For some reason, I feel all weird writing this…dunno why. I don't own Cyborg 009, please don't sue me…



A one-shot by Sadie


The sunlight that streamed through the glass doors was bright, and it was also warm. The light fell directly onto the couch, warming it perfectly. It was the coveted spot of the house, and it was available only on a first-come first-serve basis. However, this morning, sun was not coming in, and rain scribbled silver patterns down the doors. And someone was already on the couch.

Next to said couch was a box of tissues, half empty from use, a wastebasket with the used tissues inside, and a bottle of water. On the couch, covered by a blanket, was a certain Joe Shimamura, sound asleep with the television remote in one hand. Said television was on and muted, but the cartoon characters still paraded across the screen.

"He looks tired."

"You would too, if you were getting over the flu for the first time in years."

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

Jet was caught off-guard by Francoise's question. He took a moment to think about what he'd been about to say, but just sighed and gave up. She smiled slightly in the satisfaction of having outsmarted him, but then again, it was one of those things that happened on a daily basis.

"'Someone there?" Joe's voice was heavy with sleep, but both turned their heads to see him sitting himself up. It was a welcome sight, considering he had not been capable of it for at least a week. Sure, he was still very pale, but it was a big step forward.

"It's just us, Joe. How do you feel?" Francoise asked, walking over to the couch and turning the TV off. He rubbed his ruby eyes and shook his head gently to fend the sleep away.

"Tired, and dazed. I can't remember much of the last few days." Joe replied, staring out the doors. "It's raining."

Francoise smiled a little bit more. She sat down near his feet at the end of the couch and looked to the rain outside. It wasn't very heavy, and the lights from the inside turned it into slippery patterns that were constantly in motion. "What can you remember?"

He leaned over and picked up the water bottle. "Not much, just a lot of loud voices. Is there any aspirin? I have a headache."

"Jet, would you go get him some?" Francoise asked. The American nodded and left, muttering something about how she could get it herself next time.

Joe continued to look out onto the dismal morning, tracing the water with his eyes. Eventually, the water traced back to the clouds, the gray clouds. He let his mind water, not really hearing when Francoise asked if he was okay. The dark gray clouds had lighter and lighter gray stacked in them, until they became white. The clouds were what created the rain, which was silver, which was now running down the doors and windows of the household.

Francoise, who was just about to her snapping point, took a moment to look at Joe. He didn't have that look of a really sick person any more – the way he was looking out the window was calm and serene, not panicked or utterly blank. She'd had to watch him stare into the void of space for a while now, and each time he did, it did not bode well.

"Hey Francoise, isn't it pretty?" Joe asked shyly, breaking the silence and motioning toward the glass doors.

"The rain? Pretty?" She didn't know exactly what to say. He was coherent again. "What do you mean?" Just to be sure it wasn't another nightmare version of a memory caused by fever.

"The white becomes gray, and the gray melts and drips away into silver. And it has no control over itself, because it's just falling, but it still manages to fall on windows and doors and make entirely original works of art that can never be copied." He replied.

No, she decided, he was completely coherent again. "You're right."

He smiled, which was a first in days.


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