wasn't.

He couldn't pinpoint the cause only that those 'night-terrors' started up again and every time he'd jolt awake it would feel like his heart was trying to climb out of his throat. When he was alone, it was fine, he dealt with it the same way he always had, but then they started happening while Jet wasn't alone and then he had to come up with some excuse as to why he'd moved so that Albert would just go back to sleep.

It wasn't that Jet thought Albert would think any less of him for having nightmares, the older man had plenty of his own that Jet would need to chase away with soft words and a tight embrace, it was that Jet knew where Albert's nightmares came from and Albert knew Jet knew, but if his partner found out about Jet's, the teen wouldn't know how to explain. Or if he even could.

How could he explain how sometimes Jet just wanted to curl up closer with the German and sometimes he had to get up for hours at a time before coming back to bed. How sometimes he needed that contact to keep breathing and sometimes he was so scared of it he ran.

He couldn't.

Then there was the night it got as bad as those days decades past.

It started out as a normal nightmare, really about nothing, falling or something. But then he landed and it turned to scientists. Scientists endlessly poking and prodding him and saying things he couldn't understand except 'defective' and 'failure' and 'destroy' he'd failed one of their tests and they were going to scrap him. But then the head scientist arrived and offered an alternative: a chip to plant in his brain to erase his emotions and his initiative. They would make him a weapon.

Just as he was approaching with the chip in hand towards a struggling Jet, the scene melted and it was Jet on his bed, unable to move or struggle as he heard his father's approach. His voice followed soon after, slinging every bad thing his brain could muster like arrows through a prone chest. The beating was coming, he knew it was, it always came after the verbal storm started. If only he could move and hide under the bed, maybe he'd be spared at least for a few more minutes. But he couldn't move, no matter how much he yelled at his body, it wouldn't respond and he watched in horror as the door opened with a bang-!

Jet jolted and sat straight up in bed, almost falling off for how near to the edge he'd been. Unbeknownst to him, he had been moving and the state of the blankets were proof. His eyes were wide and staring out into the dark room, cold drops slipped down his pale and clammy skin and his breathing raced to catch up with the beat his heart kept as the organ seemed to try and choke him at the same time.

The only thing missing was the screaming and who knew if he'd been mumbling, right now he was as silent and pale as the dead.

The only thing that made the return of his night-terror worse was the fact that Jet wasn't the only one in the bed that night.

fallenstar

There were still dying ribbons of pink resting on the horizon when Jet settled in against the outside wall of the strip club. He could hear the bustle and voices of customers coming in for the night around the corner but didn't bother to look. He didn't care.

One, two, cigarettes and two other people stepped into the mouth of the alley. The shorter one turned to face the taller one and wrapped his arms behind their neck to pull the taller man into an intense kiss. They exchanged a few words, the shorter man kissed his friend again then saluted as he turned into the alley and walked up towards Jet.

The red head watched as the taller shadow seemed to hesitate a moment before finally leaving, then turned his attention to the man who'd settled in beside him with his own cig.

"Thought we agreed you weren't gonna hang around out here by yourself anymore."

Jet shrugged. "No one's really around yet. Besides, I got done with my stuff early and decided heading over was easier than hanging around."

Bucky didn't say anything to that, just gave a mildly irritated grunt and worked at the stick in his mouth instead. They were better at silence when it came to those heavier issues like why Jet wasn't supposed to hang around on his own.

Jet wasn't like Bucky, he didn't pack as much punch on his own, though he did have his height. Beyond that, Bucky had Steve who never failed to walk the brunette to and from work like an overprotective watchdog. Jet had been present for the arguments that had ensued about Bucky feeling like Steve didn't trust him to take care of himself, but those arguments had stopped after one night when a customer had gotten really handsy with Buck -more than any other customer before- and after the night when Bucky had found Jet behind the club after that one guy went too far.

That had been over a year ago and where Jet lacked a body-builder-esk boyfriend, he had his own methods of protection. It wasn't even really that he wanted a boyfriend like Steve, he had his classes and his job and plenty of things that made having a boyfriend difficult, but he'd be lying if he said the idea of having someone care that much about him didn't sound appealing.

Too bad he was a stripper and guys like Steve didn't come out of the woodwork very often.

"Come on, we should head in and get ready. You know Jackson hates it when we smell of smoke."

Jet nodded and stomped out the butt of the cig before leading the way through the back entrance and into the backrooms.

silberfuchs

It doesn't take an alarm to wake Albert, which is good considering the thing would get tossed right across the room by his husband and never work again. Instead, Albert wakes with the soft bustling of the city below and the sound of the ocean against Venetian shores. It's a nice change to the honking cars and endless rush of Berlin or New York, he thinks to himself just as he thinks it every morning. Venice is still a big city, but the mornings are slow and peaceful, enough that even in his drowsy pre-coffee haze the German can appreciate it, especially when he has nowhere to be.

With a gentle kiss to Jet's shoulder and a light brush through soft copper hair, Albert slips from the bed and lumbers his way downstairs, idly scratching a superficial itch on his stomach as he descends. Mechanically he goes through all the motions of making coffee, idly wondering - again as he does every morning - why they haven't gotten one of those fancy coffee pots that turns itself on in the morning and has the brew ready by the time he's awake. And again he reminds himself that Jet would probably destroy it if he tried to use it. Oh, Jet... Albert loves his husband dearly, but the blond can't do anything in the kitchen without it becoming a certified disaster.

Wait.

Blond...

Albert's mug clatters back to the counter with a loud clatter.

"Was zum Henker?!"

badassbird

It probably shouldn't have taken her as long to get the cake she wanted for dessert as it took her, but she'd decided to take the long way back to her apartment. She wasn't avoiding her apartment, far from it, she just enjoyed New York city in the fall.All the leaves were different colors and it was just chilly enough to need a jacket, but not so bad it made going outside difficult and early in the evening like this, people's days were winding down and they were in generally better spirits which made her people-watching more enjoyable.

But she didn't want to make the woman staying with her worry, so the teen didn't waste any more time once she'd gotten to her street. As soon as she stepped into the small apartment, the smells of dinner cooking assaulted her nose and she took a deep, appreciative, breath of it. She'd be the first to claim she was 'too wild to be tamed,' but this domestic stuff had its perks. And not just coming home to delicious smells.

Jett dropped the cake off on the table and dropped her jacket over the back of the couch as she looked into the kitchen. There, standing in front of the stove doing her thing was the older woman who managed to set Jett's blood on fire just by standing there.

She had on her usual concealing and modest clothing, but Jett could still see the shape of her hips and the curve of her shoulders that led to that sensitive neck of hers. It was a good thing Jett was hungry and didn't want dinner ruined, otherwise she might have jumped her partner right there. A part of her was still considering it.

She strode forward, boots clacking on the kitchen's tile as she crossed to the slightly shorter woman and wrapped long, bare arms around her waist, Jett's chin resting comfortably on Alberta's shoulder. "Mmm...looks good. Oh, the food does too."

copesetic

It's was a routine mission; some remnant of Black Ghost had gotten their hands on money and were building ludicrous robots again and so Doctor Gilmore had sent Albert, Joe, and Chang out to investigate. They'd mopped up fairly well, but they hadn't counted on the big reptilian robots going berserk after they'd presumably shut down the main reactor, spitting acid and shooting laser eyes left and right. As a result, the three cyborgs returned to base battered and wounded despite their victory, Albert in particular having taken a nasty shot of acid directly to his eyes. He'd refused sedation on the way back, stubbornly insisting he didn't need drugs and finally threatening Joe with his gun hand to prevent their well-meaning leader from trying to coax him into it yet again. As a result, he's conscious when Gilmore finally gets a look at him, tutting scoldingly under his breath as he shines a penlight into the German's unresponsive gaze.

"I can't imagine the pain you must be in right now, 004. This is one of the few organic parts you have left! Are you really so against-"

"Yes."

"You could have made an exception this o-"

"No."

"Albert, please stop being so stubb-"

The fussy cyborg gives a long suffering sigh, effectively drowning out the doctor's protests. "Will I heal?"

Cowed, Gilmore puts away his penlight and sighs in return, walking a bit away from the examination table with his hands folded behind his back. "I should be able to reconstruct what was damaged on the outside with a bit of careful grafting but your retinas will need to be rewired and you won't be able to see for at least a couple of months."

Gilmore's assessment is met with a stony silence that continues well into the doctor bandaging around his sightless eyes. He may not be able to see, but he can tell Gilmore is worried over how he's taking the news. It's an internal struggle, but finally Albert manages a wry grin. "I guess I'll have to look the part of an old man for awhile then, cane and everything."

Even without his sight, Albert can tell the little joke lets Gilmore relax a bit. It's always how it is when Albert needs to be upgraded or repaired, at least among those who remember what Albert was like when he was first remodeled. There's always the question of if he'll be able to handle it or if this will be the thing that drags him back down. Even Albert is never sure.

Gilmore digs a medical cane out of a nearby closet and places it under Albert's hand gently, patting the back of it as one would when trying to comfort an injured child. "I'll go make some calls."

fallenstar

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.

metalicarus

It had been so small and subtle at first, that he hadn't even noticed it for what it was. Whispers at the back of his mind were chalked up to too little sleep, spikes in irritation and anger were normal for him and anything more than that was just stress.

They were fighting a losing war after all.

It was when his irritation spread for no reason to his own family that he began to notice. People rubbed each other the wrong way, especially families, but it wasn't normal to want to bite their heads off for using a tone or a phrasing or even a look he didn't like; maybe years ago when they were just starting as a group and every little thing set him off, but he'd mellowed out, that wasn't him anymore. Except, the last couple weeks, it had been.

Still, he ignored it and decided to suck up his pride and ask for a couple days to himself. It probably told anyone who knew him there was something wrong: Jet Link didn't like pulling out of a fight and he certainly didn't pull himself out of one. But he evaded any questions and decided just some rest would help.

But those whispers became more insistent and clamored to be heard now that he'd taken his concentration away from the things around him and they were something far worse than stress.

There'd been stories, warnings, of what to look for in someone who might be changing, but he'd never thought to look at himself. What the hell was a cyborg somnua anyway? But they were there and it was the only context that made sense for what was happening to him.

At first, he was just angry. Why him? He was busy fighting, no they weren't doing well, but they were trying and that was what mattered. Why couldn't he just pull it together, it was ridiculous, there were people who needed him, he couldn't just lose it now.

He sat where he was, watching Albert move around and do things, completely unaware of what was going on in the blond's head; how there was an insistent whisper promising that things would be easier if everything just died, that maybe he should just use his accelerator and snap the German's neck. It be easy and there'd be no pain, not like the pain of losing this war. That was when the anger turned to fear. Terror. Jet was losing two wars.

He almost said something then, almost spoke up and told his partner everything, how he was afraid that there was something seriously wrong with him, but he held back. He knew Albert too well: if he said something, the older cyborg would insist that they go see Gilmore together and not leave Jet's side until they could figure something out and he would insist they would figure something out.

But if they couldn't? Jet would twist and change and succumb until he was some monster bent on killing and destruction and the first thing it would find would be the silver haired man too loyal for his own good. And then he'd be put into a position Jet couldn't bear to throw on him because he knew how much it would hurt if it was reversed: there would be a dangerous creature threatening the Foundation and Albert would be in the best position to put it down.

Jet was terrified. Not of dying, he'd done that twice already, but of changing. Turning into a somnua was worse than death, it was losing himself and if he was something willing to kill everyone he loved then he would rather be put down.

But scared as he was, he was a fighter, he was never one to lay down and let life tell him what to do and he wasn't going to do it now. He spent that night doing everything he could for Albert and even insisted on spending some time where they didn't do anything but hold each other until Albert fell asleep.

He thanked God Albert was a heavier sleeper than the American was and disentangled himself from his partner, planting a brief kiss on the side of his head before he grabbed a coat and left, taking to the skies in the hopes he'd be fast enough.

Although, he didn't know what he was hoping to be fast enough for, there wasn't a cure waiting for him at the Gilmore Foundation, but he didn't know where else to go. It occurred to him as he went that he was breaking his promise all over again: he was flying off to die and Albert wouldn't be with him when it happened. But he just couldn't. In Jet's mind, they were supposed to go down back-to-back in a fight or even on a suicide mission to blow something up or whatever, not in some screwed up scenario where he'd 'died' and the thing left behind killed the man he loved, that wasn't going to happen. So he pushed his jets harder.

He entered the foundation through the garage access, figuring there'd be fewer people to see him and worked his way up to ops from there. He didn't get far. Floor B1 and something thrummed in his head and shot from there through the rest of him. He heard more than felt his knees hit the floor and his hands rise to his head as though he could hold his mind together that way. But it didn't matter.

Everything went cold and then numb as did his brain and he couldn't see or think or hear, there was just nothing. And then there was anger. Everything was anger and fire and hate sewn together with that fear it had been holding onto. All it knew was that anger and helplessness and how nothing it could do would change anything so maybe it should just destroy everything, that would make the fear and pain stop.

So it did what it did best: it lashed out.

copesetic

It's always been the hardest thing for Jet to keep his hands to himself, but tonight Albert's finally going to teach him. Normally he enjoys the tactile explorations, the eagerness to please, maybe even allowing Jet more free reign to roam as he will beyond the bounds of social acceptance, but it's been getting out of hand. Jet's been abusing the frayed ends of Albert's patience in other aspects of their relationship. Being uncommunicative, talking back flippantly in public; flirtatiously calling another Dominant "sir" at a party had been the last straw. He's not sure what he's done to warrant this sort of misbehavior from his partner, but he's about to put a stop to it right now.

"Jet, come in here." No request this time, it's an order, and it's barked across the apartment with authoritarian weight. He'll teach Jet this lesson and maybe in doing so he'll get the errant teen to come clean about what in the hell has gotten into him these past weeks. Asking has gotten him nowhere, so perhaps they just need a reaffirmation of who, exactly, is in charge here.

copesetic

It's been nearly a month and only now does Albert have his head on straight again. It took a near-death experience to do it, but in those moments he'd thought were his last when all the things he regrets went running the 'this is your life' marathon through his head one stuck out in particular. And that one is in a seventh story apartment that looms large and foreboding in the mid-autumn drizzle.

He pockets the scrap of paper he'd been clutching, address on it long since memorized. He should just go up there and say his piece. Most likely Jet will kick him right back to the street again. As well he should. Albert hadn't exactly been the model partner in the time they'd spent together. His heart had been in it, but the rest of him still quailed, afraid to get too invested, afraid that he would screw it all up regardless. At least if he didn't try then he could blame the failure on that. But that's not fair to Jet, and if he were honest not fair to himself either. He knows that now, that in his heart of hearts he's already invested. The things he's frightened of doing are the very things he wants more than anything. Jet, more than anyone else, makes him feel human.

Screwing up his courage, Albert walks right up to the door of the apartment building, then turns away and strides to the corner of the block instead, shoulders hunched against the freezing mist. He needs something first. He's not stalling. Really.

It's relatively slim pickings in the little bodega on the corner but Albert manages to pull several small bouquets into one large one. Roses and baby's breath might be a little cliche, but it's what they have and it's hopefully a gesture Jet will appreciate, especially since it cost Albert an entire day's worth of spending money. Not that it matters. If it softens Jet for even a moment, it'll be worth it.

If.

He stops on his trek back up the block, staring at the flowers as if they'd suddenly start speaking to him. It's too much, isn't it? Roses? That's what he would always do for Hilda when she was cross with him, buy her flowers or jewelry, but Jet isn't Hilda. He'd never thought of Jet as Hilda, of course, but flowers seem such a feminine gift...

No, it's fine. It'll be fine. Who doesn't like flowers?

Halfway up the stairs he wonders if maybe Jet doesn't like flowers, or he'll throw them back in Albert's face for trying to treat him like 'some broad'.

Two thirds of the way back down he kicks himself mentally to just do it, damnit! Stop being such a coward! He'll either like them or not but the flowers aren't the point. The point is he's here, he'll apologize from the bottom of his heart, and Jet will take him back.

Well, ideally Jet will take him back.

He's already in front of the apartment door when that nagging voice in the back of his head tauntingly asks how often things are ever ideal. He paces once, twice in front of the door, mouth a thin and troubled line cutting across his face as he hems and haws, trying to reconcile what he hopes will happen with what's more likely.

Just do it!!

He knocks, heart in his throat.

metalicarus

"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.

metalicarus

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jungfuchs

Moving to a new country is difficult but if you're a child it seems impossible. True, things had been terrifying with the bombings and soldiers and the news of that their government had been doing behind the country's back. Thirteen years old, but Albert still reads the news, still listens to the radio. Soon after they're on a boat, crammed in with other emigrants chattering in a cacophony of languages, pushing and shoving. There were other children, but mostly Albert opted to keep to himself, helping his mother but otherwise holed up in their tiny shared cabin and waited to see the spines of Lady Liberty's crown welcoming them to what his mother calls "a land of new opportunities". Albert, always a practical child, just hoped it would be a land of fresher air.

It's been a few months since then. They'd arrived at the start of summer with New York City sweltering. With his mother working two jobs and a little saved up, they'd managed to get a small fan and some other things for the little apartment, but despite the hardships they'd managed to make a nice little life for themselves in this new country. Their community on the lower east side is friendly and breathes of home in Dresden, or so Albert feels. He even made friends with the old man who runs the bookshop on the corner, his son having been claimed by the war on the side of the Allies. He'd also been named Albert, and the man would often reminisce in German and sometimes share the haribo candies he'd always have around. He may be the only friend Albert had made, but he was content with that.

Even so, as the weather turned colder and fall set in, Albert's mother enrolled him in school. Albert had always liked school back home, strict as it was, but here in America it seemed all the other boys were so loud and tall and frightening. He'd mostly stayed away from other children since arriving, but now he's been thrown in the front of a class and as the teacher pushes him to introduce himself to the room every eye is on him and he can't help but fidgit and look anywhere except at all the unfamiliar faces.

"Ha-hallo, I-I am Albert Heinrich..." He trails off, brutally self conscious at his accent and flushing a red which he knows reaches his ears. The teacher - Miss Jones - waits for an interminable moment to see if he'll say something else, then simply shoos him to an empty desk with some annoyance and begins to write the day's lesson on the blackboard. Safe for the moment, Albert sinks as low as he can in his seat and pulls his oversized newsy cap down around his ears in an attempt to hide the fact that they're still pink.

silberfuchs

[How did Jet get him to agree to this?

Here they are, seated on the bed with the lights down low, both shirtless, and Jet with Albert's gun hand between his fingers as if it's something reverent rather than abhorrent. The effect is confusing to the German; that hand is death, that hand is everything he still despises about himself and can't let go of about Black Ghost, and here's Jet with those long white fingers caressing the metal, fascinated by it.

He'd said it would be good for him. That it's really not such a terrible thing if he has a weapon because he uses it to protect them.

But really, how did Jet talk him into this?

Albert just watches, morbidly transfixed.]

fallenstar

There was no one else home. He'd spent five minutes making sure, even though he already knew there were only two people left in the house for the night. Chang and GB were at Chang's resturaunt, Joe, Frannie, Ivan and the Doctor were all off to Kouzomi's for the weekend and Pyunma and Geronimo were out of the country and not due back for a few days. Which just left Jet and a certain silver-haired German cyborg to hold down the fort.

Which was why this was perfect.

Sure, there was a chance Frannie or Joe or really even any of the others could walk through the front door unexpectedly for one reason or another, but that just made his idea seem a little more fun; the risk of being caught was exciting. Hell, even if they were just in one of their rooms, it wouldn't be nearly as risky, but he was headed for the den where he knew the older cyborg was sitting in comfortable silence, reading one of his stuffy and boring books.

Jet had every intention of making things a little less quiet and boring for his partner.

He didn't bother sneaking into the room or anything, there wasn't anything suspicious about him going in there. In fact, it was likely nothing would seem amiss until the lanky teen stepped up to Abert's chair, stuck his book mark between whatever pages he had open, and plucked the book from the cyborg's grip. The book found itself on the side table next to the chair Albert was in (as opposed to the floor, which Jet had considered, but thought better of) as the American wedged a knee in on either side of Albert's thighs, reached up to pull down that black turtleneck a bit and attached his lips to Albert's neck.

He had plans, and they didn't include being shy about what he wanted.