Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jett was almost left for dead today.

Her, Sage, Omen, Killjoy, and KAY/O were sent to Venice to thwart a radianite extraction. Killjoy was ambushed while holding down A site, understandably fleeing towards Sage on B for solace.

Venice wasn’t quite the sight for sore eyes that many people made it out to be for her. To Jett, this place was the birthplace of her ostracization. The home of her exile. The reason she cannot enjoy her life while she can.

And she hates it.

KAY/O, while being able to pick off two of the Omega agents on Killjoy’s now useless site, was shot down in market. And yet, despite Sage’s orders not to, Jett dashed into long, sloppily disarming and killing the Deadlock who had shot down the initiator.

Omen emerges from market, utilizing his smokes for a better entry, and Jett uses them to her advantage, twirling one of her knives in the air above her hand before killing the opposing Raze. She imagines it was hard for her or Killjoy to see each other.

She wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

Jett shakes her head; there are bigger things on her plate than feeling bad for their damned Omega counterparts. She sheaths her knife.

Info told her that there’s one more of them.

Her own double.

The spike is planted, roughly a minute before it blows, and they have no idea where her rogue counterpart is.

Jett pulls out her gun, sidearm holstered on her side, and she enters the boathouse with quiet steps. Her heart is pounding in front of her eyes, and her arms are sluggish— her stature falters ever so slightly as she clears boathouse, lifting a hand from her gun to tap her communications and—

She feels a bullet enter and exit through her shoulder blade and she yells. She feels another lodge in the area between the nape of her neck and shoulder and hurls forward, stumbling on her feet and trying to exit the area. Her breathing is ragged. Her knees are dragging against the rubble of the site. She’s holding onto the archway for purchase. She can hear the footsteps of her double and she wants to fucking scream.

In a last ditch effort— looking back on it, it was probably the adrenaline— she uses the wind to unsheath one of her knives, and fling it towards her double.

She can’t mess up this time. Not again.

She will not let her go.

Omen is quick to swing the corner and take out her clone, the knife that Jett threw cutting through her double’s white bangs as she fell to the floor, lodging into the wall.

Omen utters a small, “Storm is out,”

He runs to defuse the spike as Jett tries to pick herself up with the help of the archway, watching Omen defuse with a hazy look. She holds the exit wound with an exasperated groan, and her knees buckle below her.

The spike folds itself back into its original, triangular shape and Jett falls to her knees again. She sees Omen throw the defuser to the side, quick to catch her head before she hits it on the hard surface, laying her down.

Her eyes flutter shut, and the last thing she hears other than her heart beating behind her eyes is Sage’s urgent footsteps.

It’s bright. Too fucking bright.

Jett shuffles in her sleep, hearing faint voices around her. She’s too tired and too pained to even try and guess who it is.

Jett squints her eyes before adjusting to the light and she realizes that she’s in the infirmary. She hears the whirring of the godforsaken fluorescent lights and she’s lying in a cot. Sage is sitting by her feet, looking at Killjoy trying her best to assess KAY/O’s damages— they leave shortly after, bidding adieu to the rest in the room. Omen is supposedly sitting just a bit away from her because she hears him speak,

“Sage. She is awake.”

Sage whips her head in Jett’s direction, and Jett offers her a pained, awkward smile.

“Sun, tiān a, thank goodness,” Sage exhales as Jett tries to push herself up. Sage’s gentle hands come to assist her. Jett looks down and there’s a bandage around her torso— there’s blood on it. Quite a bit, actually.

“I was starting to get worried. You weren’t waking up— it’s a very good thing you have. Liam finished preparing dinner— you must eat,” Sage rambles, resting her against the headboard.

“Did I pass out?” Jett asks, rubbing her eyes. Omen is gone when she opens them. Jett is too tired to ask about it— she simply shakes her head to wake herself up and looks at Sage.

“Yes, you did.” Sage responds, the tiniest bit of irritation in her voice, “Sun, have you been sleeping? Do not lie. I will ask Cypher to check the cameras myself—“

“No,” Jett exhales, “I haven’t— I was in the training sim last night, and—“

“Why? Because you were paranoid for this mission?”

“No—“ Jett lies through her teeth, “Ugh, yes! Look, after what happened last time—“

An urgent, “Sun.”

“— I really didn’t wanna mess up, and—“

An even more urgent, “Sun.”

She stops mid-sentence. She looks at Sage tiredly, bags under her eyes, on a lot of painkillers, and with a GSW to the shoulder.

Sage sighs, and instead of lecturing her, she walks towards the door, taking a tray from what seemed to be Omen before walking back to Jett. She then notices Sage hasn’t changed out of her mission gear. Killjoy has. Omen has. Jett then realizes that Sage was probably by her side the entire time she was asleep. That was a sucker punch to the gut for her. How can this woman be so caring and how could she be so reckless?

“He made that wagyu you bought him,” Sage says with the smallest laugh in her voice, “You better eat it.”

Jett whines a pained laugh, adjusting in her stance to take the tray, but Sage leaves it on the side table next to the cot and picks up a spoonful of rice and cut steak— Jett realizes that Omen probably made sure to cut it into tiny pieces so it was easier for her to eat; she makes a mental note to thank him later— then holds it up to Jett, spoon feeding her.

It’s admittedly childish, but Jett can’t help but take it into her mouth and hum when she chews. She loves it when Brim makes steak. And she can tell it was Neon who made the rice. She knows the perfect rice-to-water ratio and she can taste it every single time.

Sage continues to feed her like a mother cat and Jett can’t do anything but finish every bite she gives her. She’s tired, hungry, and hurting; this is exactly what she needs.

As Sage goes to pull another bite for her, Jett holds up her hand, still chewing. Sage sets it down and folds her hands in front of her, looking at Jett expectantly.

“I’m sorry— like, really sorry,” Jett begins, swallowing the previous bite, “I know it was just an extraction denial but it was like— fuck, how do I even explain it?” She runs a hand through her hair, feigning a laugh, “I just— didn’t wanna see any of you get hurt ‘cause of me. Last time was, like, ten times worse, and—“

“Sun,” Sage has been saying that far too many times for Jett’s comfort in the same exasperated tone, “I speak for everyone when I say this; you are more than capable of protecting everyone on your team, it’s when you start to doubt yourself that you are not. How many hours of sleep have you lost over this—?”

“A lot,”

“I don’t want to know.” Sage sighs, rubbing her eyes as she picks up the spoon again to indefinitely shut up Jett for a good minute, “All I’m saying is that going into a mission like that with no previous rest is sabotage within itself— and that goes for any reason why you stayed up.”

Jett chews and looks at Sage with pensive eyes, looking away to swallow. Before she can speak, Sage opens her mouth.

“I really admire you, Sun,” she says with the tiniest smile tugging at her lips, “Truly, I do. You have the initiative of a lover but the soul of a fighter— I have not seen that in a very long time; usually it’s the other way around,” she sets the spoon down, folding her hands in front of her once again, “But you are unique— Sun, with those knives in your midst, you aim to protect, and that is a gift tarnished by doubt.”

Jett didn’t know what to say after that.

“All I am saying is that you shouldn’t doubt yourself. You are capable of greatness.”

What an amazing way to end the biggest compliment Jett has ever received in her life. What. A. Way.

Jett feels like she’s going to cry, but she bites her tongue and mumbles out a pitiful thanks as she opens her mouth for another bite. Sage looks at her and laughs ever so slightly.

“Your face is all red, Sun. Please do not cry.”

“I’m not crying. You’re crying.” Jett sniffs, taking the spoonful of rice and steak as she takes a mental note of everything that has happened today.

1. Almost compromised a mission.
2. Almost DIED.
3. Brimstone made her steak.
4. Omen cut said steak into tiny pieces to make it easier for her to eat.
5. Neon made the rice. (It probably wasn’t because she knew, but it was still a good thing.)
6. Sage stayed by Jett’s side all throughout her recovery.
7. Sage is spoon-feeding her like a mama bird.
8. Sage just gave Jett the biggest compliment she’s ever received in her whole life.

Mouth full, she speaks, “Never mind, I’m crying.” Water drips down from her tear ducts and Sage laughs, putting down the spoon and giving Jett a warm hug.

She doesn’t hug back. She’s too busy jumbling the sheets in her hands while trying not to sob with a mouthful of steak and rice in her mouth.

This is pathetic. It’s hilariously pathetic. Jett’s face is red while she tries not to spit out her food from crying. Sage is laughing and rubbing her back to ease her, and the sight almost makes her laugh. Jett feels so comfortable in Sage’s presence and Sage knows it especially while cooing reassuring nothings into her ear.

Through a sob (after swallowing, mind you), Jett asks a very off-topic question.

“Can we train soon? Please? Run drills? Together? Like we used to?”

Sage can tell Jett is shaking.

So, she hugs her tighter.

“No,” Sage begins, and Jett whines, “not until you’re properly rested.” She pulls away.

Jett blinks.

“I’m going to ask Liam to put you off the mission roster for a little while. Just so you break that habit of yours. I want you to rest— try new things. You really need a break, Sun.”

Jett’s going to cry again.

“Are you suuure? I mean, I can just—“

“No.” Sage means it this time, “I can heal you, but that doesn’t mean you’re in tip-top shape immediately. You need time to level yourself. If I find you in the training deck anytime after this during your leave, I’ll be very upset with you.”

“Loud and clear.” Jett rolls her eyes, and Sage already has a spoonful of food in front of her mouth. Jett assumes she won’t let her go until she finishes her plate.

Jett is okay with that.

By the time she’s finished, a couple of agents have come and gone into the infirmary to check up on Jett.

First, it was Neon. She ran in with Brimstone following behind her, worried out of her mind.

“Susmariosep, Sun, I thought you died! Iniwang mamatay.” She speeds through her words and Jett laughs tiredly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay? Sage fixed you up, right?”

Jett nods her head, pulling Neon into a delicate hug, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

“I brought you turon,” She says, fetching a napkin from Brimstone, “I saw you didn’t come down for dinner, and I was so confused. You love it when Boss makes steak. You’re usually in there helping him— mission or not.”

Jett likes that Neon knows that about her. It makes her smile.

“Thanks for the turon. I’m gonna snack on it after I nap.”

And she does.

Because after her nap, Sage is gone, (she left a note; ‘going to eat dinner and shower. Page if you need me.’), and Phoenix and Yoru are walking in.

Jett, chewing, goes to say ‘hi’ but Yoru cuts her off.

“Why would you do that?”

Then Phoenix, “Mate, we could’a lost you,”

“You rested, right?”

“Oh, yeah, shit, she’s gotta rest— let’s go—“

Jett, annoyed, says, “No! I’m fine. Just stay here for a bit while I eat. The silence has been killing me.” She claws her hands down her face, making a monstrous look, “And plus, I was gonna head out soon anyway.”

“But you did rest, right?” Yoru crosses his arms, walking up to Jett’s cot. Phoenix is already sitting at the end of the bed, looking at Jett expectantly.

Jett rolls her eyes, “Yes. I just woke up from the best nap ever,” She gestures to the bed, “and now I’m eating the turon Neon gave me.” She twirls the turon in the air with her wind before holding it once again, taking a big bite.

Yoru bends down for a bite. Jett gives him one.

“We just wanted to make sure you were all good, Sunny,” Phoenix says, holding a hand out for their little handshake. Jett holds hers out to complete it.

“I’m … fine. I could be better, but I’m fine,” Jett shrugs, taking another bite, “You guys busy? I kinda wanted to lie back at the beach before the sun sets.”

“About that,” Phoenix says with an embarrassed smile.

Yoru cuts him off, “He joined a book club.”

“Aye! Way to ruin it!”

Jett then howls with laughter.

“You did? I didn’t know we had a book club.” She says in between giggles. Yoru’s snickering too.

Phoenix rolls his eyes, “It’s called broadening my horizons. Somethin’ you lot wouldn’t understand,” he says proudly, pointing fingers at the both of them, “and plus, I like a good book now and again.”

“Pretty boy’s a bookworm.” Jett smiles, offering Yoru a bite. He holds his hand in front of him, shaking his head. Jett nods, looking back at Phoenix.

“You just never struck me as someone who likes flipping a page,” Yoru simply says, offering Jett a hand to get up. She takes it.

“Quit faffing,” Phoenix waves his hand in the air, pushing himself up, “I’m gonna be late cuzza you two!” Yoru rolls his eyes at Phoenix’s sizeable reaction, waiting for Jett to take the first step so he can follow behind her– just to keep an eye on her, is all.

“I wanna walk you.” Jett stretches, treading towards the door with Phoenix. Yoru follows closely behind, “Who’s in book club anyway?”

“Well, for one, Deadlock cranked up the whole thing– then it’s Iso and Fade. Omen joins us sometimes, but y’know, only if he knows the book and whatnot,” Phoenix explains with a shrug, all of their footsteps pittering against the linoleum floors. Jett feels comforted by this.

She doesn’t know if it’s Phoenix’s warm vibe or Yoru’s protective stride behind them, but she feels at ease. She feels safe and she feels like she could do anything.

Phoenix stops at the door, looking at his phone and then the label.

SECTOR 3, TRAINING ROOM 6

“Iso said the meetin’ was here, I’ll see you lot around, yeah?” Phoenix gives the two a cheek grin before sliding the door, bidding them adieu. Yoru nods. Jett smiles back and waves him goodbye.

She pivots on the tips of her toes, looking up at Yoru ardently, “So, where are you off to, Zarusoba?” The nickname rolls off her tongue like butter and Yoru rolls his eyes in response, pushing her face away with his hand. She laughs it off, pulling away his wrist.

“I was going to walk you to the beach, but since you’ve taken time out of your day to give me that terrible nickname, I guess I won’t.” Yoru crosses his arms, pretending to take a step forward. Jett grabs his arm, skittering on over to him.

“Nah, you’re walkin’ me whether you like it or not. You wouldn’t let a recovering patient go off on her own, would you? Man, I thought you were better than this,” Jett teases, patting his arm as she walks next to him.

“Fine then.”

Part of Jett knows that Yoru wouldn’t have left her to walk alone. She thinks it might be because he had nothing better to do, but Yoru knows it’s because he didn’t want her getting herself hurt even if the HQ is the safest place in the world for her as of right now.

They walk in silence— the tiniest bit unusual for Jett, but not quite for Yoru unless it was a sarcastic quip.

She breaks the silence, “How’s your bike?”

“You ask that as if it’s a living thing.”

“Isn’t it like your baby?”

Yoru scoffs, “As if.”

Jett hums, “It might as well be.”

“Oh, of course,” Yoru agrees with a grain of salt, rolling his eyes. He twirls his comb out, checking himself out in the spike cases reflection, pushing back a couple of stray hairs. Jett bites back a laugh, plastering a grin onto her face in the process.

“You gotta take me on a joyride one of these days. I hear those things are fast.” She says, nudging Yoru ever so slightly as he twirls the comb in his hands, moving to fix a stray hair of Jett’s like he always does. Jett shakes her head to fix it back into the ‘messy’ look.

Yoru rolls his eyes for what feels like the fiftieth time that day, but he nods in agreement. Jett puffs her cheeks, gently slamming her fist onto the touchpad, opening the door to the outside, a path making its way to the shore of the island.

Jett turns to look at Yoru before stepping backward outside, “Thanks for walking me, Zarusoba. I’ll pay you back for your glorious services, trust me.”

“In zarusoba?”

“Oh, you know it.”

Yoru closes the door in her face. Jett can hear a ‘thanks’ behind it. She snickers.

Now, that walk.

Chapter Text

The walk starts off quiet. Jett left her shoes at the door and she can feel the gravel turn to soft, grainy sand under her feet as she descends down to the shore. She has her hands in her pockets, humming a little tune as she fixes her bun into a ponytail.

She doesn’t like being left alone with her thoughts, but Sage gave her a rare opportunity to broaden her horizons. (She giggled a little bit thinking about it like that; in the wise words of Phoenix himself.)

The thoughts run through her brain at thousands of miles per hour, and as much as it bothers her, it should be worth thinking about, right? She has to face her problems headfirst— that’s the only way they’ll be solved. Not through shooting a bot in the face (as much as she’d like to) or throwing one of her knives into a palm tree until the bark splits down the middle.

Venice. Seoul. 

That little shit from Omega just had to ruin her life, huh?

Her fists tighten, but Jett swears she hears music. It’s hard to brood when there’s something like that in the air. Her grip softens at the melodic reverberations. She takes a deep breath.

It’s subtle. You wouldn’t hear it if you weren’t paying attention. The sound flows through the wind currents, and Jett finds herself inching towards it, her steps unwavering and urgent.

The melody stops. So does Jett.

She hears an exclamation— Spanish.

And she knows that voice.

Jett’s steps pitter through the sand, kicking it ever so slightly as she walks towards the source, bright magenta hair glistening in the sunset. The tanned skin, the black tattoo sleeve, and the hoop earrings are a dead giveaway. The confusing thing is the acoustic guitar.

“Jett. I can tell it’s you, Ventosa.” Reyna’s words are sultry, honeyed, and they never fail to send a shiver down Jett’s spine. She finds herself spilling out an apology almost immediately, to which Reyna responds, “No, it’s fine. Come join me.”

Jett exhales through her nose, walking towards Reyna’s blanket set on the sandy beach. She’s tanning, as far as Jett can tell. Reyna has sunglasses on with a black two piece, her magenta coverup sheer and flowing in the small breeze by the shore.

Jett hardly looks the part.

“I didn’t know you played the guitar.” She begins, trying to strike up conversation. She looks at the guitar in Reyna’s lap. She then averts her gaze to the space between them, blanket and all. It’s a simple design; green and purple— Jett wonders if she’s seen Gekko with it at one point. She plays with it between her fingertips.

“Everyone has their hobbies, mija. This isn’t even my guitar. I took it from Brimstone.” Reyna hums, strumming, her face focused as she plucks the D string, face warping as she tunes it. Jett watches.

“He was just fine with it?”

“What Brimstone does not know will not hurt him,” is all Reyna says. Jett can see a mischievous look in her eye. It makes her smile just a little bit.

Jett doesn’t understand why people fear Reyna outside of the protocol. Understandably, she is terrifying— but in moments like these? When she’s tanning on the beach at sunset, strumming her guitar as the wind blows through her hair? Jett can hardly wrap her head around the fact that this woman is a killing machine.

But before that, after all, she has a life. She has her humanity. She has hobbies. She has family. She has friends.

Jett envies her.

Reyna speaks up, “I hear you’ve been pulled off the mission roster, cariño.”

“Oh.” Jett’s face sours, “Yeah.”

“Ling Ying tells me you were reckless,” Reyna says, plucking the strings to find that the guitar is in fact, tuned to perfection. “But I don’t care for her opinion. I want to know what you see, cariño.”

Jett drums her fingers on her thighs, formulating her thoughts as Reyna begins playing the beginning of a song she doesn’t recognize, but that doesn’t matter to her either. Reyna’s playing is all that matters at this moment.

“Thing is, I was reckless.”

“It’s not hard to believe.”

“Sshi.” Jett frowns.

“But go on, tell me more.”

Jett has a feeling Reyna isn’t listening. But she has an opportunity to bitch about her problems, so why not take it?

“Last mission wasn’t my best, so, I guess it kinda messed with me,” Jett shrugs, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head, “Lots of people got hurt—“

“Last mission,” she interrupts, “that was with your double, yes?” Reyna asks, still playing tablature. “I’ve noticed you lose yourself in those missions. Jett, mi amiga, you must learn restraint.”

“I know restraint. I know plenty about restraint.” Jett burrows her face, turning to look at Reyna tiredly. “But tell me anyway.”

“When you see her, you feel rage— rage makes you blind,” Reyna hums, “and when you’re blind? Too many spots for you to get shot.” She’d gently graze her thumb against the bloodied bandage, the gauze still fresh.

Jett looks at Reyna’s hand. It was a funny thing, really. Reyna talks about all of this, but if we’re following that logic, isn’t her leer full of rage? Does Reyna channel her fury into her radiance? An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind— yet here is Reyna, unscathed and playing Brimstone’s guitar with the same hands that have taken the souls of her foes.

Thinking about it makes Jett’s head hurt.

“And, Ventosa, you are so young. Too young and talented to be worrying about your double’s actions. You live according to you, not the life your copy’s made for you, cariño.”

“I wish it were that easy,” Jett rolls her eyes as Reyna continues to repeat the same line of tablature, clicking her tongue when she messes up. “It’s way harder when Brimstone is up in my business telling me that it’s a security risk. And while I like the little recon missions he makes me go on every once in a while, I cannot handle Cypher lecturing me every time something happens.”

Reyna sours her look at the mention of Cypher. Jett feels the wind around her thicken. She breathes out to ground herself.

“I will tell you what I tell Tala,” Reyna begins, strumming now, “harness your emotions.”

Reyna strums up and down, down and up, her fingers sliding on the fretboard, “Channel that rage and lead it— it should be used as a tool, not as a last resort.” Her words are honeyed with experience— as if she was once in Jett’s shoes.

Jett highly doubts someone as ‘take-all’ as Reyna would understand what she was feeling and know how to fix it, but part of her knows that her words aren’t coming with a grain of salt.

And the mention of Neon made Jett realize that it wasn’t. She’d seen Neon in the field, and shit, that girl was good.

Before their first official mission together, Jett had seen her scores in the sim, and they were good. And before she saw her in the sim? She’d see her in the gym with Skye.

Neon never failed to amaze Jett. So did Reyna.

The admiration that Jett had for those two radiants was nothing short of life changing— she strived to be better. Always. Neon was always working towards something— she always had a goal. And Reyna? She has something to fight for. She has someone.

Lucia wasn’t a secret. Jett knew. Not much, but she knew. All of the agents talked about it, and if you were new, you’d probably hear it from someone one way or another— gossip gets around quickly in these parts— plus, Jett was no stranger to the way Reyna utters words under her breath, hermanita rolling off her tongue. It wasn’t like a prayer— it was more like a promise. A force worth fighting for. It was a pledge.

Jett wishes she had a Lucia. A Lucia of her own, because maybe then, she could actually think before she strikes. She turns off her brain when she fights— she aims, she pulls the trigger, and usually they go down. It’s the same, repetitive routine.

Until she fucked up.

Now she’s here with Reyna at sunset, sitting on the beach and talking about her problems over a strum of chords.

Jett wouldn’t have it any other way.

“This is so cliché,” she huffs a laugh, and she swears she can hear Reyna laugh a little, too, “but I get what you mean. It’s not exactly easier in practice, but I guess I can try.”

Come to think of it, Jett really misses her halbae. She misses his food, specifically, and as she thinks of him, she swears she can taste the lingering spiciness from her halbae’s bibimbap in her mouth. She salivates ever so slightly, a small smile curling onto her lips. She scoffs a laugh, recalling old memories over the dinner table— they’re bittersweet; she won’t be able to experience that so long as her face has to be wiped from security footage.

Then she thinks of her double.

She doesn’t scowl. She doesn’t grunt.

Instead, she takes a deep breath.

It was out of her grasp, right? It wasn’t her fault. Jett knew that. So what if everyone in the public eye didn’t? As much as she would hate to shoulder that thought, she does so the best she can.

And that’s enough.

It’s not that big of a step, but it’s enough.

Jett then notices Reyna has been playing her guitar while she ponders. It’s the right ambience Jett needs.

She rolls her shoulders, fixing her head in her knees to look over at Reyna, her eyes closed as she follows the melody with muscle memory. It sort of reminds Jett of her time at the restaurant, cutting and cooking with the deftness of her hand— come to think of it, she could probably make gyeran mari with her eyes closed.

She might just do that.

“What do you do to focus, niña? Don’t lie to me and say you don’t do anything. I wouldn’t believe that.” Reyna asks, her eyes opening to glance at Jett and back to the fretboard. She strums lightly, not loud like she did when Jett was zoning out. It provides solace.

“I don’t really know,” Jett admits.

Reyna clears her throat, and Jett can tell she’s not satisfied with her answer, “Then I will rephrase; what do you do that forces you to focus?”

“Throwing my knives.”

“Outside of combat, niña.”

“Cutting stuff.”

“That’s a start,” Reyna mutters, fixing one of the tuning knobs, “but, you have other hobbies, no?

Jett bites her tongue, “I used to dance. I did hip-hop with one of my friends back in high school. It didn’t last, but it was… fun, I guess?”

“You should get back into it,” Reyna responds, “Good exercise. I’m sure Tala would enjoy dancing with you.”

Reyna reaches her hand out, lightly grazing Jett’s shoulder and tracing the muscle of them with her acrylics, “And, you are very thin— agile. Good set of muscles. You’ll fit right in with the scene,” she compliments, pulling her hand away to rest on the top of the guitar, “It’s good to have hobbies, mija. If we didn’t have them, we’d grow restless. Crazy.”

“I know,” Jett mumbles.

It’s the truth. Jett knows that.

But she’d rather go crazy if it meant she’d have to give up the one thing that makes her feel like she has a purpose. VALORANT was the first thing in a while that gave her that— something to do. The best part was that she didn’t have to worry about being noticed in public. These missions were covert, and for a moment, Jett was happy that she was hidden and shadowed from the public eye.

But that was only for a moment. Jett’s too much of a social butterfly not to get tired of it.

Before the actual protocol there were solo missions; then came the squadrons. Fortunately, it was better. Jett made friends quickly— good friends at that. But they got to go outside for down time.

Jett didn’t.

It was always something about ‘laying low’ from Breach, or Brimstone continuously explaining that she cannot go out. The whole idea of it made Jett want to scream. Sure, she was able to go out now, but that’s with other people. It can’t just be her.

She was okay with that to an extent.

“Jett, niña, I like these hobbies you have,” Reyna says, pulling the guitar strap over her head and setting it on the blanket in front of them, “Cooking especially. You should do it more often. I see you cook with Brimstone— the food you two make for us es muy bien. Too good.” She punctuates with a snap.

“Maybe you could give cooking a try again. Or baking.” Reyna advises, “I think you’d find it’s worth your time, cariño.”

“Baking is so much different than cooking, though. In cooking, I can improvise. Baking? I gotta be exact with everything.” Jett complains, “But, I could probably give it a try.”

“I’ll help you one of these days. We can make tres leches.” Reyna stretches, and Jett can hear a couple of bones crack. Reyna lets out a sigh of relief.

“Yum! I’m down.” Jett smiles, her hands falling to her sides, propping herself up as she leans backward.

They sit like that for a while.

Reyna has since laid down, basking in the sunlight. Jett looks towards the horizon longingly, and the sky turns from the burnt orange of dusk to the purple hues of nightfall over time. After sunbathing, Reyna gets up.

“We don’t have all day, Jett.”

“Sunwoo.”

“¿Qué fue eso?“

“Sunwoo Han. My name is Sunwoo Han.”

“Ah,” Reyna nods, helping Jett up from the blanket. “Well, Sunwoo…”

A teasing smile is on her face. Jett assumes the worst.

“Zyanya thinks you’re sunburnt.”

The use of the third person throws Jett off guard— one, because now she knows Reyna’s first name, and second, because she didn’t even realize she was sunburnt.

“What? No.” She says that last part with a little playful growl, turning her head to look at her shoulders.

They were a discernible red, and upon looking at them, Jett itches. She whines and Reyna laughs.

“Careful, mija, you’ll irritate it more.”

“I’m already irritated!” Jett whines, covering her sunburn with her hands, crossed in front of her chest. Reyna is grabbing the blanket, folding it in. Jett is quick to take the folded blanket, wanting to be of help. Reyna utters a thank you.

“You should come tan with me again, Ventosa. Even if you get all red.” Reyna teases, rubbing an exposed part of Jett’s shoulder with her thumb. Jett’s shoulders droop, and she pouts. “Don’t look so miserable— you won’t get burnt again, mija, that’s what sunscreen is for.”

Jett blows raspberry, following Reyna up the beach, “I know. I’ll make sure to dress appropriately for the beach next time.”

Reyna nods.

It’s quiet on the walk back, and Jett doesn’t mind. She listens to the quiet tapping of their footsteps combined with the incoming twilight winds and she comes up with a great idea.

Talking to people like this— getting to know her fellow agents— was liberating.  She never knew Reyna was so easy to talk to. Maybe it was because she caught her at a good time, or maybe Reyna is just nicer to people depending on first impressions (which Jett hoped hers was good when they first met; if not, why would she have given her the time of day?).

Nonetheless, she has plans now.

A checklist, if you will.

The pair make their way to the sliding door, and Reyna pushes the button while Jett kneels down to slip on her shoes, subsequent to running in place just to remove any lingering sand particles on her skin.

Reyna walks in first, coverup covered by another coverup that Jett didn’t notice when she first sat next to her on the beach. She turns to look at Jett, who followed in her footsteps.

“That blanket,” she begins, “it’s Mateo’s. If you could return it for me, I’ll be very grateful. I have… bigger matters to attend to,” and she gestures to the guitar slung on her back, a small, mischievous smile on her face. It shows the tiniest bit of remorse, and Jett can’t help but return the smile tenfold. 

“Yeah, I can do that.”

So, they part ways and that’s when Jett finds herself at Gekko’s door, knocking twice.

The door slides open, and Jett doesn’t see anything. Then she hears a little blubber of noise, and she looks down to see Wingman looking up at her. Thrash slithers up next to him.

“Oh.” Jett blinks, looking around for Gekko, then seeing him passed out on his bed, cuddling Dizzy. Mosh is lying in the space between the nape of his neck and the pillow. It’s like a little puzzle of radivores and Gekko. Jett’s giddy smile returns.

“I’ll leave it on his bed, lil guy,” Jett says, speaking in a lower tone to accommodate the sleeping trio. Her steps are light as she walks on the linoleum flooring of the room, utilizing her radiance to keep herself from making noise. She places the neatly folded blanket on the foot of Gekko’s bed. She kneels down to fist bump Wingman (to the best of her ability) and pet Thrash along her back before walking out.

She stretches, closing the door behind her.

Maybe she should call it a night.

Chapter Text

The next day comes, and supposedly Reyna said something to Brimstone. Either that or it’s just a coincidence that he assigned her to be the coverup chef for the food truck in Boyle Heights the next day. She was only the tiniest bit miserable. Not because she was working there— God, no. How could she be if she got to make food all day and turn her brain off? She was just a bit miserable because of the person who was assigned to work with her that day. And the many times in the past.

“Jett, don’t slouch! You look like an aljinu,” A clear of the throat, “Stand up straight. Please.”

She rubs her eyes, “Cypher, no one cares about that stuff. They just want their food.”

Yes. Cypher.

“And fix your hair, what if they find some in their tacos? Here, let me get your hair clip…—“

“ Cypher. It’s really fine. I’ll fix it, I get it. I worked in a restaurant for, like, years, chill.”

He mumbles and she sighs as she redoes her ponytail.

It’s not that Jett dislikes Cypher, it’s just…

Let’s put it this way–

Jett finds Cypher interesting, mostly because he’s so damn secretive. She knows enough about his expertise, and she knows that he’s definitely a killer. She tries not to think about it too much— this snarky, rather laid-back, absolute dad joke of a man. He’s so fuckin’ unserious, too. Jett has no idea about this guy and it gives her the heebie jeebies. He can switch up so quickly. It just makes her uneasy.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she starts clearing the way to close the concession window, moving condiments and waving off potential customers as she continues to close up shop for the night. It’s around 8:50 PM, and Cypher is still typing away at his computer, muttering incoherent nothings under his breath. Jett reaches to close the window, walking over to the stove to make herself a little snack.

“Are you hungry, Cypher?” She asks, turning on the stove, pulling a couple of ingredients in her midst, humming Reyna’s tune under her breath, swaying her hips ever so slightly.

“Oh, yes, of course. I’ve found a liking to eating cold food,” Cypher replies with the tiniest snicker in his voice, and Jett deadpans.

She forgot that he doesn’t eat or drink in front of people. She doesn’t know how her memory fails to aid her— this has happened on multiple occasions. Maybe she just needs to get her footing back.

It’s understandable, too. It dials back to his whole ‘mysterious’ schtick. As much as Jett finds it annoying, she respects it. If the whole ‘covert operation’ thing had a competition, Cypher would come out on top for how well hidden he is. Minus what Fade did— and Sova. Jett shakes her head.

“Right. Why do I even ask?” She says with the same level of sarcasm, and Cypher laughs a little harder, making Jett do the same. She grabs a bun, putting it on the pan just to toast it a little bit. “Is it, I dunno, annoying? Having to wait until you’re alone to do all that stuff?”

Jett adds, “I’m not trying to get up in your business or anything. It just seems really mindless. Do you like, starve all day?”

“No, nono,” Cypher shakes his head, twirling around in his swivel chair, “it’s a reasonable question. And no, it is not annoying. I can’t believe you’ve never heard me scurry around the kitchen and run back to my little office. With how loud that teleporter is, I was sure the entirety of the protocol heard me and my little midnight antics.”

Jett zoned out a bit while hearing that. She forgot how much Cypher loves to talk.

“Do you get leftovers?” She asks almost instantly, looking towards Cypher, the slightest bit of disquietness in her eyes.

“Very often. Every now and then I cook for myself, but that’s only during the night,” he adds in an exasperated tone, “very late at night.”

Jett smiles, huffing through her nose, pulling off the bun and sprinkling some shredded cheese on it, grabbing a tiny blowtorch to melt it. “You know, food is always best when it’s fresh. Maybe I could leave you stuff whenever you’re hungry. Just page me. I can try to get it out to you in time.”

Jett adds, “And trust— I’ll leave you alone after so you can eat in peace.”

Cypher’s stature falters inconsiderably, directly going against the words he uttered to Jett not a while back, and she feels her heart swell with pride. His jaw moves, but he does not speak. He’s like that for just an ounce of a moment before he opens his mouth to speak.

His throat clears, and he says, “It’s far too much of a hassle. I don’t want to burden you, my little wind assassin. You have other, much more … important things to be doing …” he quickly adds, “and all.”

The wind assassin rolls her eyes at that statement, as dismissive as it is, “Cypher, cooking is a delicacy. It’s a luxury. I’m offering you luxury. And my cooking is good. Like, not to brag, but I can make a mean bulgogi torta,” she says, waving the blowtorch in the air, firing it two quick times before setting it down in its usual spot on the counter, sprinkling some other ingredients on her dish.

“Then I will consider it.” Cypher nods, tipping his hat to Jett, to which Jett nods her head towards him with the laziest curtsy he’s ever seen. He snickers.

Jett scoops her dinner into a little paper plate, sitting on one of the steps towards the concessions window to eat. Her plate is in her lap, hot against her bare knees, the jean jorts of her overalls riding up just a bit. She takes a generous bite, feeling Cypher watch her eat.

“Jett, you weren’t on the schedule for the coverup chef today. It was supposed to be me and Brimstone.” Cypher begins, disconnecting his laptop from the monitors, setting it in his lap, and facing it to show her, “Is it because of something I’m not yet aware of? Or does he just hate your guts?”

Jett laughs a little bit, “For someone always up in our business you seem to be pretty out of the loop, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Cypher waves his hand in front of him, “I don’t go through your records every day.” 

“Well, if you did, you’d find that Sage pulled me out of the mission roster so I could ‘focus on myself,’” Jett says before taking a big bite of her bulgogi torta, chewing loudly.

“Ah, that’s why. I do admit, though, I enjoy the company. With you here, I have someone to talk to. It gets a bit quiet. I’m accustomed to bustling people, saahebtee.” He says, pulling one leg to rest on his thigh.

Jett feels terrible upon hearing that, mostly because it’s news to her. After expressing how much she hated him pestering her, he did it out of some sort of care— better yet? He liked her company because he had someone. Someone to talk to. Someone to spend time with. She looks at the food in her lap with a frown.

“I’m glad I could give that to you, Cy.”

Jett says that even if she knows his name.

While he’s accustomed to bustling people, she’s accustomed to the way he mumbles the name under his tongue when they’re out on missions; I will crush your eyes, Amir.

“For a killer, you’re quite the sweetheart, Jett. I see you on missions, and it’s always the little things.” Cypher says, leaning back into the chair with a little sigh, “Whether it be you and Iso sharing a snack or pulling someone out of the way in fear of a bullet flying at their head—“

Jett laughs.

“— it’s all out of love. You care about everyone deeply. I can see it in your actions. How do you feel now?”

Cypher’s words lead Jett to the same conclusion she had about Reyna. For a cold-blooded killer, she still had people to take care of and things to do. The same hands she uses to kill her foes are used to tune a guitar or bake tres leches. In Jett’s case? Her hands are stained with blood– and some blood wasn’t actually shed by her hands. The tragic puppet of her ruthless Omega counterpart.

Her hands have killed, but they have also made some killer torta and given killer hugs to her friends. The thought of it almost makes her laugh; the vision of Yoru and Phoenix stuck in a bear hug of hers makes her stomach flutter ever so slightly.  

Jett knows it’s the same for Cypher.

Those same hands used to flip a coin or play chess have killed in cold blood. Those same hands used to lovingly pet Omen’s cats or play with Chamber’s puppy have taken the lives of indifferent doubles.

She ignores the question Cypher asks her, “I’d do the same for you, y’know?” Jett says, mouth full of torta as she says the beginning part, then swallowing. “You’re a pretty good friend.”

“We’re friends?” Cypher asks with a playful ring, making Jett roll her eyes. “I’m joking. Only joking.”

“I know,” Jett blows raspberry, taking a swig of water, “Besides, you’re worth the dad jokes and nitpicking.”

“I’m glad,” Cypher gleamed, flipping one of his trips in his hands as if it were a coin, “however, you never answered my question.”

Jett blinks, “What question?”

“How do you feel? Is the isolation killing you?” He asks, and Jett can see the slightest frown beneath the mask, “They clip your wings, and they won’t allow you anywhere.”

“Look— I get why Brim is keeping me out of the limelight or whatever, and yeah, it kinda sucks, but if I’m going to live like that, I’ll do it on my own terms.” Jett gulps, “And you’ve been doing a lot for me as is, so I thought I should stay low for a bit.”

“By doing a lot, do you mean wiping your face from the web?” Cypher asks.

“Yeah.”

Then he laughs. He laughs at her.

In between, he says, “My little wind assassin, you should know that I love a challenge.”

And Jett laughs too.

“You think I don’t have protocols set up if you decide to go out and about without filing a release form? Oh, please. I thought you had more faith in me!”

The laughter thickens, and Jett takes a bite of her torta to calm herself down, her cheeks puffing with air as she laughs and tries to chew simultaneously.

He was so easy to talk to.

Cypher adjusts his coat ever so slightly, “I have a worm that scours security footage for your face. I’ve done the same with Gekko– his little friends are far too much of an asset for us to lose.” 

Jett then discovers how much Cypher has done for her and her little escapades– may it be a late-night trip to the 24-hour convenience store with Phoenix or going to a food carnival with the team– all of that has been secured by Cypher himself. All of the times she neglected to fill out her release forms and went out on her own without Brimstone’s permission, Cypher was right at her back watching over her like a guardian angel.

It’s not as if she didn’t know that Cypher would wipe her face. She just didn’t know that he cared that much. She knows that Cypher doesn’t give away his services for free– he’s not a charity– but here he was, doing all of this for her.

Nonetheless, the day is old and Jett has now finished her torta, which has grown tepid over time, and she has to return to base with him. She kind of wishes that this moment wouldn’t end– she loves talking to Cypher. He has such a way with words that she can’t even describe. Sure, he has a weird analogy every now and then, but every time he presents it, an explanation follows suit.

“Jett,” Cypher begins, “if you are ever in dire need, you know that you can come to me, yes?”

She purses her lips.

Cypher continues, hands accentuating his speech, “And– I will never stop you from spreading those wings of yours without very good reason or worry. You can put your faith in me; I could be your locksmith.”
Another analogy.

Jett rolls her eyes at that realization, “As in, you’d break me out of my cage?”

“But of course. You know me so well.” 

She scoffs a laugh, folding up the empty paper plate and dumping it in the trash bin. She pulls off the apron over her head, fixing off her cap to wipe off some sweat forged by the Los Angeles heat. She hangs the apron before hooking the cap onto the belt buckle of her black overalls, stretching her legs.

Cypher gets up from his seat, mimicking the sprawl and holding out his hand. Jett digs into her pocket and tosses him the keys to the food truck, walking to the back exit.

“Where are you going?”

“Convenience store. I wanna see if they have my lil’ marshmallows.” Jett announces, pulling the door open, and Cypher sighs in response.

“Fine. Don’t get killed. Or take too long.”

Jett nods, giving Cypher a thumbs up before hopping down from the truck and towards the 24-hour shop just down the street, scatting syllables in a tune. She walks with a pep in her step, pulling open the door as a jingle plays through the intercom.

The cashier acknowledges her and she makes her way to the international section of the candy aisle, pulling a Hello Kitty brand-filled marshmallow off the rack.

Today must be a restock day.

Jett makes her way to the regular candy, skimming through generic names; Skittles, M&Ms, Hersheys, KitKat, and then— Sour Patch.

People appear in her mind as she looks at the corresponding name brands— Clove, Brimstone, Neon, Skye, then Viper. It wasn’t even that Jett knew Viper’s favorite candy. She just had a very big hunch that they were to Viper’s taste.

So– she pulls off a pouch of Sour Patch Watermelon and tucks it under her arm before walking towards the store's refrigerated section, grabbing herself a Red Bull and skimming the teas for something Cypher might fancy. In the end, she grabs an Arizona Iced tea for good measure.

She leaves with a (100% paid for— no strings attached) handful of goodies, speed walking towards the food truck. She yells through the door to get Cypher to open it. He pulls it open without having to show himself.

“You didn’t take long,” Cyper comments, closing the door behind Jett as he walks towards the front of the food truck, sitting in the driver's seat, beckoning Jett over. She thanks God (and Brimstone and Yoru) for the tinted windows, otherwise, passersby would see him driving and ask a simple question; “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, well, I kinda knew what I wanted to get,” she holds out the iced tea, “y’know?”

Cypher lets out a scoff-like laugh, taking the tea, holding it in his hand, and inspecting it. Jett sees his eyebrows raise and his lip juts as he studies it. She wonders just how this man could be so animated despite wearing a mask. It makes her silently giggle.

“Thank you. I’ll make sure to drink it.” He nods his head towards her, tipping his hat just a tiny bit before turning the keys into the ignition, ready to return to their designated rendezvous point where the VLT/R would pick them up. The drive is calm while the A/C blasts during the dry Summer heat of July in Los Angeles, and Cypher even removes his hat to fan himself with while keeping one hand on the wheel. Jett uses her own wind in parallelity to cool herself down ever so slightly. She could definitely go for a swim one of these days– in which, she might bring up to Brim; a chill beach day with everyone at the protocol. It could undoubtedly work for some bonding time– setting up that volleyball court she and Phoenix found in the storage room while looking for something to do, a bonfire, and maybe a jam session on the side? The thought makes Jett smile.

She stretches in the passenger seat and looks at Cypher. He drives steadily on the road.

The trip is quiet– minus the low-playing radio station (Heatwave 94.5 with Nina Cruz; Jett hears her a lot near the area where they sell tacos, she thinks she’s funny) that rings in her ears. She cracks open her Red Bull, allowing the fizzing bubbles to pop near the center of her face, and takes a swig. An energy drink is the one thing she needs after a long day of cooking, you feel?

Cypher turns up the volume the tiniest bit for Jett, but mostly for this awkward social situation they’re in.

“The sour candy. Who is it for?” Cypher asks, tapping his index finger on the steering wheel in a rhythmic manner, keeping his foot steady on the brake at the red light.

“Uh, Viper. I saw her snacking during movie night? You know…” Jett shrugs, “I dunno, I just wanted to do something and I had some extra money.”

He clears his throat, “That’s nice of you.”

Jett hums, “Yeah.”

“So is this your little escapade?”

The radiant raises a brow, utterly confused. “What? The taco gig? I mean, maybe? It’s fun and all. I get to turn my brain off—“

“No,” he laughs, “I’m aware you like cooking— I mean getting to know everyone. I’ve noticed you wandering around as of late. You’re always with someone. And it’s almost always someone new. Not Jamie or Ryo.”

She scoffs at the mention of Phoenix and Yoru, the tiniest bit annoyed with herself that she's always with them. You can’t blame her for liking their company, can you? Cypher’s wording almost made it sound like she was back in school with her little trio of friends— ‘when one comes, the others aren’t too far.’

“You kinda hit the nail on the head— jenjang— I thought I was being slick,” Jett frowned, “But I have a lot of free time now— no big bondings for a while— so, I guess I thought it’d be a good idea to chill around, chat, you know?”

“Have I been checked off your list, then?” Cypher asks, accelerating and making a turn into the rendezvous point— an old parking garage.

The dusk peering through the windows of the truck is occasionally blocked by the infrastructure, and Jett pulls her knees to her chest, slipping off her slides so as to not dirty the cushion.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Cypher nods, turning up to the top level, the sunset warm on Jett’s skin due to the lack of A/C (Cypher had turned it off upon entering the parking garage), and as soon as he parks, Jett gets out of the car.

The VLT/R is still in concealment mode, and Jett kinda kicks around until she feels the metal on her legs. She walks up the ramp to a little holographic screen at the top and disables the setting.

She walks over to get the pulley, ready to latch it onto the bumper of the food truck and reel it into the tiny cargo bay. Cypher assists her.

Before long, the On The Low Tacos food truck is in the bay and Jett can finally sit down in the pilot’s seat and put this bad boy into autopilot— a nap awaits her.

Cypher however sits in the co-pilot’s seat, tapping away at his laptop. The noise is a little annoying at first, but Jett is used to it. It’s fine with her.

The display shows up in front of Jett as she buckles her seatbelt, pressing specific buttons to ensure their flight path, ensuring the FTL drive is working— the whole ordeal is muscle memory at this point. When she first joined the protocol, Brimstone was insistent that she remembered how to operate this thing— he practically drilled it into her mind.

“I’m gonna take a nap, Cy. Just wake me up when we’re back,” Jett says that last part with a yawn, her words sizzling in her throat as she stretches. She scratches the back of her neck, then her shoulder blade, and taps on the autopilot button.

“Alright. Sweet dreams.” He coos like a mother, and Jett snorts, angling herself in her seat, waving him off. She shifts every now and then trying to get comfortable.

And to the quiet clacking of Cypher’s lined gloves to keys, she falls asleep, the tiniest bit of drool dripping down the corner of her mouth and her bangs ever so tousled.

Chapter Text

Brimstone kept Jett on the food truck schedule for a week after that.

On her third day, Brimstone admitted that it was just to keep her busy, and as much as Jett appreciated it, she thought she could be doing other, much more important things; she could help with mission planning, operating, hell, even preparing armories. (She would be COMPLETELY fine with that!) But no, she was getting ready to head into Boyle Heights once again for some in-person reconnaissance.

She’s supposed to leave with Cypher within an hour— that gives her around 45 to 60 minutes to pack herself a tiny lunch and a little go-bag with things if she gets bored.

Sure— she works at a damn food truck, but when Neon comes back from her leave with a tin full of her Lola’s turon (and more), she’s going to eat her weight in it.

So here she is at eight twenty-six in the morning, pulling together a makeshift lunch for herself in the kitchen, sporting a pair of tan cargo shorts that got mixed up in her laundry, and a blue tank top paired with her beated white sneakers. Her eye bags and sluggish behavior give hints towards the events of her night— she thought it would be a good idea if she stayed up watching some K-drama Neon recommended to her a couple of months back that she just remembered about. It was not.

Partially due to her lack of sleep — Jett actually ended up blaming it on the fact that she doesn’t often wake up at ‘the crack of dawn’ — she dozes off every few minutes while she puts together her little go-bag, and in turn doesn’t notice another presence in the room until Dizzy lands on her head, watching her put two pieces of turon in a ziplock. Her back straightens at the sudden contact, immediately calming upon seeing Gekko in the corner of her eye.

“Oh, hey,” she exhales, “you scared me.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t think Dizz would pull that one either. They all still got the zoomies.” Gekko laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jett didn’t even realize that either— Mosh is literally rolling all around on the floor, Wingman is trying to chase him, and Thrash has genuinely just left the room to explore. Dizzy stays put on Jett’s head, and she has to stand up straight to avoid her from falling off. She zips up the plastic bag and puts it in her tiny backpack.

“What’cha doing up so early?” Gekko asks, leaning on the kitchen counter with a charming smile. Jett notices he’s still in his pajamas— purple sweats (that she has sworn she’s seen Iso in), and a black graphic tee with an album cover on it, letters reading ‘Los Retros.’

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jett blinks, fixing a keychain on one of her zippers— a little sushi with a face on it that Neon gave her— “But, anyway, I have work.” She frowns, pulling Dizzy off her head and letting her rest on her shoulder. “Brimstone’s making me go down to LA with Cypher for the rest of the week—“

“Oh, damn. What part of LA?” He asks, “Maybe I could come with.”

“Uhh, I dunno. You have anything coming up?” Jett raises a brow, “Mission briefings? Training?” She leans on the counter, mirroring him.

“Jett, my girl, if I had something to do I wouldn’t have asked,” Gekko says, running his hand through the prickly strands of his buzzcut. “And, if you’re headed towards where I think you’re going, I could kill, like, so many birds with one stone.”

“We’re going to that place near that Kingdom transpo center.” Jett fixes her hair into a bun, shrugging. “That near where you going?”

“Uh, hell yeah.” Gekko says, arms flying with animation, one landing on his hip, “That’s near my crib, Chica. I’ll come along. Does Cy care at all?”

“Uh, I don’t think he should. You’re just tagging along for the ride, right? I don’t see a problem with that.” Jett fixes her backpack, lifting one leg to adjust the back of the shoe. “We can go ask him if you want. He should still be setting up.”

“Chill.” Gekko nods, “Vamos.”

Jett puts her hands in her pockets, walking towards the shuttle bay, and Gekko follows next to her, apparently eyeing her shorts.

“What? You like?”

“Nah, where’d you get them?”

“They kinda showed up in my laundry. I don’t know how.” Jett says, then turning a bit while walking to show the back, “It was kinda big, so I used a shoelace to fix it.”

“Jett,” a tone that she cannot read, “do you care if I check the tag?”

“No? Go for it, it’s cool.” She stops where she stands and Gekko carefully fishes out the tag, finding a red sewed-in ‘M’ on the back of it.

“Girl,” he stifles a laugh, “these are my shorts.”

Jett almost dies.

“No way!” She furrows her brows, continuing to walk but also attempting to turn around to view the tag, but Gekko fusses and tells her to stay still, pulling out his phone to take a picture of the embroidered letter.

He walks up next to her, clicking on the photo and zooming in, showing her his rightful ownership of her stolen cargos, “I put stuff like this on my clothes so my shit doesn’t get stolen. My cousins loved to snag my stuff, so, you kinda develop a habit.”

“My halmoni used to do that for me when I was six.”

“Okay, and? If it works, it works.”

Jett couldn’t really find anything to say back to him. He was kind of right. Her feet pitter against the linoleum.

“I’ll give it back to you after I wash it—“

“Nah! Dude, you kidding? You’re rocking it.” Gekko grins as he jogs up to the shuttle bay, putting his hand on the scanner. The door slides open with a mechanical whirr. “And plus, I kinda already got a new pair. I didn’t pay for it either— so, it’s chill.”

Part of Jett wants to ask how in the world he managed to get a new pair so quickly without spending money to get it. Instead, she frowns and asks, “You sure?” as she walks into the bay, still looking at Gekko. He enters and leans on the wall next to the doorframe.

“Yes, dude,” A gentle elbow, “it’s all good.” He says, using his hands to animate his words. Jett blows out, making a tiny trill noise with her lips, the smallest smidge of regret on her face as she shifts to one of indifference— “fine.”

“Cool. Now, where’s our man?” Gekko says, pushing himself off the wall and clasping his hands together, rubbing them as if he were scheming while walking down the steps, looking around the three VLT/Rs for a sign of their Moroccan information broker.

“There,” Jett points towards the food truck, just barely peeking out behind the third VLT/R, and they make a trek toward the area. Jett immediately checks in the truck, seeing Cypher’s backside peeking out from his little office (if you could call it that).

“Cy? You good?” She blinks.

Then she hears a thud. 

And then a disgruntled yelp.

She begins walking up, “Shit, you good—“

Cypher hears her footsteps and immediately reaches a gloved hand outside the door, shouting “Wait!”

Jett stops in her tracks, her sneakers sliding against the floor, and Cypher gets up, struggling a bit, “Give me a moment,” he grunts, closing the door, a cord blocking the seal merely a speck. Jett hears some shuffling, and a minute later, Cypher opens the door while fixing his hat.

Gekko’s waiting at the opening of the cargo bed of the food truck, peeking, his expression addled, but Jett knows what was going on; Cypher wasn’t expecting her to show up anytime before nine– let alone thirty minutes early– so he wasn’t wearing his mask. She wants to apologize like hell.

Thank God for that fucking door.

“Sorry. What can I help you with? Are you ready to go? I still have to set up, but—“

“No, no, sorry— uh, I was just wondering if Gekko could tag along for today. He has stuff to do down in LA, so, it would save him a trip to get down there.” Jett explains, trying to erase the concept of almost seeing Cypher’s face from her conscience. Even if it was an accident— she’d feel terrible.

“Oh,” Cypher blinks, “uh, yes. It should be fine. Is he needed for anything?”

Gekko steps into the truck, and it rocks ever so slightly, “Nope. Nothing. Off the schedule until the next mission in, like, August. Unless I gotta fill in for someone last minute in that weird-ass Hourglass facility, I’m free.” 

“Okay then. Do you… need some time to get ready?” Cypher asks, gesturing to Gekko’s attire.

He clicks his tongue, “Right,” a pair of finger guns, “I’ll be right back.” And so, Gekko spins on his heel and hops out the back, seemingly colliding with someone by the time he reaches the corridor with the way he yells “Sorry, Jao-Jao!”

Or at least that's how Jett heard it. Who the hell is this ‘Jao-Jao’ anyway? Nobody she knows, that’s for sure. She makes a mental note to find out who at a later date.

Once Gekko is long gone, Jett turns to Cypher, crossing her arms with the tiniest frown on her face.

“I wasn’t interrupting you, or anything, right?” Jett asks, standing small, growing roots where she places herself, almost like a pathetic, small tree. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.”

Cypher exhales, walking back to his mini-office, connecting cords— at least, to what Jett could see. “To be truthful, yes, you caught me at an extremely vulnerable time. But, that’s also on me— I have to stay vigilant, no?”

“Still feel bad.” Jett frowns, pensive.

“It’s fine, Han. You don’t have to feel bad about it. It was a mistake.” Cypher exhales, hearing a satisfying click of cords connecting. He lets out a satisfying hum.

Jett sighs, kicking her feet. “I’m just gonna try and—“ a pause, “Wait, what did you call me?”

“Han is your name, is it not?”

She can hear the smile behind his mask.

“Well— yeah, but— everyone just calls me Sun—“ She furrows her brows, “Well, people who know me well enough.”

“So, would you prefer that? I don’t understand.”

A shrug, “I think it’s cool when you do it.”

Cypher laughs, “Han it is, then.”

The silence isn’t that strong after that, other than the occasional need for help on Cypher’s end— whether it be connecting a cord or fetching something for him real quick.

By the time Cypher and Jett have finished making sure everything is in place in their respective areas, Gekko comes back sporting a white t-shirt with Brent Faiyaz on it. He’s wearing the supposed new pair of cargo shorts, along with a pretty sick pair of dunks that Jett would take a picture of to show Phoenix later.

His harness hangs loosely on his torso, and there’s a skateboard lodged between his back and the backpack he was wearing.

“Come on, dude, we’re running behind!” She waves Gekko over, “I need your help pulling the truck in!”

Gekko jogs over, a bit weirdly at that, and Jett remembers something that Phoenix told her about crease blockers and how he’d probably “call it quits” if he creased his Retro High Air Jordans … or something like that. All she knows is that they’re orange, expensive, and mean a lot to him.

“Just hand me the pulley and I’ll attach it— yeah,”

Jett works her magic like it’s a routine— in which, it has turned into one— and the pulley system pulls the truck into the back of the VLT/R with flying colors. Gekko closes the rear of the aircraft, walking to the cockpit. Jett takes her seat while Gekko takes his, and Cypher operates the takeoff.

Gekko mostly scrolls on his phone through the flight, and Jett takes a small power nap. The ride takes a while, as Brimstone doesn’t exactly let them use the VLT/R’s FTL function unless for actual missions, but Jett is just thankful they got to use it for this leisurely stuff anyway.

By the time Cypher wakes Jett up, Gekko is already in the back, trying to fix the food truck out of the cargo bay, and he’s struggling. Hard. It was a bit pathetic— more so silly— but Jett stepped up anyway despite her weary demeanor. She walks up, helping Gekko lower the food truck down before removing the pulley system.

As soon as the VLT/R is in rest mode, Cypher’s footsteps make their way towards the driver's side of the car, and Jett opens the passenger’s side for Gekko.

“Where are you gonna sit?” He asks, raising a brow. Jett puts the child lock on before she closes the door, much to Gekko’s disapproval. Or, well, if you could call ‘disapproval’ a string of Hispanic swear words that even Cypher didn’t recognize.

“In the back.” She hollers, using her thumb to point towards the back. The two in the front hear the back open and close, and then a few footsteps before they come to a halt. She yells in confirmation that it’s safe for them to go, followed by a couple of slaps on the wall.

Cypher sighs. Gekko argues.

“Tu tonta, Jett!” Two knocks, “Don’t go rattling around in there, ‘kay?”

Part of Jett wanted to grab something and rattle it just to piss Gekko off, but she decided against it with words of exasperated acknowledgment.

The drive to the next sell-stop was a brief one— if a thirty-minute drive wasn’t enough time for Jett to scroll through her timeline and Gekko to check his Instagram, then maybe it was a bit longer than expected given Los Angeles traffic— and they found themselves just outside of Boyle Heights’ main street.

In all honesty, Jett wasn’t quite excited for today’s shift— Gekko’s company was fun, and all, but he’d be leaving to do his own thing by the time they were finished set up (if he even stayed behind to help, but Jett thinks he has a heart inside of him), and she’d be stuck preparing breakfast wraps and serving people who think a taco truck sells coffee. She just wasn’t exactly feeling it.

Nonetheless, Gekko stays behind to help Jett prep the kitchen, and even makes breakfast for everyone, claiming that he can ‘do it the traditional way’ despite messing up quite a few times, making Jett come to the rescue.

They ate– Gekko and Jett; Cypher happily ate in his little office– with their legs dangling just a bit off the back of the truck, plates in their laps as they ate their breakfast tacos with buttery hands, Jett giving him the occasional compliment on his cooking.

The area they were in was practically prime K-SEC territory. As much as it worried Gekko, Jett assured him that as long as Cypher was here, he and his harness were as safe as they could possibly be.

“And plus,” Jett begins, “I’d never let them hurt our little heroes. They’re too darn cute to let that happen.” She grins, poking the harness with the pad of her index finger, and in return, a pair of yellow eyes blink at her, one eye after the other.

“Thanks.” Gekko grins, holding up his fist. Jett bumps it.

She fixes her bangs out of her face with the back of her hand— still buttery, “So, you heading out?”

“Uh, probably. Gonna hit up my mom at the clinic and then go down to my favorite boba place.” He shrugs, “I’ll probably just see where the day takes me, y’know? Maybe skate a bit.”

Jett blinks.

“Oh, no, yeah, for sure.”

Who says that?

Gekko frees her from her thoughts, “Wish you could come with, though. I could show you the sights, yeah? We got some crazy lookouts in the heights. You go there at sunset and the LA skyline es muy lindo. It’s beautiful, man.”

Jett would’ve agreed sooner if it weren’t for the sudden smell of berries, and then she realized he hit his vape. She feels a laugh bubble in her throat.

“I bet,” she hums in agreement, her hair blowing ever so slightly as she uses her power to tilt the wind in her favor, holding her breath and exhaling through her nose subconsciously. She pushes away the vape cloud with a subtle breeze. “But it’s okay. Maybe another day, you know?”

“Yeah, another day.”

They finish their food.

Jett clears her throat, holding her hand to take Gekko’s plate, her eyes squinting ever so slightly due to the high morning sun, “You better get a move on before Cypher decides that you’re fit to work instead.”

Gekko hands her the paper plate, pushing himself up and dusting off his shorts, “Yeah, you’re right. Clinic opens at nine, I wanna be there for mi amà when she gets there. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

His words are soft as if to be apologetic towards Jett– apologetic in the sense that he can’t take her with him, and it makes Jett’s lips form into the tiniest frown-like smile, waving him off with delayed anguish. 

Gekko pulls his skateboard from the cavern of his backpack, waving at her before skating off into the city, and Jett can already see some tired lab hermits walk up from their parked cars, hungry after three hours of sleep. She pushes herself up, ridding herself of the dirtied paper plates by placing them into the trash can. She puts on her apron, washes her hands, and opens the concessions window, stretching as she puts on latex gloves.
It’s going to be a long day and she’s not ready for it.

It had only turned eleven, and Jett thinks she’s had enough.

Just thirty minutes ago she had to direct a Karen away from the truck after she demanded Jett give her breakfast taco for free since she found a hair in it. It was blonde.

She demanded to talk to Cypher (her so-called ‘manager’) and had to give her a list of terrible reasons as to why she couldn’t.

“Oh, important call.”

“Corporate can handle that.”

“Sick.”

“무엇?”

“죄송합니다. 저는 영어를 못합니다.”

And so on.

The woman left with a $3.50 breakfast taco and a popped blood vessel, and Cypher was laughing about it the second she turned the corner onto 1st Street. His door was propped open, holding his stomach as Jett peers in, seeing the main monitor with a fullscreen video feed of the concessions window, seemingly as if he was watching the whole time.

“Oh, Han–” he begins, gently hitting himself in the chest to stop himself from coughing, “that was beautiful; one of the most magnificent performances I have ever seen,” the compliments come out as bubbled nonsense as his giggle fit fails to come to a halt, and Jett finds herself laughing, too. The two melt into their legs, hurled over from the ache; that hilariously burning ache that they can’t seem to get rid of. Cypher holds onto the doorframe for purchase. Jett leans on the counter, holding her stomach with one hand and her mouth with the other.

Once she’s able to speak, she asks, “Please tell me you got that on video.”

And Cypher snorts. “Who do you think I am? Of course I did!”

Jett lets out one more vibrant cackle, slamming her fist onto the counter, the truck shaking ever so slightly. “Oh, thank God.”

The intermittent ha’s and ooh’s fill the air as the two catch their breaths, and Cypher clears his throat, sitting up in his swivel chair, moving himself more into the open, but at an angle that pedestrians (or as many pedestrians that would be treading down Boyle Street at 11 AM) couldn’t see him.

A ‘whew’, “Do you want to go explore?”

“What?”

Cypher asks again, “Do you want to go out and explore?”

Jett speaks with a bout of skepticism, “Well, I– I have to work the window, no?”

“Food trucks and reconnaissance aside– do you want to?”

“Is this a trick?”

“No?”

“Then yes.”

Cypher nods. “Okay then.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” Jett asks, and Cypher proves her question useless, just nodding in her direction. Jett will not take that as an answer.

“I’m making you food before I go.” She announces, turning on her heel to face the stove, and pulling herself together to make a balanced, but protein-filled breakfast. Cypher’s lankiness hasn’t gone unnoticed by her, and she strives to just get him to a regular BMI that doesn’t make him cough that bad after a cigarette or two. She preps him a breakfast burrito with chorizo, eggs, beans, and a generous amount of cheese. As she rolls it, she feels some of it try to break free from its flour-y confines, so she packs it in with all the care in the world to make it perfect for Cypher, for he deserves it.

As soon as it’s ready, she plates it, a small smiley face drawn in burrito sauce on the side of it. She puts the sauce bottle down in its regular spot, walks to the door, and holds it out in front of her with a newfound sense of pride– with good reason, too! This was probably the best burrito she’s ever made in her life. Cypher should be proud.

And he is. He takes it happily.

“Thank you, Han. You didn’t have t–”

“Nope. Stop. I don’t wanna hear it,” She holds a hand in front of him, already pulling the bow-knot she did for her apron, “We made a deal that I am gonna feed you. No need to say,” she puts on a terrible, annoying voice, “you didn’t have to, Han! Meh, meh, meh, don’t cook for me, it’s such a burden–”

“I never said it was a burden–”

Jett teases, “You didn’t have to.”

And Cypher just exhales in defeat, a dwarfish laugh breaking loose from his throat. The silence is deafening for a heartbeat, he looks lost in thought, as if discovering a lost memory deep inside the caverns of his repressed mind, then he speaks, “Well,” a sigh-laugh, “you’ve caught me. Thank you nonetheless.”

A child-like smile, “Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll see you later, Cy! Thanks again!” She says, using the wind to slip her backpack off the hook and replace it with her apron, waving goodbye to Cypher as she happily pulls out her phone.

Jett hears a ‘goodbye’ and then turns away, skipping towards main street, leaning on a lamp post as she opens her texts.

The group chat has been blowing up– something about Yoru and Neon trying to get people to play video games with them– but she just marks it as read, opening a DM with Gekko.

SECURE SERVER_VAL.VP // PRIVATE MESSAGE: JETT-GEKKO

JETT [11:32 UTC]

haiii :3

wya?

A response doesn’t take long.

GEKKO [11:35 UTC]

Yo

finishing up with my mom rn, wsg

JETT [11:35 UTC]

cy let me go off 😎

u wanna hang?

GEKKO [11:35 UTC]

YES

give me a bit I havent seen her in a bit. 

U can come meet me here if u want

JETT [11:36 UTC]

bet can u send ur location

GEKKO [11:36 UTC]

haha like the khalid song

[SYSTEM] ⚲ GEKKO shared their location with you.

JETT [11:36 UTC]

LMFAO

ok see u in a bit

GEKKO [11:37 UTC]

👍

JETT [11:37 UTC]

im not ur side hoe 🙁

GEKKO [11:37 UTC]

Suck it

JETT [11:37 UTC]

WHATTTTT

Jett giggled a bit after reading that.

The walk isn’t painful or anything. She needed the exercise, and this was a good way to do it; she even got to snack on some of the turon while on it. However, the unwalkable parts of Boyle made Jett want to go back to HQ– you know, where the palm trees are just the right amount of cozy and humid, enough for her to enter the forest for a morning walk and not come back with messy hair and all sweaty, but she perseveres and walks through the doors of the clinic with a roll of her shoulders. A bell rings, and two heads peek out from behind the reception. Plus, a little blue one.

Bright green, and curly brown with a hint of red. Oh, and of course, Dizzy.

Jett smiles.

At the counter are business card stands and a water tank with complimentary cups, but more specifically, a bronze plaque shining in the fluorescent lighting of the clinic reading Julieta Armendáriz De la Fuente, Chief Veterinarian.

“Oh, Mateo, ¿este es tu amiga?” She asks, hand cupping her son’s cheeks as she turns it to look at Jett before letting go and walking out from the door next to the counter, her arms scrunched up next to her, exclaiming, “Oh, Hermosa, you’re so beautiful!”

Her arms are wide open for Jett and she awkwardly hugs Gekko’s mother, looking at him especially confused. Gekko just smiles at her.

“Thank you,” Jett pulls away from the hug haphazardly, “you are too, Miss … uh, De la Fuente?” 

Jett had to read the plaque to be sure.

“Call me Julieta. Ay, speaking of which– what should I call you? I tried asking before, but Mateo seems to have forgotten your name.” She says with the smallest eye roll, putting a hand on her hip as she looks back to Gekko, who holds his hands up in retaliation.

“She just has a lot of nicknames!”

“Sunwoo. Sunwoo Han. My friends call me Sunny.” She shakes Julieta’s hand, but looks in Gekko’s direction as if to ask you got that? Gekko nods.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sunny.” Julieta smiles, putting her hands on Jett’s shoulders, and rubbing them gently. She rubs against her sunburn and Jett winces.

Julieta takes the hint and pulls her hands away, folding them neatly in front of her scrubs. Gekko walks up next to her, towering over her by a good seven inches, even though to Jett, he looks just like a little boy.

“Well,” Julieta nods, “I hope you guys have fun. Is it just you, Sunny?”

“Just me?”

“I just thought that Mateo would’ve brought his other friend—“

Dizzy swipes up to his side, “Okay. We’re going. Bye amà.” Gekko turns Jett around to try and push her from earshot, but Julieta grabs her son by the back of his shirt, resulting in a brief complaint about her stretching the neckline, and that this shirt wasn’t even his.

“You’re stealing his clothes now, Teo? And, hold on, you almost forgot your backpack trying to run away from me.” Julieta raises a brow at her son, holding the bag in her other hand. Gekko grins awkwardly and kisses her on the cheek, taking it with a hug.

“Bye amà, te quiero! Make sure to feed Coco, yeah?” He says, desperately trying to free himself from this humiliating event, pushing Jett out the door with a pained smile. Julieta just shakes her head, a puny grin on her face— a mother’s intuition.

“I will, corazón. Have fun, I love you.”

By the time they’re outside, Jett sweeps around to look at Gekko, who is understandably embarrassed. He grabs his skateboard.

A tease, “I won’t ask if you don’t want me to.”

“Do not.” A frown.

“Then I won’t. Let’s get boba.”

Jett has learned not to ask questions. Even as a nosy kid, she understood not to put it in places where it didn’t belong. Personal questions were none of her business, unless, of course, the time came for them.

It’s 12:20 and they had just sat down in this boba shop called TeaTail. At the front, there’s this statue of what Jett thought to be a raccoon. They took a picture with it, obviously. When in LA?

“So, Mateo?”

“Sunny?”

A little chuckle from Gekko. A spurt of a laugh from Jett escapes from Jett’s mouth after she tries to keep it closed.

Jett takes a sip of her drink, the milk tea mingling on her tongue, “Crazy how we didn’t know each other’s names, huh?” 

“Yeah– I only know a couple of people’s names, y’know? I need to get to know some of them better, man.” Gekko hums, taking a sip of his taro bubble tea, “Anyway, Sunwoo? That’s pretty sick.”

“Thanks. I think Mateo suits you a lot.” Jett smiles, “Your last name is still a mystery to me. Which one is it? Armenda-something or De la Fuente?”

“Both?” Gekko shrugs. “It’s my mom’s maiden name and then my birth dad’s. I dunno what else to say about that. It’s as simple as that.”

“Damn,” a plentiful sip, even though she wants to ask about the whole ordeal, “where are we headed after all of this?” She asks, picking up her cup and motioning with it before taking yet another generous sip.

Gekko blinks, chewing his boba, “There’s a flea market on East Third. We could go there if you want.”

Jett squints, “No, I meant like– your errands? Don’t you have stuff to do?”

“Oh, that,” Gekko nods, “I lied. I just wanted to come along.”

“Wow, a lying bitch.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” Gekko claims, slurping the last bit of the drink before trying to get the excess boba through the straw, “and I was kinda hoping Cy would let you out early.”

“Aww, you’re so nice,” Jett grins, pushing herself up from her seat, the chair making a little screeching noise as she did so. “Let’s go, I got money to spend!”

Gekko walks towards the door, holding it open for her. As soon as she’s out, he puts his skateboard on the floor and looks at Jett. She understands that he’s challenging her.

“Hey,” A recognizable saying, “Think you can keep up?”

A scoff, “Who am I kidding–? You know you can’t keep up.” Jett finishes it as soon as Gekko kicks his leg back, sending himself forward. Wingman pops out from his harness and stands behind Gekko on the board, taunting Jett.

“You wanna play like that little guy?”

She speeds up, and both of them are laughing.

Jett feels the wind push her bangs out of her face as Gekko speeds off, keeping enough distance between them with each swing, and Jett subtly dashes to keep up with him, unaware that she’s still trying to catch her breath. Gekko stops as soon as she reaches just a few feet behind him, slowing down.

Jett’s leaning on the wall of a brick building, a mural painted on it, and Gekko kicks his board into his hand, using his other to fish his vape out of his pocket. “Damn, chica. You need a minute?”

“Just a sec,” Jett exhales through a laugh, lying her back on the wall in a small squat as she tries to catch her breath, “You have it out for me. You were doing tricks and everything.”

“Lil’ man and I are just built different,” Gekko says, hitting his vape and fist bumping with Wingman, who gurgles. Gekko laughs.

“You should teach me one day.” A flick of the wrist. A breeze blows by.

Gekko beams, “We can do it right now! We still got a bit before we get to the market, so–”

Jett elbows him, “Just get me on that board, dude.”

“Bet,” Gekko says, putting the board on the sidewalk and returning his vape to his pocket, where it belongs. “Stand on it. Just try and balance.”

“I’m not gonna die, am I?”

“Just stand on it.”

And Jett does. 

She finds her balance, and Gekko continues directing her; “try pushing off very gently and placing your feet on the board”– “Give yourself another push when you slow down”– “Flex your ankles and shift your weight to turn”– more stuff that goes in one ear and out the other– but Gekko tries to teach her how to do an ollie, and that’s when she decides to listen.

She hits her ankle a couple of times and fails even more after that. She eventually gets sick of it, allowing herself to glide when flipping the board. She manages to land it with the help of her radiance, and Gekko teases her for being a cheater. She flicks his forehead.

The teaching moment is fine– she manages to get past a few blocks– slowly at that, but it’s the effort that counts– and her passion for learning how to skate is swell until she almost collides with a lamp post. She stumbles out of the way and the board safely makes its way across the street, unharmed. Gekko cringes at the thought of it getting crushed by an oncoming car, but thankfully those thinkings are squandered.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, all good. Maybe I should’ve taught you how to stop first.” Gekko laughs, hitting the crosswalk button, waiting a second before the red hand graphic becomes a white pedestrian walking. Jett jogs to catch up, still a bit winded, and watches as Gekko picks up his skateboard, holding it out to her. “Can you lodge it?”

“Yeah,” she exhales, pushing it between his back and bag. Gekko gives her his thanks and points in the distance. “Flea’s right there,” and Jett blinks, realizing there’s indie music playing and bass barely making its way toward them.

Jett rocks on her tippy toes, grabbing Gekko’s arm.

“Come on!”

The flea market trip is successful.

Jett found herself a cute little keychain for her phone– one of a little dove, at that! Gekko told her it reminded him of her, so obviously she had to get it. Along with that, she got her hands on a cute little hat– white with black colon parentheses on it.

Gekko got a knitted beanie in purple with stars on it, along with some thread to make bracelets with. Apparently, working as a summer camp counselor for some extra cash during his freshman year of college was all just a master plot to learn how to make friendship bracelets. Jett shook her head giggling when she found out. 

They had killed time until around 3:30 when Gekko was getting tired of carrying his bag and the skateboard lodged between it– Jett was sweaty and dehydrated. They found themselves at a little pop-up truck with a canopy set up next to it along with fans blaring. When they saw it, Jett and Gekko might as well have been dehydrated wanderers in the desert finding an oasis.

Gekko lies back in the plastic chair, stretching then deflating in it as Wingman wobbles over, holding two bottles of water. Gekko mutters a thanks, rubbing Wings’ head and taking the two drinks. He places one in front of Jett, who is wiping sweat from her forehead with a napkin, fixing her sweat-slick bangs in the process.

“Like I said, he’s a lil’ hero,” Jett remarks tiredly, cracking open the bottle to take a long chug. Gekko does the same as Wingman hops into the chair next to him.

They stay like that for a while.

Jett exhales, the silence killing her, “Can I ask something personal?

“I’m all for personal,” Gekko says, shifting in his seat to engage himself.

“Is it just you and your mom?”

He hits his vape, “Yeah, has been for as long as I can remember, at least,” Gekko responds, unbothered and taking a fat swig of water. Jett wonders if he’s made lemonade with it or if he’s just nonchalant. “My Dad kinda dipped.”

“Sorry that happened.”

“Don’t be, I hear he kinda sucked.”

“I’ve lived with my grandparents for as long as I can remember. My parents aren’t exactly here.”

“Dead?” Gekko asks with a cringe.

“No, more like…” Jett purses her lips, biting the inside of her cheeks, “work motivated.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah, teeth and everything.”

“Gross.”

“Yep.”

Then they bask in each other’s company, cooling down, and finding themselves in each other– one way or another.

The walk back isn’t all too bad.

The conversations they had didn’t get anywhere deeper than their family lives, and Jett was okay with that– she doesn’t have to know everything. Their exchanges happen to be related to the other agents, more specifically Clove, the newbie.

He explained that last weekend was their first group D&D session, and Jett remembers Yoru telling her that he was not free that specific day when she asked if he wanted to hang out anytime soon. Jett cracks up at the idea of Yoru (of all people) playing a TTRPG. Gekko also mentioned that Clove is looking for a sixth, particularly because Skye won’t join in. Jett takes up the offer.

She then asked why he was so tired, and he awkwardly admits that he stayed up playing Brimstone’s retro video games. He illustrates the whole schtick– the whole story of how Brimstone wanted him to clean out the basement and it only led to him discovering the console and fighting for his life to beat Brimstone’s hi-score. He still hasn’t even come close, and that whole encounter was months ago. He did end up cleaning the basement though. It’s a cozy little hangout now, apparently.

Jett thinks she’ll check it out one of these days. Maybe tomorrow, if she has time.

By the time they finish their conversation, they make it back to the top of the parking garage, finding Cypher already pulling the food truck into the VLT/R with the pulley system.

“Did you miss us?” Jett waves, hollering as she treads over, Gekko in her midst.

“Hardly,” Cypher responds, his words sardonic, but still teasing. Jett sticks her tongue out at him.

“You need any help?” Gekko asks, and Cypher shakes his head.

Jett skips up onto the ramp of the VLT/R, “What were you up to? You liked staying in your hot-ass office?”

The mask on Cypher’s face animates as if he’s raising a brow, “Who said I stayed in my office?”

Gekko furrows his, “Wait, you went out? Cómo? How?”

“How else?” Cypher asks, his voice painting an imaginary smile.

Gekko shrugs, “I mean, with your whole get-up, I think you’d be easy to spot–”

“Get in the ship.”

“Okay.”

Jett waits for them to enter, but she starts fanning in front of her face. “It smells like ass in here.”

“Sorry. I … smoked a little bit.” Cypher exhales, voice raspy as he walks to the cockpit, Gekko already working on closing the bay.

“A bit?” Jett says, a bit satirizing, but still a bit bothered. She uses the wind currents to try and blow the smell out as the bay closes.

Cypher hums, sitting in his seat and awaiting everyone else to do so before he starts the ship. He looks at both of them to make sure their harnesses are on.

“Mateo, don’t slouch. Please.” He sighs. Jett wonders if it’s a weird reflex.

“I’m tired–” a pause, “Mateo??”

Jett laughs, “Just don’t question it, dude.”