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It was rare for them to have downtime, and Jet should be thankful for it, but, god, it really was boring without all the adrenaline rushing through his circuits. Sure, it was nice not having to worry about the fate of the world, or be forced to sit still while Dr. Gilmore repaired whatever limb he managed to lose in combat, but… the fight against Black Ghost gave him purpose, direction, something to do, and it was hard to figure out what his life was for without it.
At least he wasn’t alone. The looming threat of rent and, worse, his own cooking persuaded him to stick around on the Dolphin, and the rest of the cyborgs, for whatever reason, lingered, too. Jet would never admit it, but it was… nice having them nearby. Jet tried to live in normalcy, and he didn’t make it very far. It was hard– trying to reintegrate with a society so far ahead from the time he called home. Not to mention that getting close to anyone often got them involved, which meant them getting hurt. There was no one else in the world that understood him more than his team, though even he tried not getting attached at first. They lived dangerous lives, and there was no telling what moment would be their last. For the past 50 years, he’s managed to survive, and he’d like to keep living, for the most part.
Existential crisis aside, Jet needed to do something, and he was going to make it someone else’s problem.
“What are you doing?”
The question shouldn’t warrant the strange look on Albert’s face. Jet initially mistook it as annoyance, but that looked different– no, annoyance was Albert’s lips pursing, hard wrinkle between his furrowed brows, eyes somehow reflecting irritation even without the presence of pupils. Instead, Albert tilted his head, quirked the side of his mouth, and looked Jet up and down in amusement.
“Nichts wirklich. Du?”
Jet must have made a stupid, stupid face, because Albert just laughed, laughed so hard the novel he was reading fell right out of his hands and onto the floor.
“I don’t– I don’t… know what you just said,” Jet mumbled, feeling his face grow hot in embarrassment. “And stop laughing at me!”
“Nein, natürlich nicht.” Albert wheezed, laughs trickling to quiet huffs through his nose. “Ah, wow. That was good.”
“So…” Jet rubbed the back of his neck.
Albert tilted his head, mouth curved upwards, like a smug cat. “So.”
“You… know English?” While not the most pertinent question to ask, it was the one with the most curiosity behind it.
“Most Germans do.” Jet couldn’t say that he was surprised by that. Albert uncrossed his legs and picked up his book, placing it on the table. “I don’t suppose you know much else, though.”
“Hey! Don’t you know what they say about assuming?” Jet tightly crossed his arms, annoyed that Albert was mostly right. “I know… a little Italian.”
Albert raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue.
“Uh. Okay.” Jet cleared his throat, trying to think back to the little phrases he picked up as a teen. All that came to mind was the one-liners that worked on some of the street girls. “...Hai degli occhi bellissimi.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
“...Nothing.” Jet already proved his point; he didn’t need to go out of his way to embarrass himself, though Albert looked hardly convinced. “Anyway, we should tell Dr. Gilmore about our translators being busted–”
“I already did,” Albert interrupted.
Jet curled his lip. “And you didn’t think to tell me because…?”
“Well, I thought Dr. Gilmore would’ve had it fixed by now. Guess it’s more complicated than he anticipated.” It was more likely that Albert just wanted an excuse to pull that prank on him, but Jet wouldn’t fight him on it, this time.
“Huh. Okay.” Jet wondered how the other cyborgs were fairing. He couldn’t be the only one who only spoke one language… right?
It wasn’t as if there was much use for it where he and his gang were concerned. Fists spoke louder than words. Jet wasn’t exactly punctual in the classroom, either. Between schoolyard fights and part-time jobs to get food on the table, school was on the lower end of his priorities.
“In any case,” Albert brought him back to reality. “Did you need something?”
“No, not really, but…” Jet paused. “If you wanted to, I don’t know, teach me some German, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Sounds like you’re using me to cure your boredom.” Right again, two for two. Albert gestured to the empty chair next to him. “If you insist. Just be prepared, I’m a strict teacher.”
Strict was right– Albert didn’t let him out of his seat until he learned to count to ten in German, forward and back. The pride on Albert’s face when he managed to do so was worth it, though Albert didn’t need to know that part.