Disclaimer: Shotaro Ishinomori's, not mine.

Author's Notes: This fic contains yaoi, specifically, Jet/Albert. I'm actually pleased with how this one turned out (which almost always means it sucks hard, but oh well). I'm currently signed up for a challenge to write for this pairing, and I have about roughly thirteen fics left to write, so at the very least I got some practice.

And there's something to counteract the recent rash of Mary Sues in our poor, much maligned fandom. I believe in creative expression too, but y'all please. We want to read about the cyborg team, not your OC that helped you mangle the storyline and character so she could fall in love with your favorite character.

... Okay, enough with the misplaced rant. Fic time!

Albert Heinrich decided it wouldn't hurt to check again, just one last time. There was always the (very) slim chance he had missed something the previous times, after all. But just as he expected, the only things that greeted him in Jet's fridge were a few empty cartons of Chinese takeout, a carton of milk that had expired roughly a month ago, and... something green he was going to stay as far away from as he possibly could.

I guess we'll just have to go out to eat. Albert sighed in defeat, running a steel hand through hair that had gone gray much quicker than he cared to admit. He was in no mood to try to awaken someone who could sleep through pretty much anything, but he was also in no mood for starving to death, either.

Sure enough, Jet was still fast asleep, the covers twisted around his body. Albert sat down, ignoring the mattress creaking in protest as he very gently pushed the red bangs out of Jet's face... and had to stifle a laugh when they stubbornly fell right back into his eyes.

This... is kind of nice.

Nice or not, he still had to find a way to wake him up. "C'mon Jet, it's almost noon." Jet's eyelids twitched, and he made a sound that was somewhat similar to 'go away', but that was it.

He decided to be a little firmer this time. "There's no food in the house. Unless you like the idea of starving, you have to get up and we have to get some food." Jet made the go away-ish sound again, only this time it came out more as a growl.

"I'm buying."

Jet grunted as he shifted onto his side. "Okay, just let me get ready."

Well, that went easier than I expected, Albert thought as he shrugged his jacket on. Usually I have to make some real noise if I want him to get up early. Well, early for him, at---

Albert was snapped out of his thoughts by the light glinting off of his already half-gloved gun hand.

"You okay?" Jet's voice was muffled thanks to the faded T-shirt he was pulling over his torso.

"I'm more than okay. I'm happier than I've been in a long time." Albert said with no real tone in his voice. "And I guess that's why I'm so scared."

Jet gave him a look, obviously confused. "What do you mean by that?"

He finished pulled the flesh-colored glove over the gun hand. It fit as snugly as ever. Speaking more to himself than Jet, he tried to explain. "This always happens. After all the pain, I finally find myself in a situation that I honestly like, but then... I always wind up losing it." He couldn't seem to stop staring at the now gloved hand. "Jet... I don't know if---."

"You sad, selfish son of a bitch."

"Excuse me?"

There was no sympathy in Jet's expression. "Okay, you've had a rough life. You've had people you cared for taken from you. Now you're scared it might happen again, and you'll get hurt again. I think we can all identify that. But if you're going to deny yourself any chance at being happy again just because you're afraid it might blow up in your face... then the hell with you."

Albert was silent for awhile, trying to decide if he should be angry or not... and then he did his best to hide a grin. "Well. Damn. I think I just got put in my place."

"That's right you were." Jet's arms wrapped around him, and he was about to ask what brought on this uncharacteristic display of affection, especially after what they had just said to each other, but he forgot what he was going to say, along with a lot of other things, when he felt him kiss his neck. "So, I know this place. The waitress is a little on the shrill side, but they make the best damn coffee on the West Side."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Albert followed Jet out the door.

"Good. And don't forget you're buying."