Jet Link | 002 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
metalicarus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-02-14 12:22 am
metalicarus) wrote in thearena2014-02-14 12:22 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who| Perry, Jet, Chaud and (eventually) Albert
What| Jet and Chaud have an unfortunate run-in with Perry and his sharp knives, Albert arrives in time to find the mess.
Where| Floor 2
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Blood, violence, etc
From the sixth floor Jet and Chaud had been working their way down what was obviously a museum, attempting to find something useful to them and not having much luck. They'd succeeded in avoiding anyone they didn't want to run into between darting behind corners and keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen, but it was only a matter of time before their luck would run out. And neither of them were armed.
It was clear this wasn't some fake set-up, they were dealing with a very real life or death situation and, as far as they knew, they only had each other as allies and no real method of surviving other than that defensive strategy Jet had railed against in the past.
Now they were on the second floor--much larger than any of the others for the apparent disaster that had once been the third floor, now an intact somewhat-disaster on the second floor--and they were running out of places to find anything they needed. Maybe they needed to be less picky, something blunt and not usually a weapon was just as good as a gun when it came down to it.
Yes, he'd look for something like that and then give it to Chaud. If either of them were going to make it out of this, it should be the teen.
Jet kept to the wall and the shadows as he left the echoing staircase and waited for his companion to catch up.
What| Jet and Chaud have an unfortunate run-in with Perry and his sharp knives, Albert arrives in time to find the mess.
Where| Floor 2
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Blood, violence, etc
From the sixth floor Jet and Chaud had been working their way down what was obviously a museum, attempting to find something useful to them and not having much luck. They'd succeeded in avoiding anyone they didn't want to run into between darting behind corners and keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen, but it was only a matter of time before their luck would run out. And neither of them were armed.
It was clear this wasn't some fake set-up, they were dealing with a very real life or death situation and, as far as they knew, they only had each other as allies and no real method of surviving other than that defensive strategy Jet had railed against in the past.
Now they were on the second floor--much larger than any of the others for the apparent disaster that had once been the third floor, now an intact somewhat-disaster on the second floor--and they were running out of places to find anything they needed. Maybe they needed to be less picky, something blunt and not usually a weapon was just as good as a gun when it came down to it.
Yes, he'd look for something like that and then give it to Chaud. If either of them were going to make it out of this, it should be the teen.
Jet kept to the wall and the shadows as he left the echoing staircase and waited for his companion to catch up.
only a little later
Albert had made his way down to the second floor through careful use of stairwells and even more careful use of a ventilation shaft he'd managed to squeeze into to skip the mess of the third floor. He's initially thought the smell was from the wide but basically harmless scrape the metal edge of the vent had made in his own shoulder as he'd wormed his way out, but the smell became so overpowering as he slunk around corners and displays in the darkened museum that there's no possible way it could be from the simple injury.
Lights flicker and Albert steps very carefully with his bare feet, silently glad (on a second thought) that he hadn't managed to scrounge up shoes in his size; shoes make noise and this hall is dim and foreboding. The less overt he makes himself, the better. It's not a role he's used to. In their team, he's one of the 'big guns,' not as useful for covert operations as Pyunma, Great Britain, or Joe with their specialized abilities and skill sets, but in two thirds of a century of action, Albert's still managed to gather enough experience and knowledge to keep himself hidden. Even when his toes squelch gently into a warm, viscous fluid that makes his stomach do an uncomfortably squeemish flop.
He'd found the source of the smell.
Re: only a little later
Then again, that had been the teen's neck, the stomach was notoriously slower.
Chaud's body lay inches away, still cooling, though the light had gone from his eyes. Jet could smell and feel the blood all around them and it was likely to draw someone else, but if Jet moved he'd only bleed out faster. Maybe that would be better. There was something to be said about making it quick, but if this was going to be it then he didn't really feel like rushing it. Of course, the extra time meant he could lay there and think about how he'd screwed up.
The feeling of someone drawing closer was a welcome distraction from that, even if it meant they were just going to finish the job, but what he saw in the dim lighting almost made him wish he'd died faster. Or maybe not, he couldn't decide.
The smile that curved his lips was born from a genuine happiness to see the silver-haired man, but it contrasted with the squeezing hand of guilt and dread that gripped his heart.
"Hey...thought I wasn't going to find you again."
no subject
"Jet, you're..." He pulls his eyes away from the wound, away from precious scarlet that's stained everything around it, and brings a shaking hand to the side of Jet's face. Despite his distress it's steady, somehow, and he mechanically manages a small but wavering lift at the corners of his lips in answer to Jet's own. It does't reach his eyes. "No, you found me."
no subject
One hand still pressed even harder to his stomach, the other shakily came up to press over the German's, unaware of the fact he was getting it bloody. He wished there was some magical thing he could say to make it better, to make that fake smile into a real one, but there wasn't anything. The fact Albert was even trying to smile at all instead of telling Jet to 'stop being stupid, it wasn't even a big wound, he'd be fine' meant they both already knew that wasn't the case.
He was failing his partner all over again, dying a third time when he'd promised not to leave the German's side. "I'm sorry. He got the jump on us...I couldn't save--he got Chaud first....Sorry."
no subject
He spares a glance to Chaud's body, curled over and away as if just sleeping, but he's too still, unnaturally still, and Albert knows better. "It's this place. This world. Don't take that fault on yourself."
With a swallow, he bends down, pressing his forehead against Jet's and settling more on his hip than his knees, intending to stay for as long as it takes. At least this time he'll be here with Jet when the end comes. For now, it's better to keep talking. Take his mind from what's obviously a painful wound and the seeping cold Albert knows comes next. "What did he look like? The man who attacked you."
no subject
"Shorter. Average height and build. Brown hair. He had a...crowbar and some knives." The murder weapons, though he chose not to mention specifics. He would rather focus on the warm breath on his face. "I hit him. Think I broke some ribs, not sure."
Things were getting fuzzier to try and focus on, so he chose Albert's face and voice and touch instead. He'd rather be thinking about those when his mind inevitably stopped and his eyes failed.
It was selfish and he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it. "Will you stay?"
no subject
Gentle fingers thread through matted blond hair as Albert tries to find the right thing to say, to do, anything to make this easier on the both of them and to hide how his heart is slowly bleeding out right there along with Jet on the floor. He's glad he doesn't have his cybernetics right now, glad he can at least offer warmth and softness when its needed most. Jet had never even needed touch, though. His warmth came from the soul and it always shined. Still shines, even now. He wonders if he can do the same.
He should try, at least.
"When we're free again, remind me to take you up into the mountains of the German countryside. I know you don't like to go too far from civilization, but the stars there shine so brightly they illuminate everything for miles, making the landscape seem even more vast than in the day. I think you'd like it, even if it's far from a city."
no subject
He knows what Albert's doing and he appreciates the distraction of his mind trying to produce what a sight like that would be like. But then his eyes are stinging and there's a lump forming in his throat, choking his voice. Wet warmth trickled from the corners of his eyes and he nodded slightly. "Y-yeah...I'd like that." In that moment, the strength fading from his limbs, he'd never wanted anything more in his life.
Slowly and feeling as though it were made of lead, the blond brought the hand that had been trying to keep his body running up to press his fingertips lightly to Albert's face; the bright red standing out against his partner's pale skin.
no subject
"We could go flying." It doesn't matter that they're not cyborgs right now, it doesn't matter that it's all impossible in the face of death, even if Albert has a small, insane measure of hope that Jet will somehow survive. He's died twice and come back. Surely there's some lucky star protecting him.
But they're not cyborgs now. They're human. And humans are fragile stupid things and there is no benevolent God, there's no miracle of science or religion. There's just Jet going cold and shivery in his arms and taking Albert's will with him.
He holds his partner closer, shielding him bodily from death. "We'll go flying. See the stars up close. I always like when you take me up with you..."
He's trembling. He'd thought it was Jet but it's Albert that's trembling and Jet's face - that weak little genuine smile - goes blurry in his vision. He can't talk anymore, his tongue thick in his mouth and his throat closed for emotion. All he can do is hold Jet's hand tightly to his cheek and repeat the same thought over and over in his head.
Bitte lass mich nicht...
no subject
"Yeah...we'll go as high as we can...wherever you want. Just us..." He wishes he could bring their lips together one last time or say that thing they'd been so afraid to say that in their decades of being together, they'd only said it twice, but in his indecision on which he wanted more, neither request made it past his lips.
Blue eyes searched silver, hoping he could somehow project what he was feeling through the mechanical mental link they no longer had. But, like stars going out, the light fled from his eyes and took with it the strength in his grip and the smile on his face.
no subject
Tears fall one by one, big and ugly and silent. He hadn't cried the first time, watching stars fall to earth, nor the second in its grotesque familiarity. But this time is different. This time - maybe because of where they are, maybe because of all that went before, maybe just because he's actually at Jet's side this time - it feels final. Heavy. It bows his spine and presses in on him on the tears keep coming and he feels as if he'll break.
And maybe a little piece of him does. Maybe after all the many many years of pain and suffering and loss this latest is the proverbial straw and there's a little pop the same as all those years ago when he'd lost his world and been rebuilt against his will into a new one he never wanted.
But he can't. Not yet. He can't rest yet. Can't join Jet until he's paid back the favor.
Slowly the tears ebb and Albert's left with just the silence, the overly loud silence that somehow fans the cold flame of his anger that anyone could do this, the icy rage at the hand they'd been dealt that he won't live long enough to dismantle the foundation of but he'll at least see the hand that took Jet and Chaud's lives is dealt justice. Recompense.
There will be hell to pay, and in this Albert will take on the guise of the devil.