The disclaimer is back in the previous chapter for those who haven't already seen it.
-- Reception --
Morning found Britain in bed, but the shapeshifter wasn't trying to sleep anymore. That had been all but abandoned after his nightmare; he didn't particularly want to discover what memory was waiting to be relived next.
Instead, he lay on his stomach with the covers pulled up over him; the thinnest of the sheets half-shrouded his head while the rest remained piled haphazardly along his back and crumpled on all sides. Propped against the pillow was a small book, the crisp white pages swiftly being filled by cursive strokes from his pen.
There was a distant quality to Britain's expression; though it appeared at first he was completely focused on what he was writing, had anyone else been present they would have quickly noticed the faraway look in his eyes. He gazed down at the book without really seeing it, thoughts trapped elsewhere.
A sharp tapping from outside snapped the shapeshifter from his reverie. Stifling a gasp, he snapped the book shut and shoved it under the pillow, dropping his head down and feigning sleep as the door slid open.
"Good morning, G.B.!"
Chang stood beaming at the threshold, sporting a smile that only somebody with as friendly and open a face as his could pull off. Such cheerfulness would have seemed ludicrous coming from most people, yet from the sixth cyborg it felt completely natural.
Britain groaned softly, more to sustain the illusion that he was just now waking up than reacting adversely to the fire-wielder's enthusiasm, lifting his head off the pillow just high enough to glimpse him standing there. It wasn't much of a response, but judging from the way the chef's grin widened, it was enough.
"Just wanted to let you know that we'll be having breakfast shortly," he announced airily. "You'll be joining us, right?"
Britain recognized a prompt when he heard one, and nodded in mute assent. Not that there was any other answer he could give with Chang blocking the door with that bright smile and the implied threat hidden just underneath the surface. Sunny demeanor aside, it was obvious the shorter cyborg was perfectly willing to drag him to the table if necessary.
"Good! I thought so!" That was said without so much as a hint of smugness, only happiness. Turning to leave, Chang called back over his shoulder, "I'll see you there in a bit, then! Hurry before it gets cold!"
The door slid shut, and Britain sat up, holding his sigh of relief just a heartbeat more to ensure that his departing comrade didn't overhear it. If it had been Francoise checking up on him, the shapeshifter doubted any amount of delay would have kept her from catching the muted rush of air.
However, if he figured correctly, the pretty blonde was probably minding the kitchen just long enough for Chang to deliver his announcement. He couldn't think of anyone else among their crew that the Chinese cook trusted enough to give such an important task to, even if only for a few minutes…
Just the fact that he had taken the time to come and check on the shapeshifter spoke volumes, Britain thought to himself. Chang looked after everyone on the ship, but didn't typically seek everyone out in the morning just to ensure they had breakfast together. It was more or less generally assumed that if you were awake, you showed up, and if not, you grabbed something later.
It wasn't a big deal if they didn't all get together in the morning. They tended to keep such unusual and irregular hours at times that attempting to gather everyone up early wasn't a high priority. Nutrition was important, but so was getting enough sleep.
Not to mention that it was almost tantamount to suicide to try waking some of their number instead of allowing them to awaken on their own time.
Jet, he mused idly, would likely have responded to such prodding with quite a few choice words, making up for any coherence lost to drowsiness with sheer volume. Little Ivan, of course, couldn't be roused during his slumber shifts except in emergencies. And nobody dared intrude on the lovely Francoise when she was getting her beauty sleep.
It wasn't exactly a mystery why he was getting this 'special' treatment.
Britain went through the motions of getting ready in a daze, paying only cursory attention to what he was doing. There simply didn't seem to be much point in making a fuss over the tired routine. He did make certain to take the small book from underneath the pillow and stow it safely away on a shelf, however. The volume wouldn't particularly stand out placed along the numerous other texts there.
Right before leaving, he stopped in front of the full-length mirror mounted just beside his door and gave himself a quick once-over, just to ensure there wasn't anything glaringly wrong with his appearance.
…He didn't look all that bad, he soon judged. True that the light-colored shirt he'd pulled out didn't do all that wonderful a job hiding his thin frame; good thing he'd already decided to wear a jacket over it.
More reassuring was the composed visage reflected before him. All signs of the tears he'd shed during the night had been washed away. In place of that pathetic display was a carefully constructed mask, a polite pleasantness he'd practiced for longer than was worth thinking about.
Tentatively, Britain smiled. The hesitant expression didn't quite match the intense scrutiny in his darkened gaze, but that didn't matter, since that, too, would be carefully hidden away before he joined the others.
…He couldn't leave them waiting forever. Closing his eyes, Britain took a deep breath to compose himself, then slid the door open and headed outside.
It wasn't really unusual that some of their crew were absent from the table. Always a little disappointing, but Chang knew better than to obsess over it by now. So long as he knew everyone would be eating sometime in the next few hours, he was happy.
Albert was currently fast asleep; when he'd peeked into the fourth cyborg's bedroom he was quite obviously out of it, and judging from the death grip the German had on his pillow would remain so for some time. Same deal with Jet, though the flight specialist was all but flung across his bed in a sprawl of limbs and tangled sheets.
He'd already made certain to set aside enough to easily handle both men's meals once they finally woke up. Jet might complain about having to reheat pancakes, but that was the price one paid sometimes for keeping odd hours.
If the fiery redhead was feeling especially snippy, he might make some bitter query about why Chang bothered to get G.B. up but didn't try to wake him. Then again, he likely wouldn't ask since the answers were more than obvious.
One good reason: Chang liked his head, thank you, and didn't care to get it bitten off by some cranky young man who'd stayed up way too far past his shift.
Another reason was…
…Chang was nothing if not honest, both with himself and with those around him. That was part of what made this admittance so difficult, even if he was keeping it private.
The simple truth of the matter was he wanted to return to the old routine. For things to go back to how they were before… before this whole mess started. Before the G.B. he knew was taken away by a virus and replaced by a melancholy stranger.
While a small part of him thought that maybe he was pushing a little too hard, there was always that other voice, reminding him just how swiftly these changes came about in the first place. That was the niggling urge to try and fix matters before this set in too far, and the person he'd come to see as his closest friend was lost forever…
It was just a pity he really didn't have any idea how to accomplish that.
There generally wasn't a lot of chatting during breakfast unless there was something major to discuss. Again, this could be attributed mostly to the early hour and that not even everyone present was entirely awake. So if the relative silence that this meal was being conducted in seemed somehow oppressive, it was probably due to the fact that there was something important they definitely needed to talk about -- except nobody wanted to bring it up.
Chang surreptitiously cased the room… or, at least, studied the others about as covertly as he could manage. Stealthy and sneaky generally weren't terms one could apply to the sixth cyborg, and now wasn't really all that different. But if the others noticed his scrutiny, they artfully ignored it.
Sitting directly across from Britain had its advantages; mainly that it wasn't quite so painfully obvious that he kept looking over his friend, trying to process all the little and not-so-little changes.
For his part, the seventh cyborg was too busy studying his plate. There wasn't much there: despite Chang's suggestions the Englishman had insisted on only taking a couple pancakes and some orange juice, and both remained largely untouched. Chang would have pushed harder -- he was sorely tempted to just heap more onto his friend's plate, protestations be damned -- if not for the fact that he didn't get the impression that would just be a waste of food.
He couldn't force G.B. to eat, no matter how tempted he was to try. At least now he knew that the shapeshifter was eating, even if not very much and rather slowly.
…Then again, Chang didn't like the idea that this was an improvement.
The fire-wielder wracked his brain in search of a topic to break the uneasy near-silence hanging over the table. Matters he wanted to bring up were repeatedly shoved to the back of his mind, deemed way too unsafe to breach right now. Hopefully an opportunity to discuss those issues would come up on its own later; despite his desperate desire to learn everything he could about that Chang didn't want to be the one who brought it back to everyone's attention.
…As opposed to, say, letting it fester in the depths of their hearts like it currently was for the Chinese cyborg.
Glancing to the others offered no help. Sympathy shone in everyone's eyes, and he noticed that Joe was watching the shapeshifter a bit more openly than Francoise, Pyunma and Geronimo, though they were all clearly paying attention. Ivan's carrier rested on the seat between Francoise and Gilmore: though he couldn't see from this angle Chang knew that the psychic cyborg was still awake, just not 'saying' anything at the moment.
Choosing an innocuous topic was far easier said than done. Chang didn't know whether he should be more disturbed by the fact that he was considering using some of the most cliché, obvious attempts at starting some sort of conversation or that he had to discard those same lines for varying reasons.
(…"So, how about this weather…" Wait, no, bad idea; we don't really have to think about that when we're UNDERWATER… Come on, think of something…)
"007…" Gilmore finally broke the silence for Chang; the scientist peered over the rim of his mug at the shapeshifter, saying softly, "There are a few more tests I'd like to run, if you don't mind… Whenever you think that…"
"…Oh…" Britain stopped poking at his food and set his fork down, pushing away from the table. "If you're finished, we can go ahead and…"
"No, no, that's alright!" and the doctor hastily waved him back into his seat with a chagrined look on his face. "I didn't mean it like that! I meant whenever you feel you're ready…"
Britain looked at Gilmore for a long moment, his expression proving too difficult for the others to decipher. Wordlessly, he resumed picking at his meal, seemingly heedless of how Chang now stared openly at him.
(Come on,) the chef thought desperately, (just say something!)
At this point, he would have even welcomed a critical comment about his cooking, though the chances of that coming from the shapeshifter seemed bleaker than practically anything else. Britain seemed set against saying anything that might further distance him from the group.
(…Never mind that he's already pulling away…)
How could he stop it? What was he supposed to do to bring his old friend back? Maybe there wasn't some magic phrase or action to turn things back to normal, but, still, there had to be some way of preventing this slow decent…
If he confronted G.B. directly, would it only make matters worse? Chang wasn't entirely certain he wanted to test his temper against the wall of silence Britain was building. If he lost his patience before breaking through, he'd likely only complicate everything.
…There had to be some way of proving to Britain he still belonged here, with his teammates. Chang just needed to figure it out right away… the longer he delayed, the further away his friend slipped.
He didn't want to consider having to deal with this broken parody of the man he'd once known for the rest of their lives. He didn't want to think that the light in the shapeshifter's eyes was gone forever.
Across from him, Britain moved his chair back and stood again, carefully gathering his utensils together. He hadn't done much more than move his food around after Gilmore's earlier comment, and was finally giving up all pretense of eating.
"Don't…"
Chang was out of his seat before he knew what he was doing. Britain glanced up at him, making the breath freeze in the shorter cyborg's throat. Feeling the eyes of the others fixate on them, Chang swallowed the hard lump he felt forming and managed a gentle smile.
"Don't worry about it. I'll handle cleaning up. You just… go and get fixed, all right?"
Chang really hoped he didn't wince at his own meant-to-be-reassuring comment.
(That… didn't come out quite the way I hoped.)
Britain simply looked at him for a few seconds, then dropped his head slightly in what might be interpreted as a nod. Chang saw it more as simply breaking eye contact.
Doctor Gilmore coughed and shifted uneasily before rising to his feet, looking over at the shapeshifter but not quite including the chef in that furtive gaze. Chang didn't have to look at the scientist's expression to sense his uneasiness, or that the elderly man was wondering if he was somehow responsible for this awkward moment.
"Uh… Well, then, if you're ready to get started…" he offered hesitantly.
"…Yes, Doctor. I'm coming."
Gilmore looked apologetically towards the rest of the group before moving toward the door, allowing Britain to follow quietly behind him. Joe glanced around at the others before standing up and heading after them. With their departure, what remained of their gathering dissolved, with Francoise, Pyunma and Geronimo staying to help Chang clear off the table.
While Chang appreciated the aid, he shook his head when Geronimo began collecting the dishes.
"I can handle it on my own," he assured with a smile, waving him aside.
Stacking the empty plates to one side, he picked up Britain's half-eaten meal. A pang of disappointment shot through him, less due to the wasted food than because of the fact that he was hoping the Englishman would have taken more. He hated throwing anything away, especially since his friend needed the nutrition whether he cooperated or not…
"Are you alright, Chang?"
…But it couldn't be helped right now.
"I'm fine, G-Junior," he answered without looking up at the towering cyborg. "It's just…"
Sighing, he shrugged off the comforting hand touching his shoulder and moved to empty the dish in the garbage. No point in wrapping it up: there was still plenty of pancakes leftover for anyone who felt like having some later…
"…I don't know what to do," he heard himself admit before realizing that he was speaking again. Feeling his face tighten with frustration, Chang didn't turn to face the others as he continued, "I want to help, but I don't know how to handle this…"
"Chang…" Francoise trailed off helplessly.
"I can't talk to him… I mean, I know what I want to say, but I don't know how to say it…" He gestured feebly with one hand, setting the plate down by the sink with the rest. "How do I…"
Make him listen? Ivan filled in mentally, causing the chef and the other cyborgs to look over at his bassinet. Sorry to say, but I'm afraid you can't.
"…Ivan…" Chang shifted from one foot to the other, turning to face the child's carrier more fully. The sixth cyborg bit the inside of his lip, furtively asking, "You… can't… um…"
Sorry, but no. The infant's mental tone betrayed no hint of reaction to the half-formed notion he picked out of the chef's disorganized thoughts. I can't do that.
Chang looked down, feeling both dismayed and relieved by that declaration for reasons he couldn't quite explain to himself without getting a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. If the others present guessed at the significance of this exchange, they concealed it well. Francoise simply appeared downcast in general, and she scooped the baby into the cradle of her arms.
"We have to give him time," declared Geronimo evenly, regarding his companions with his usual calm gaze. "Forcing the issue will just make it worse…"
"…Nnhmn," Pyunma made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head while placing several covered dishes in the refrigerator. Closing the door and turning to face the others, he mused, "That's true, but… Somehow I don't think he plans on dealing with it anytime soon…"
A grim silence followed that remark, those present exchanging knowing glances as each thought what nobody wanted to vocalize: that they couldn't avoid dealing with the consequences forever. All questions of blame aside -- they all knew who was truly at fault for the whole mess, and he was out of reach for now -- they had to repair the damage done.
Chang stared steadfastly at the floor, seriously wishing everything could be fixed. If they couldn't find a way to mend what was broken, sooner or later he feared what remained would be too hopelessly shattered to save.