As always, the disclaimers are located in the author's notes in the opening.

-- Distraction --

Lunch came and went much the same as breakfast had; the only real differences were found in the entrees and in Albert's presence at the table. Jet failed to show up, but Chang took cold comfort in that a sizable portion of the morning's leftovers was now conspicuously absent. Far too much was gone to account for what their resident walking arsenal could have consumed alone.

If he wanted to stretch it, the chef could almost lead himself to hope that perhaps G.B. had also gotten more to eat at some point between the group meals. Thinking that might have made watching the shapeshifter pick listlessly at his plate again almost bearable.

But Chang never really cared for deceptions.

His attempts to try and talk to Britain kept running into dead ends. Part of the problem was that he still didn't know what to say: that mythical phrase that would heal the scars on his friend's heart and bring him back to normal remained beyond his grasp, much to his annoyance.

Neither did it help that Britain had a way of just… not quite looking at him, but turning his attention toward him in such a fashion that whatever words Chang managed to dredge up invariably stuck in his throat. Then it was all he could do to swallow the lump and stammer out something he really hoped didn't make G.B. feel worse while fumbling for anything remotely resembling a semi-graceful exit.

It wasn't anything the shapeshifter did, per se… More what he wasn't doing.

Britain was trying so hard to maintain a detached air nowadays, acting like the others didn't need to bother with him anymore now that they'd rescued him from Black Ghost's latest plot. …Like everything was solved with their escape.

An angry, frustrated part of Chang kept shrieking that YES, it should have ended there, the whole insane ordeal resolved with the destruction of the base.

But… it hadn't. Black Ghost's plans might have been foiled by his defeat, but the horror of what he'd done still haunted his victim. They'd brought an end to 007's physical torture, but what could they do about his inner torment?

…Practically nothing, so long as Britain denied their support.

That particular aspect of their dilemma stymied Chang more than anything else, because, really, wasn't that what made matters seem all but impossible to resolve? Why couldn't G.B. understand nobody blamed him for falling under the phantom's control?

There wasn't any reason for this self-imposed isolation. Chang just couldn't understand why Britain felt it was necessary to keep up this painful act.

It wasn't like the rest of the team wasn't aware of it, anyway. Just because nothing was being said didn't mean they didn't all sense it. The sixth cyborg also knew he wasn't the only one who'd attempted to reach out to Britain, but, so far, all efforts had met with the same results.

…This mask of apathy Britain had assumed didn't fit very well. Maybe part of the problem was that he'd taken it up so soon. There'd been no real transition between 'helplessly sobbing cyborg puppet' to 'recovered-but-still-withdrawn team member' -- at least, none that Chang or anyone else had been able to witness.

But how to make him drop the act and get him started on the real healing process…?

The Chinese cyborg still had no real answer for that question. For the time being, he attempted to shove that quandary to the back of his mind and try focusing on another issue that was cropping up.

Jet hadn't shown up for dinner, either.

There wasn't any real mystery behind his absence, though Chang still couldn't fathom why the aerial specialist thought he could get away with missing so many meals. The redhead had shown up intermittently in the days following their escape; however, that seemed to have been more due to Jet walking in at the right time than anything else. He wasn't putting any real effort into showing up.

When he did join them, Jet tended to spend more time glaring than eating: at Joe, G.B., or anyone else that crossed into his line of vision. He stayed only as long as it took to satisfy his hunger, then always departed in a huff.

He'd never been shy about making it clear how he felt about whatever problems the group faced. Now was no exception.

It wasn't hard for Chang to see where Jet was coming from, for he shared the same sentiments, though he expressed his discontent differently than the short-tempered redhead.

Still, he wasn't about to let this behavior go unchecked. They had enough on their plate dealing with one estranged member.

Making certain he had everything he needed, Chang picked up the tray and headed off, already knowing exactly where to start looking for Jet… although 'looking' falsely implied that he didn't expect to find the flighty cyborg there.

It was debatable whether or not the cyborgs actually needed a training chamber.

The Dolphin had been well equipped to a certain extent, thanks to the Black Ghost's original plans for the vessel. Jet still found it somewhat lacking in areas, however. Exercise was nice and all, but he often wished it were possible to… hone his abilities in situations closer to what they really faced.

There was a vast difference between punching a bag and fighting hordes of armed guards, giant robots and whatever-the-hell-else got thrown their way.

Doctor Gilmore had made some modifications since their commandeering the ship, but while Jet did like some of the programs he'd added, in his mind it was still a far cry from the sort of intensive options they should have.

Several factors kept him from actively bugging the scientist about the issue. First and foremost was pride: Jet didn't want to give the impression that he somehow needed this stuff to improve. It was more… something that would be nice to have around, that was all.

He was also aware that… well, certain members of the crew didn't bother using what they already had available at all. For some of them, it just brought back painful memories of Black Ghost's original intentions for the prototypes.

Plus, it was difficult to practice most of their special talents in enclosed spaces. And some things couldn't be improved -- near as Jet figured, engaging his own acceleration mode didn't really help increase speed or anything like that.

…But then again, he didn't use his cyborg abilities very much when he was training anyway.

It simply wasn't worth the effort -- it wasn't like anything posed a threat here -- and… there was a certain satisfaction found in such purely physical practice.

Besides, the only real benefit he might be able to gain from using his boosters now would be precisely timing short bursts to move between the bars. …Maybe that could be a useful trick at times, but he'd already practiced that earlier.

For now, it was purely natural momentum that carried him from one pole to the next. Jet spun and soared though midair, trying to lose himself in the motion. To focus on nothing but the feel of the metal under his palms, holding on just long enough to turn toward the next target and launch forward.

Unfortunately, the routine didn't provide as much distraction as he wanted.

Even as he kept weaving with seemingly effortless grace through the uneven bars, that irritating voice he sought to escape kept pace, constantly nagging away.

…It really didn't help that said voice was his own.

(Okay, Jet; let's review what happened again. Pro: you killed Black Ghost -- or, well, that goddamn double of his.) The mental equivalent of a sarcastic snort was followed bitterly with (And all it took was G.B. and Pyunma nearly getting killed to spur you into the suicide charge that did it.)

The already hawkish features of the young man were drawn into a tight grimace, bronze eyes glittering in narrow slits. The feel of the pole he spun himself around and sprang from went unnoticed on all but a purely instinctive level: there was no conscious thought behind the movement anymore.

(Con: while you were screwing around with Not-the-Real-Enemy-Stupid, G.B. decided stabbing himself was better than letting said evil maniac turn him against the others. …Not that there's really any decent alternative, but STILL…)

(…So. We still got him out of there. …What the hell am I supposed to do now…?)

Seizing hold of one of the highest bars, Jet swung up to a crouching position on top of the pole instead of moving to the next target. His crop of spiky bangs hung over his face, shadowing his eyes and the way he gritted his teeth as a frustrated growl rumbled low in his throat.

(Let's face it: this isn't the sort of thing I'm any good at dealing with.)

The fact that he was making this admission in the privacy of his own mind didn't make it any easier. Underneath the tangle of copper locks sharp eyes glittered with unbridled rage.

(G.B. says he's fine now. He's been saying that since he woke up. The virus is gone, Black Ghost's copy is gone, and everything's going back to normal now…)

(…Just who does he think he's kidding?!)

(…No getting 'round it. After what happened… what happened to him was…)

The knuckles on both hands were turning white thanks to how tightly he was gripping the bar. Jet didn't notice, or didn't care.

(Torture, abuse, frickin' mind-rape -- doesn't matter what you call it, really, all amounts to the same thing. You just can't pretend it all went away the second that bastard bit it…)

(…And I can't do a damn thing about it…)

His lips curled back in a silent snarl, baring his teeth. The twisting pressure in his only recently repaired chest worsened. Jet was acutely aware he needed some sort of outlet to deal with all this bottled-up frustration, just like he recognized his inability to solve this dilemma on his own.

Patience and understanding were not his strong points. He possessed both traits, but wasn't exactly the best at expressing them.

Handling problems delicately tended to be beyond his grasp, too. Much as Jet hated to acknowledge his own weaknesses, he recognized that, out of everyone in the team, he was probably the one least suited to confronting Britain over his pathetic attempt at well-meaning deception.

…Because that was precisely what it would disintegrate into if he tried, a confrontation.

It didn't take a psychic to see that outcome. All it would take for Jet to snap was having to stand there and listen to G.B. deny how Black Ghost had screwed him up completely and thoroughly. Like the shapeshifter thought he was completely blind and couldn't see what a sorry state he was in…

…If Jet had his strength enhanced in the same way 005 had, the bar would have completely given way beneath his clenched fists by now. Considering how it was currently supporting his weight, that wasn't a very pleasant concept.

Yeah, he mused bitterly, probably not a good idea if I'm already thinking of throttling the idiot 'till he opens his eyes.

This didn't mean he was comfortable with leaving things in the hands of their more… 'sensitive' comrades. True, maybe Chang or Francoise or Joe were more qualified for handling such a intricate situation, but…

…Jet hated the idea of not being able to do anything.

…Especially since it was so damned obvious to him that 007 was still pulling away from the group, already almost too far away to be reached, and still it seemed like the others either hadn't noticed or weren't doing anything or not enough…

…And right now, he was just about ready to abandon this pitiful excuse for training and go find something else to take out his anger on.

When he heard the door slide open, Jet nearly spun around and cursed them for interrupting without even checking who it was first. He had to bite his tongue hard to resist the impulse, privately reminding himself that he wasn't even exercising at the moment.

…Brooding, yes, but he wasn't about to admit that.

Instead, Jet craned his neck, leaning backwards just far enough that he was able to see the doorway so far below without having to turn completely or give up his perch. Once he saw who it was who'd dared intrude on his privacy, his mouth hardened into a thin line.

"Oh. It's you."

His voice was hard, flat and entirely uninviting. Jet supposed that wasn't entirely fair -- he should have expected this, after all -- but wasn't in the mood to act accommodating just now.

Chang shrugged off the displeasure in the hawkish lad's tone -- he wasn't expecting a warm welcome by any means. Balancing the covered tray he'd brought with an expert hand, the sixth cyborg cautiously approached the uneven bars, tilting his head to gaze up at his comrade.

"Yes, it's me," he replied lightly, in deliberate contrast with the younger man's blunt acknowledgement. With a bright smile he added, "Now are you going to come down, or do I have to head up there?"

Jet responded by grunting and hunching forward, pointedly ignoring him. Chang lost his smile shortly; realizing his one-man audience wasn't paying any attention. The Chinese cyborg considered his options, then shrugged and turned to set his burden aside.

Jet heard the movement beneath him, and knew without turning and looking what his companion's intentions were. One corner of his mouth twitched, and he couldn't stop his own warning snarl.

"Don't…"

"Don't what?" queried Chang with an innocence that was almost completely false. "If you're not going to come down on your own, then I guess I'll just have to make you come…"

"Don't you have anything better to do right now?! 'Stead of bothering me, why don't you go try and fail talking to G.B. again?!"

The sudden silence from below tipped Jet off to the fact that he'd actually spoke the 'and fail' part he'd only intended to think. His eyes wrenched shut as he privately cursed himself, then cracked slightly open again when he heard Chang shift his weight uncomfortably.

"…Jet… listen…"

"Spare me," growled the second cyborg, deciding that if he was going to get another lecture he might as well vent some more frustration first. Still adamantly refusing to look down at the chef he spat, "Look, I don't need anyone fussing over me right now! Okay, so I skipped a few meals, big deal! It's not like I've been dragged off or anything!"

"…J…" Chang cut himself off before Jet could do it for him, deciding to let him finish. If Jet caught the near-interruption, he ignored it, too caught up in his rant to lash out again.

"Don't you have enough on your hands dealing with 007 right now?! He's the one that needs help right now, not me! That stupid 'I'm-alright-now-really' bit he's trying to pull doesn't cut it! Does he really think we can't tell how much Black Ghost messed him up?! You know it, I know it, we all know it but he still tries to pretend that wasn't completely screwed up and…"

He abruptly snapped his mouth shut and screeched through clenched teeth, gripping the pole so tightly it shook from the rage Jet was trying to contain. Chang watched in silence, giving the second cyborg some time to try and collect himself. At length, the chef opened his mouth to speak, but before he could start realized Jet was addressing him again.

"…You should be focusing on helping him, not me. …So why the hell did you even bother coming here?"

Jet still hadn't so much as glanced back down at Chang during his tirade, and wasn't planning on acknowledging his presence again. His sharp bronze eyes were fixed on the wall directly across from him, mind still whirling with the maelstrom he'd partially unleashed. Tempted as he was to keep going, until the pressure was relieved a bit more, he didn't want to unfairly crush the chef with misplaced anger any more than he already had.

All he was waiting for now was for the sixth cyborg to make his retreat. He figured Chang would mumble some quiet goodbye and shuffle off, more likely than not leaving the food behind as a peace offering. …Not that Jet really cared whether he took it away or not.

He wasn't expecting an answer.

Jet almost missed it when Chang spoke: his voice was unusually soft, barely loud enough to be discernable.

"…because I actually feel like I can talk to you… because I know you'll listen."

(…Damn.) Jet closed his eyes. (Like we needed any more proof of just how damned messed up this whole thing is…)

An oppressive silence hung between the pair for several minutes with neither moving. Chang was the one who finally broke the stalemate: sighing quietly, he lowered his gaze to the ground. Shifting heavily from one foot to the other, he turned toward the door.

Jet hit the floor in front of him with a dull thud, landing with such force that his knees came dangerously close to buckling from the impact. Chang jumped from surprise; Jet pointedly ignored the astonishment coloring the shorter cyborg's face.

Instead, he picked up the tray sitting by the other's feet and pretended he didn't notice how Chang immediately broke into a disbelieving grin.

Grating out an 'I'm sorry' wouldn't really help in the long run. Partly because a part of Jet wasn't really sorry for voicing his anger over how everyone was summarily not dealing with the situation, and partly because Chang was too intuitive not to pick up on that. They'd both have to settle for a wordless show of apology instead.

Judging from the way Chang was beaming up at him, Jet had a feeling it was being accepted.

All the same, he couldn't force himself to return the smile, aware it would be painfully fake.

(One step at a time… right…)