thearena | Even in Hell there are shooting stars

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Even in Hell there are shooting stars

Who| Jet and OPEN
What| Jet flies into the top of the barrier like a champ
Where| On the ground, then in the sky, then on the ground again.
When| Week 3, during Hellrena
Warnings/Notes| Potential hallucinations? Cyborgs.

When the air raid sirens went off and the mist cleared and the heat started in with a vengeance, the only thing Jet was immediately aware of was the fact something was crawling across his skin. At first, he thought it was one of those bugs that had made him sick, but pushing his sleeve up revealed familiar creases cutting though his skin as flesh turned synthetic and bone turned to metal. It felt like it should hurt, but just as with the ijiva he'd thought had left him, it was more like a switch being flipped than a transformation.

His hearing and sight sharpened, the feeling in his feet fled as everything from mid-thigh down turned a hundred percent metal, his mind even cleared a little as the cybernetics in his brain returned. As sluggish as his thought process was with his fever, it took a second or two before the realization dawned on him. He could fly again.

He began moving as though working on muscle memory and set a vague plan into motion. He found a hiding place in the house he'd stopped in to stash the supplies he'd been sent, the metal pipe and his boots and dashed back into the street. He was completely unconcerned with any creatures out for blood with his cybernetics returned and barely even paused before jumping into the air as his feet opened and flared to allow his jets to burst into life.

A steady mechanical hum accompanied with the sounds of thrusters firing filled the street and the blond hovered in the air a moment before shooting up into the sky.

It was a breath of fresh air to be airborne again, to feel the wind against his face and there was a large part of him that wanted to just fly around the whole damn arena for the fun of it, but he had to try something first. If this worked, then maybe he could help out Albert and Venus and Felicity and everyone else stuck in this place.

Up and up he flew, the barrier becoming visible to him through the radar flashing in his eyes. A readout in the corner of his vision told him how far away he was from the object--the dome--and turned red in warning as he got under a thousand feet. Closer, closer, he turned a bit and braced himself, aiming to hit the thing with his shoulder and hopefully bust through it. A hundred feet. Fifty feet. Ten feet.

It sounded like a large gun went off as the American struck against the barrier, but instead of breaking through like he'd hoped, he left a small dot of damage at the pinnacle of the dome and a ripple ran through the illusion of sky. Jet didn't see either of these things. As soon as his shoulder connected with the dome, electricity knifed through his systems and his organic parts and caused him to black out as parts of him temporarily shut down. Instead of simply falling as Jet shut down, the barrier shot him into a dilapidated three-story building that soon became all one level as the cyborg broke through it, leaving him unconscious, feverish and with a sparking shoulder in a bed of rubble.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He felt a sliver of anxiety at the thought of his partner 'holding the perimeter' while Jet was out cold. What if Albert had been hurt or killed? Jet wouldn't have been there to help. But he keeps it to himself because, if their roles were switched, he'd have done the same thing.

He knelt by his partner's side and rubbed away the last flakes of dried blood from the German's face, relieved to see it hadn't come from there to begin with.

It was then that the state of the house he recognized as the one he'd been loitering around came to his attention. It looked horrific and between the sight of the house looking like a rotting corpse, the actual corpses in the room and the sound of tearing skin, Jet quickly found a place to sit and lean against a crumbling wall while his head found a place between his knees.

He was going to be one lucky guy if he didn't end up attempting to spit his stomach out of his mouth.

"What the hell's been going on? This place looks like some B-movie horror flick."

Jet brushing the blood from his face feels oddly muted until Albert remembers that he hasn't shaved in three weeks or however long it's been in the arena so far. Briefly, he imagines coming out after with a snowy white beard and is left wondering where the hell that idea came from. By the time the thought flees him, Jet's across the room again, huddled as if he's going to be sick.

"It must be the gimmick in this arena. First cold and mist then heat and haze. I expect it'll turn back again in several days so it's a good thing you stashed your supplies." He motions to the bundle of knife, pipe, sleeping bag, and shoes. "We've got food to last for a good long while now, but water we'll have to go hunting for."

Wiping off his knife with the torn edge of some cloth, Albert stands to stretch his legs from crouching for too long. He looks at Jet again, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you feeling any better? You look like you might vomit."

"Yeah, I just might. Still deciding." He wasn't exactly feeling better, but if he didn't hurl in the next couple of minutes, he figured he'd be fine.

He looked up at his partner, turning his mind to something else -some other topic to focus on- so he didn't think about how stifling the room was. "How much water have you had? I don't remember a whole lot after hitting that dome thing, but I know you gave me more than my fair share."

He assumed Albert had, anyway. Truthfully, all he could remember was drinking water at some point, but he knew Albert and it wouldn't surprise him if the older man had given Jet more than the blond would have let himself take, had he been aware of himself.

"Whatever's left, you should have it."

"I've had enough to keep me going. So have you." It's not exactly cryptic. With his chapped lips and dry mouth Albert's not bothering to hide that yes, he did give Jet more than he would if the other man had been healthy, but to leave a fever thirsty is more dangerous than normal dehydration. He stands by his decision. "There's enough left to keep us going until we can find more."

As long as that's within the next 36 hours.

"Lay back down, on your left side. It should help the nausea." There's an oddness to his tone, something that if it wasn't coming from the very masculine German might be mistaken for maternal, but it's little wonder if an onlooker knows Albert's origins. His mother was a nurse, it's how he knows what little first aid he remembers.

Jet made a disgruntled noise at Albert's response, none too thrilled with the thought of his fiance forgoing water more than he should for Jet's sake.

He was still a little shaky when he stood, but he kept his feet and his stomach and moved to where Albert was standing. His hand found the place where the German's jaw met his neck and Jet mustered the hardest glare along with the sternest tone he could manage with his stomach still twisting and that vague feeling of weakness chasing through his limbs. "Do me a favor and drink the damn water."

His fingers ran up to trace along his partner's chapped lips as though to prove his point. He didn't press beyond that, hoping Albert would just listen to him while he returned to the makeshift couch and laid down as directed.

It took a moment or two, but soon the feeling of nausea abated, much to the blond's relief.

His lips sting as Jet's thumb runs across them, further driving home the blond's point, but Albert stubbornly would rather ration the water they do have until he's certain that Jet's fever is gone for good. Luckily, thanks to Sabriel, that will hopefully not be long.

The German drags the skinned dog into the kitchen to slice into strips and lay down on the rack in the oven, hoping that in the time it takes him to do that - a short time, with the blade in his left hand able to cut steel much less fat and bone - that Jet will either be asleep or feeling better. If his nausea is gone, Albert can give Jet some of the fever pills.

Twenty minutes later Albert lumbers back through to what used to be a living room, smelling of blood and sweat, and crouches by his fiance to see if he's fallen asleep again. Since he hasn't, he murmurs in a low, cracked voice. "Any better?"

Jet winces to himself hearing Albert's voice like that, no doubt from a dry throat. He wished he could be surprised that his fiance hadn't listened to him.

He started to turn over to face Albert when the smell of sweat and blood hit him and his face twisted to match the churning in his stomach. One pale hand shot out to push against Albert's chest -though not with much force. "Get lost, Heinrich, you reek. Spent too much time ripping dogs apart."

Jet was aware he probably didn't smell much better since there weren't exactly showers or even some running water around.

That's fair, really. Even he sweats some in this heat and he'd been skinning those dogs the better part of the morning, but it's not as if they can take a shower in these circumstances.

God what would he give for a shower?

Which is a silly thought when they're low enough on water to drink, let alone bathe. Stay focused.

"If you're well enough to be worried about my smell, you're well enough for medicine." With a snort, Albert digs in a pocket for the fever pills and hands over that and the plastic pitcher full of fresh water. It's all there is aside from one small emergency cup he has left over from Jessica's gifts, but it's more than they would have had if Sabriel hadn't come along. "Here, take these. Once I'm sure you can keep them down, I'll drink."

Jet looked from the pitcher to Albert and sat up as though he intended to do as the German said.

Instead he pushed against the hand with the pills in them and set a hard look on his fiance. "No. I'm not taking anything until you take a drink."

With his whole body burning up and his head still a little muffled from the fever, the thought of taking something to put him normal was highly enticing. But Albert's dry lips and throat and knowing the older man was likely taking care of Jet more than he was taking care of himself, made the blond hold back.

Albert could be devilishly stubborn and aggravating, but Jet was infamous for both.

"Jet, you have a fever. In this heat it could kill you. If the medicine doesn't work I need to have the water on hand to keep you fighting off whatever you've got." The fever would get so much worse without water, even the clean but ultimately warm water in the pitcher. He can't keep it cool in this heat.

But even with the desperation tracing the cracks in his voice, Albert can tell that his words have little effect but to set Jet's jaw further. It would be faster just to do it.

With a sigh, Albert takes a swallow from the pitcher. He feels better almost instantly just from the small measure. His tongue feels less cottony and his head clears somewhat and it's all he can do not to drink even more. They don't know how long it will be until they can find more, he can't afford to be greedy.

"Satisfied? Now take the damn pills."

Jet didn't really look satisfied, he wanted Albert to drink more than that, but he'd promised so he took the pills and swallowed them down with a gulp of his own.

A wave of fatigue washed through him as though his body suddenly remembered moving was hard when it hadn't done any of that in more than a day. Plus, while his mechanical parts had all rebooted and relatively shaken the strain of the electricity on them, his organic tissue was still recovering. He leaned back against the wall his make-shift bed was leaned against itself.

"You should take another drink, Albert. You're the stronger of the two of us right now. If something comes sniffing around here, you need to be in good shape."

Something (he suspected it was his pride) hurt at having to admit he wasn't in a good enough state to take care of himself -something he'd almost never admit to otherwise- but he hoped it would drive a bit more sense into his dumb partner.

"I know my limits. Get some more sleep, but tell me when you think you're well enough to move. I don't like staying in one place this long." Especially not when at least one person knows where they are, as helpful as she'd been. And it's not exactly off the main thoroughfare of the town, though that might be working to their advantage. No one wants to be too much out in the open and they're quite close to the cornucopia.

"I have food too, if you want. Jerky, but also some things sent from the Capitol." That's probably better for Jet right now than dog meat of dubious nutritional value.

"Yeah, that doesn't mean you stick to 'em." Jet grumbled. He settled a little more against the wall, but didn't lie back down. Albert was probably right, Jet needed more sleep -certainly until his fever broke for good- but Jet didn't really want to sleep more. Albert had been watching over him for more than a day, Jet felt like he was slacking off and putting them in more danger if he didn't do his part.

"You've still got some of that stuff drying, right? Once that's mostly done, we'll go. Till then, you should tell me what the hell happened. I remember thinking I could try to bust through the barrier over this place and free us. Tell me that thing at least cracked or something."

"You left a smudge," Albert responds wryly, choosing to ignore the comment regarding his ignoring his own well being. He feels he's ignoring Jet's a bit too in the moment with not insisting his fiance go back to sleep, but Albert's been in relative silence for more than a day and it's starting to get to him, so he's loathe to be without Jet's company, even just in sleep.

"I came as fast as I could and dragged you here to safety." Or at least it's been safe so far. No knowing how long that will last. "You were delirious."

He scoffed but didn't say anything else about it. Now that his head was a little more clear, the idea seemed silly even to him; if it were that easy to break, it would have been broken by now. But the part about him being delirious...

Was that why he remembered a red-haired woman? Bina? Had he hallucinated her? There'd been another woman too, but he remembered her even less so he let it go. Besides, if he'd hallucinated Bina...well, he remembered feeling angry and hurt when he'd seen her, what if he'd said something thinking the dead woman was actually there?

How much of an idiot must he have seemed like to say something about an issue thirty years and a lifetime old? An issue that wasn't even really an issue when you took into account it hadn't really surprised him at the time, even if it had hurt.

"Al...did I say anything while I was out of it?" Blue eyes glued themselves to the German, watching in case Albert decided to try and lie to Jet.

"Nothing of consequence. As I said, you were delirious, hallucinating ghosts." It's the truth as Albert sees it. So he saw Bina. So what? It may be cold given that she's dead now and that Albert had admired and respected her spirit despite it coming with ten kinds of stupid and stubborn, but the Yomi sister is barely someone Albert thinks about, not when an even greater personal tragedy followed her death. One he's trying to prevent a rewriting of in keeping Jet alive.

But there's little he can do right this second, waiting for the pills to work and trying to keep out of the heat as best they can, and Albert's mind supplies Jet's face, drawn in a hurt and hateful grimace. She's what you want, isn't she? You chose Bina over me.

He never did, not to his knowledge. He had Jet may have been fighting at the time, bickering over some damn fool thing as they were wont to do in younger days - lord, were those really younger days? - but Albert had never intended anything with Bina at all. She was brash and sometimes even empty-headed. They were about to die and she kept insisting on his name of all things. In hindsight, Bina probably had feelings for him. And maybe he'd been a little attached to her too, given his execution Von Bagoot. He may not regret it, but he's still not proud of that. It was like he'd gone cold and hard, fully the machine he'd fought against being for so long. It was like...

It was like what he did to Perry Kelvin in his first arena after Jet had died in his arms.

For the first time, he can see how Jet might make that assumption.

"Are you worried about what you saw?"

He shrugged one shoulder, looking away again as he did. "A little, I guess. I mean, I get it was just in my head-" But he had said something about Bina, otherwise how would Albert know he was hallucinating ghosts?

"I did say something, didn't I?"

But what if he hadn't said anything about Bina? Just because that's what he was fairly sure he'd seen, doesn't mean that's what he talked about. There was really only one way to know and he was potentially setting himself up by going ahead with it.

"...I thought I saw Bina...so I'm guessing I mentioned that."

"Yes, you did. It's not uncommon for someone to hallucinate the dead when they're in a bad way." With a grunt, Albert sits himself down near Jet's feet so his apparent stink wouldn't offend his partner further but he could still be close. He's silent for a long moment, the sort of silent he gets when he's thinking of if or how he should ask something. A methodical, thoughtful quiet.

"Do you think I'll lose interest in you because you're a man?" There it is. In spite of Albert's careful thought on how to phrase things, it nearly always comes out as blunt as a brick, even if it's intentional. White eyes look at Jet's face, awaiting an answer even though he's fairly certain he hit the mark. Jet had called Bina 'pretty, smart, brave, and a girl' and being female is the only trait Jet doesn't share with the late princess.

There were plenty of things that set Albert apart from other people, some Jet loved and some Jet could have done without. The fact that Albert could often cut through Jet's thoughts and emotions and hang-ups to the core of a problem was one of those things that fell in the middle of that spectrum. He couldn't always do it immediately, but the younger man had learned long ago that if there was a problem somewhere in his head, Albert would find it eventually.

He'd been with the German for years, was engaged to him, and still had always harbored a quiet fear that there would be some girl someday who would attract his partner's attention. He couldn't even discount it as unlikely or 'ridiculous' in his own head since it had basis, but the thought of mentioning it just made him feel like it would make the possibility more real.

Even now that it was out there in so many words, Jet was finding it easier to chew on his tongue than admit to what Albert had already figured out.

"Yeah. Sorta...I thought you'd find someone else -A chick- that you'd like more. I mean, guy's've never really been your thing, not really."

He hesitated and glued his eyes to the ground before finding the words he needed to fish out what was stuck in his throat. "It's not like I blamed you for that or anything, I just...I guess I've always figured I'm on borrowed time with you till the 'girl of your dreams' walks in. Then I'll have to give you up."

Not that he wouldn't fight and argue and try to stop it from happening, but if it came down to Jet being in the way of Albert being truly happy and at peace? There was no way he could do that to his German when that was all Jet wanted for him.

"You're a bigger idiot than I thought."

He's not angry. A little hurt, maybe, but not angry like the thought he'd be in hearing Jet's doubts confirmed. It's just so ridiculous from his side of things. Hadn't he proven by now he wasn't going anywhere? Hadn't he asked Jet to marry him? Shown that it's Jet in particular that he wants, not some amorphous ideal or something so petty as a person with different parts.

Thirty years apart and maybe Albert had tried again in that time. It was at Francoise's urging once it was clear that Jet wouldn't be coming back on his own and that Albert was too hurt and angry to go after him. She knew it was bad for him to be alone. He may have been better than he was when they'd met, but he could still never quite shake that sense of morbidity that dogged him in the darkest moments. So she begged him to try again, to make some kind of connection with someone outside their little circle. In hindsight, maybe she was trying to live through him vicariously just a little, but he doesn't think she would have enjoyed it.

First it was a woman and it went terribly. Second, almost two years later, that redhead with the piercing blue eyes whose name he can't remember for the life of him but he does remember calling the wrong one in bed. That had ended quickly and sworn Albert off dating altogether. At least until Mocawa.

"Jet, in over seventy years, it's never been anyone but you that I've wanted. Did you honestly think that I would ask you to marry me if I wasn't serious?"

His first instinct was to be offended and a little mad at being called an idiot, but it quickly fell away under shreds of guilt. Seventy years was a lifetime and while a chunk of those years might as well not count for the fact they were asleep, the remaining were more than enough to prove something that shouldn't need proving.

He'd proven plenty once he'd agreed to go further with their relationship.

"I don't think you're not serious, I know you are, It's just..." He went silent as he fought to find the words he was looking for. What it boiled down to was Jet figuring he wasn't really enough for Albert and that his partner would realize that once the right woman came along.

He didn't know how to say that without using words that might sound like they came from his father instead.

He moved and shifted in the other direction so he could wrap his arms around Albert's shoulders and pressed his nose into his fiance's neck.

"M' Sorry....I'm..I don't want to lose you to someone else. But I don't want to end up in your way either."

He buried his eyes and forehead into the junction of Albert's neck and shoulder, his voice growing quieter half to still be heard and half hoping he wouldn't be as he forced through his own head to get the words out his mouth.

"I just want you to be happy."

And while Jet knew he could do that for Albert at times, he also had an idea of how much grief he'd brought the German over the years. Part of his mind couldn't shake that surely his partner could find someone that gave him the former and not the latter.

"You won't lose me, and you're never in my way." Bloody or not, he curls his arms around Jet's shoulders, fingers immediately getting lost in the blond tufts at the back of his fiance's neck. It's sweaty and a little matted, but their unwashed state is hardly on Albert's mind right now. More he has to know how to prove it, what else he can do to prove to Jet that the man shivering in his embrace is the exact person he wants there.

"You are my way." He mumbles it helplessly into the side of Jet's head, lamenting privately that all he has is words right now. But he thought he'd been showing him, for however long it's been since they woke up on that island and he knows for longer, though he can see how it wouldn't have appeared that way, not with Jet's reaction to Bina's image. How could Jet know that at Albert's core it's only been his partner's name etched there since they'd fought Black Ghost, that even when he'd been grieving over Hilda, grieving over his loss of body, loss of self, Jet had already lit that guilty little spark in him that had grown to such a roaring, steady flame? That he doesn't have words for; words would make it hollow. Language sometimes fails to express the most important things. It's times like that when he wishes he had music, but in here there's none of that either.

"How do I show you?" Albert pulls away, enough to cup Jet's chin and look him in the eyes. "How can I convince you that you're everything because you're you?"

There's doubt in Jet's eyes, not because he doubts Albert's conviction, but because he doubts he could be everything for nothing. Just because he's him.

But Albert's words don't fall on fully deaf ears, Jet hears them and he believes that Albert means that now and has always meant it and will probably (hopefully) continue to mean it in the future and that thought warms the blond through out. The only thing to temper that warmth was his own frustration with himself that he couldn't think of answer for his partner.

Long fingers rise to run along prominent cheek bones and into silver hair while blue eyes remain steady on white. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

He wished he could think of whatever magical word or act would cement the idea in his head, but nothing came to mind, nothing chased away that little 'what if I'm not enough?' in the back of his head.

"But maybe you could start by kissing me."

He probably shouldn't, given Jet's fever, but Albert disregards caution and kisses Jet anyway. He pours every once of affection he can muster into that kiss, all his fear of losing the man at his side, all his want for them to have an actual life together when they can break free of this terrible place. Maybe even before. They have a life together already and though it may not be ideal, it's certainly better than facing these things alone. There's that guilty part of him that's glad Jet is here even if he wants Jet as far away from danger as possible. Even that is in this kiss.

It's not magic, and it may do nothing really to convince Jet that Albert has him right where he wants him, but it's all he has until he figures it out.

Jet presses back only seconds after the kiss starts, momentarily distracted by just how strong it is. He'd been expecting something light and simple, but that's not what this was and it made his throat get rough for a moment.

His arms drew even tighter around the German and held him there in the kiss for a long time, a lot longer than their normal kisses considering their cybernetics allowed them longer time without air. But eventually, he did pull away and buried his face against Albert's neck.

"Thanks."

Even in Hell there are shooting stars

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