The disclaimer's back in the first chapter, if you somehow missed it.

-- Inspection --

When faced with a problem, the best course of action is to stand back and study it carefully, for as long as circumstances permit. Doctor Gilmore preferred this steady approach, having found out through experience that it was, by far, the safest and surest way of solving matters.

Rushing into things uninformed only led to complications. True enough that you could still work your way toward a solution by tackling it head-on, but there really wasn't any sense in making things more difficult than they already were.

It wasn't like he couldn't sympathize with those who preferred the most direct and immediate approach -- contrary to what certain members thought, Gilmore did actually recall his more reckless youth. It was just that he also recalled the consequences of such actions, and could predict more accurately what problems might develop from a hasty approach.

…Or, maybe, he simply cared a whole lot more about said consequences, and preferred to avoid them whenever possible instead of simply dealing with whatever life threw at them.

However, information can only take you so far… especially when it's impossible to gather all the required data.

Computers can only do so much; reading minds was beyond the capabilities of any of the equipment immediately available to the scientist. Not that the good doctor would have ever considered using such atrocities even if he had the means: the mere thought turned his stomach.

The trust he had earned from these people… his family… was not something to be thrown away so callously.

No matter what the circumstances…

Suppressing the urge to sigh, Gilmore looked away from the screen and its rows upon rows of neatly organized statistics. In all honesty, about the only purpose these physical scans served was allaying his nagging suspicion that Black Ghost's attempts at… reprogramming had leftover effects.

Gilmore was certain he'd already gotten everything. The virus had been purged via several applications of the vaccines he'd constructed, during the periods where Britain was… incapacitated. The uniform, or what remained of it, was stowed away to be studied only when he was absolutely certain nobody else was around to see it. A part of him wanted to completely destroy the wretched thing, a temptation he knew he'd eventually give into… once he was able to figure out a way of counteracting such horrific methods of control.

Then there were the tracking devices he'd located and surreptitiously destroyed. All of the little bugs had been planted sometime during the shapeshifter's captivity, and Gilmore honestly hadn't been surprised to find them. Black Ghost had all sorts of contingency plans.

There had been three: an easy-to-find decoy meant to distract attention from the more complicated ones hidden away in more difficult to remove areas. All had been carefully deactivated and destroyed without drawing undue attention to them.

The last thing anyone needed was more to worry about… and the last thing Britain needed was something else to unfairly blame himself for.

Now if only he could get Britain to understand that…

Gilmore's gaze tracked over to where his patient sat on the edge of the adjacent infirmary cot. Either the seventh cyborg didn't notice the scrutiny he was receiving, or -- and this seemed more likely -- was ignoring it. Instead Britain was caught up in studying his arms, or perhaps the small pads and wires that were hooked up to the upper half of his body.

Despite the necessity of it, Gilmore couldn't help but wince internally. It wasn't like the shapeshifter acted especially put off by all of the tests he'd gone through over the past few days -- in fact he was incredibly cooperative, no matter how long and tedious they tended to run.

…He wasn't quite sure yet if that in itself could be a signal that something was amiss.

While the check-ups made the scientist side of him feel a little more at ease, the part that viewed the rest of the team as his family -- like his sons and daughter -- kept wondering if these reviews were really beneficial to Britain's mental health.

Surely Black Ghost had put his captive through his own types of examinations… the sort that Gilmore could only imagine. His own service underneath the phantom tyrant didn't precisely help when it came to picturing what sort of tests the shapeshifter must have endured…

Did G.B. remember those now? …Probably. Did he think about them whenever the good doctor conducted his own studies…?

That was… something to be considered, even if he never found out the answer.

Doctor Gilmore hadn't asked yet… couldn't bring himself to. It wasn't just that there wasn't much chance he'd get a response; Britain hadn't said anything about it, yet, and in all likelihood wouldn't say a word even if he pressed the issue.

…And… he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know the truth. It wouldn't eliminate the need to run these scans, after all… it wouldn't change matters much.

Still, the possibility remained, stubbornly nagging at the scientist as he continued to review the data he was gathering.

Britain never looked directly at the working doctor, or at the brown-haired boy sitting awkwardly by the doorway. He found it far safer to pass the time studying his immediate surroundings: the machine whirring softly away beside him, the neatly pressed sheets of the cot, the wires covering the exposed skin of his torso and arms…

…That last was particularly important. Hopefully the good doctor wouldn't ever figure out just why. Oh, he surely had his suspicions, but Britain figured -- prayed -- that they followed a more obvious track, one that veered away from the real truth.

The wires themselves didn't really bother him at all. He understood they were necessary for examination purposes. Understood how important it was to make sure things were functioning as they should now.

…There were other ways the same tests could be conducted. Mostly requiring equipment that he was at least fairly certain the doctor didn't have on hand… or would use if he did.

…Pretty certain he wouldn't ever…

Also… it really helped that he could move around if he wanted. Doctor Gilmore didn't mind that he was sitting up right now instead of lying back on the cot. He could even stand up, never mind that the wires wouldn't allow him to wander too far away.

The point was… the point was that the option was always there.

The little white adhesive pads used to keep the wires in place were a far cry from needles. They didn't sting half as much, and while it wasn't entirely painless to put them on… while he couldn't quite forget that they were there… it was still markedly different from the other method of application.

You can't stab a pad down, or expect it to stick by slapping it hard against where it's supposed to go. They have to be placed more gently…

No restraints, no tank, no breathing mask… no gas or gel to steal his senses away. The only thing keeping him there was simple obligation.

All in all, he found this easy to handle. It was almost… comforting, in its own strange fashion.

Too bad he couldn't tell Gilmore that. It was tempting, given the looks he'd noticed the scientist giving him from time to time… but he'd already made his decision.

If he tried explaining to the good doctor that he didn't mind the tests, even found them reassuring in a way, Gilmore would want to know why. …He didn't want to get into that. It would only… hurt the poor man in the long run.

Besides… it might also lead Gilmore to wonder why else the shapeshifter kept checking himself over during these examinations. That would open up a whole new set of problems, right there, if he figured out…

…But he wouldn't, because Britain wouldn't let him find out, or even have reason to guess.

"Alright… I think we're just about done for today."

Britain nodded, looking over to Gilmore without quite looking at him. He carefully began removing wires, peeling off one pad at a time and lying the unattached sensors on the countertop beside him.

He was getting good at concealing his winces whenever he tugged just a little too hard. Practice really did help, though he wasn't as good at it as he would have liked.

The concern he glimpsed on Joe's face as his leader rose to his feet only confirmed that. …Then again, the ninth cyborg was prone to showing such compassion regardless of circumstances.

"Do you need any…"

Britain shook his head before Joe could finish the question. The boy stopped in his tracks and watched awkwardly while the shapeshifter continued his work, making certain not to look directly at his would-be assistant.

It was a relief to pull on his shirt, and Britain mumbled goodbye while shrugging on his jacket, already heading for the door. It was kind of rude, he knew, but he was also aware that Gilmore and Joe understood why he was being so curt… or at least thought they understood.

All the same, he didn't have to turn around to sense his leader staring at him. By the time he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, Joe had already made up his mind and was heading after him.

Doctor Gilmore watched both cyborgs leave, then sighed heavily and returned to reviewing the data he'd gathered. Calling up a table, he compared today's statistics against the results of the last few days.

Everything seemed to be in fine working order… yet the good doctor still couldn't shake the gut feeling that something was amiss. It wasn't merely the fact that all these examinations did nothing to solve G.B.'s real problems; there was something more to it than that. Something he couldn't easily define…

For now, though, Gilmore planned on focusing on doing what he could. Maybe, just maybe, as these sessions continued, Britain would become comfortable with him again and open up a bit more. If nothing else, it should help set his mind at ease.

The virus was gone. It wasn't coming back. That nightmare was over… Now, he just needed to help the shapeshifter wake up.

"G.B.… Are you… feeling alright?"

Again, Britain didn't have to look back to sense how Joe winced at his own words. His mind's eye formed a clear approximation of the ninth cyborg's face as it betrayed his uneasiness, crimson gaze darting to one side before resting again on the shapeshifter's back.

His first impulse was to ignore the question and just keep walking. He didn't want to answer, and Joe was more likely to just let the matter drop than keep pushing the issue if he made it clear he didn't want to discuss it right now.

…Still…

"I'm okay, 009…"

He kept walking, kept looking straight ahead, not wanting to see what reaction his reply triggered.

The footsteps shadowing him paused, but only for a few seconds. Then Joe hurried to close the gap that had formed between them, sliding up beside Britain and staring up into his face.

"Really, G.B.?"

There was a barely detectable hint of disbelief in his tone, but it was all but drowned out by the honest hope in the Japanese cyborg's voice. Joe sensed it was more a simple placation than anything else, but still wanted to believe it was more honest than it was.

Britain struggled to keep his expression neutral. Having those big garnet eyes gazing up at him made this even more difficult than before. Unconsciously he slowed down, allowing Joe to walk just in front of him. Oddly enough, moving so that they were on more uneven footing seemed to help him find his voice again.

"You really don't have to worry about it, 009. Doctor Gilmore didn't find anything wrong, did he?"

"…Well, no, but…" Joe faltered.

Britain took that as his cue to look up in his leader's direction and smile. Closing his eyes helped make it feel a bit more natural; he didn't have to force it in the face of the searching stare Joe was undoubtedly giving him.

"See? Nothing to worry about!"

(…Nothing that you need to worry about, anyway…)

Joe blinked. Having Britain actually smile at him was… a surprise, to say the least. It felt like it had been forever since the last time he saw the shapeshifter looking anywhere close to happy…

He wanted to accept it at face value -- wanted to believe so badly that it was real -- but…

…Something remained slightly… off. This didn't feel right.

True enough that the shapeshifter's smile was disarming, but that wasn't due to the expression itself so much as how unexpected it was.

…And that was part of the problem, right there, Joe abruptly realized. The fact that it didn't feel natural.

Before, there had been an almost effortless quality to Britain's smiles, a simple honesty to his cheerfulness. Even during the times when Joe suspected that it was partly an act to keep everyone's spirits up, there was always something… real behind it.

Right now, though, it seemed a little too thin, too brittle… too fake.

…Like there wasn't anything behind it other than the need to put the ninth cyborg's mind at ease.

Joe couldn't explain why he thought that. He just knew that it wasn't enough.

"G.B.…"

He trailed off when Britain's smile faded, feeling his heart wrench painfully as it melted from sight. The shapeshifter reopened his eyes, but still didn't look directly at him, instead studying a spot near his leader's feet.

"I'm alright now, 009. The virus is gone now, remember? I really am doing much better…"

All the same, Joe couldn't keep from wondering how much Britain was trying to hide behind the simple truth of those words. True, the virus was gone, but…

(…That's not what I'm worried about, G.B.…)

Silence hung in the space between them for a while as Joe tried to figure out just how to make that clear to the seventh cyborg. Before he could come up with the right words, however, Britain stepped to one side and started past him.

Without really thinking about it, Joe reached out and caught his arm by the elbow. Britain paused, not quite succeeding in masking a flinch at the contact. He glanced at Joe without quite looking at him, face falling into something unreadable that didn't suit the actor he'd known… but seemed to fit the person he'd become.

Joe didn't know which side of that made it more frightening.

After a few moments, he loosened his grip, then released the other's arm entirely, letting his own hands fall back uselessly to his sides. Still Britain didn't look directly at him, but murmured something softly under his breath before moving forward again:

"Really, 009, please don't worry about it…"

Joe almost thought he could hear a more empathetic and emotional 'Please…' whispered just underneath the soft entreaty. That, more than anything else, was what kept him rooted to the spot as Britain walked away. He kept staring after him even after the shapeshifter rounded the corner and was out of sight, garnet eyes shining with poorly concealed sympathy.

"I'm sorry, G.B.," he murmured apologetically, "but I can't…"