As always, the disclaimers are located in the first chapter's notes.

-- Intervention --

Waiting wasn't working.

Honestly, this didn't surprise Jet in the slightest -- after all, problems weren't exactly inclined toward solving themselves. Expecting others to take care of things you should be doing all too often led to bitter disappointment -- in the end, the only person you could count on unconditionally was yourself.

Still, he'd tried to be fair…the others had their reasons for acting the way they did, and he'd done his best to go along with their wishes, however unwillingly. Some things couldn't be forced -- some people just refused to cooperate, no matter how much easier it might make their lives.

Problem was, patience wasn't yielding any progress.

Contrary to his teammates' beliefs, G.B. had yet to turn to anyone and confess, "Hey, guess what? I really do need help, so, um, would you mind…?" No, the shapeshifter was too preoccupied with keeping them at arm's length for whatever inane rationale he'd latched onto.

…And Jet was getting really sick of pretending he couldn't see it. …Of acting like somebody wasn't self-destructing right in front of him.

If Britain couldn't take care of himself anymore -- or wasn't willing to, for some stupid reason -- then there wasn't any point in giving him room to breathe. Jet sure as hell wasn't about to stand back and watch it happen.

It wasn't a very long walk from the training chamber to the seventh cyborg's quarters. There wasn't nearly enough time to go over what he wanted to say -- but then, there probably wouldn't have been enough time no matter how many times he crossed through the Dolphin.

The closed door presented a minor problem. To his credit, Jet did pause long enough to get a firm grip on his temper before raising his hand.

"Yo, G.B.! C'mon out here, okay? Gotta few things I wanna say to you…"

To be fair, he did wait a few minutes after knocking, giving the shapeshifter plenty of time to open up. When the answering silence stretched on just a little too long, the redhead frowned, but tried again. And if the rapping was a tad louder this time, well, that was only to be expected, wasn't it?

"G.B., it's me! Jet! Open up, already!"

Still no response came. Grimacing, Jet knocked a little harder, leaving his fist pressed against the door while counting in his head. Reaching 'nine' with no answer, he growled through clenched teeth, whipping his arm back.

"Damnit, G.B.…!"

"…002?"

Jet froze in mid-swing, then turned to see Britain approaching from down the hall, a curious look on his face. Blinking, the aerial expert scrambled to recover: slinging his arm up against the doorframe, he leaned against it like that had been his intention from the start.

"Hey, G.B.," he said tersely, nodding to the Englishman as he walked up. "We need to talk."

The look Britain gave him couldn't really be compared to that of a deer in headlights: though his eyes widened a bit, involuntarily, there was a certain expectation evident as well. Very deliberately not casting a glance at the doorway just behind Jet -- telegraphing that impulse even without acting on it -- he instead took a soft, barely audible breath before looking directly up at him.

"…Can't it wait…?"

"No, it can't," spat Jet, bristling at the not-entirely-unexpected question.

"…But Doctor Gilmore wanted me to…"

"Don't care."

"…He said he wanted to check something, and…"

"He can wait. This doesn't have to take long."

"…But…"

"Look, if you're so worried, then let's just get this over with so you can go. Now, talk."

"………"

Finding no solace in the second cyborg's grim copper eyes, Britain lowered his gaze to his shifting feet. Absently, he folded his arm over to grip his right shoulder, letting it slide down the length to lightly squeeze his wrist. Jet glared, letting a few minutes tick by before snorting.

"Guess you're not in such a big hurry after all," he noted bitterly.

"…002…"

"Yeah, what? Got something you wanna say?"

"………"

"…Don't tell me you can't think of anything." Lips threatening to peel back into a snarl, he impatiently prompted, "Okay, then, for starters, could ya tell me exactly what the hell you've been thinking lately? You really think anyone's been buying this weak act of yours?"

Britain bit the inside of his lip, staying stubbornly silent. Copper eyes narrowing in disgust, Jet felt his fingers twitch, threatening to curl into fists.

"Seriously, come on. You can't think we're that stupid. We already know what he did to you -- or enough of it…"

The flight specialist trailed off at that, waiting for a reaction. Truthfully, he'd done his best to avoid speculating on that particular issue -- what he knew of the reality of the situation was bad enough without his imagination going wild -- but by this point, he was willing to push whatever buttons necessary to draw out a response.

The shapeshifter stiffened at his words, so he figured he'd hit a mark with that. Brown eyes flew up to lock with his, lit by some unidentifiable emotion -- mostly due to how quickly Britain averted his gaze to one side again.

…Which didn't exactly help in stifling some of the darker notions Jet had been batting around. Frustration over the continued stonewalling he was running against proved a decent enough distraction for the moment.

"You know, it really doesn't help when you don't say anything. 'Cause then I have to wonder just what exactly you're not telling us. What's there left to hide? We already know the whole deal with how he took over and made you…"

Shaking his head, the shapeshifter muttered something under his breath. Jet leaned forward a bit.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"…I said, I don't want to talk about it. 002, please…"

"I got that already. Guess what? I don't care." Again the second cyborg shifted his weight, barring any means of escape. "I don't care what he did to you; you can't keep acting like this. We know you're not okay, so stop saying you are and…"

"…But I am doing better now. 002…"

"Like hell you are!"

Fist crashing against the doorframe, Jet shoved away and straightened, glaring down his nose at Britain. Fear flashed momentarily over G.B.'s face: quickly regaining control, the shapeshifter shook his head, giving the fuming redhead an annoyingly plaintive look.

"002, listen…"

"You listen. Stop playing this stupid little game of yours; what's the point? We know what happened, we've been trying to help, but you just keep denying that you need it--"

"…I don't. 002, lo--"

"What the hell is your problem?! There's no reason for you to--"

"I don't need anyone's help!"

"You gotta be kidding me! Just admit it!"

"I don't… I don't…"

Shaking his head violently, Britain abruptly turned away, only to be unceremoniously yanked back by his shoulder. Jet spun him around to face him, blockading the way with his right arm while seizing the Englishman's elbow.

"G.B., I'm getting really, really sick of this!" he hissed, leaning in closer to make certain the shapeshifter could hear him clearly. "Quit pretending this little game you've been playing actually works; we all know, okay? We know. And guess what? Nobody's mad 'cause of what Black Ghost made you do--"

"…maybe you should be…" Britain muttered, turning his face away as best he could.

If Jet overheard him, he didn't show it. Sharp, angry copper eyes continued to burn into the shapeshifter, as their enraged owner continued his rant.

"--Just 'cause of this stupid little farce you've got going on. I mean, seriously! There's no reason you can't…"

"…Yes there is."

"Yeah? Alright then, tell me."

Britain went perfectly still, gradually turning wide brown eyes back to meet the second cyborg's stern expression. Seeing no chance for mercy there, he lowered his gaze to the ground, taking a slow, stuttering breath.

"…Jet?"

That wasn't the shapeshifter using his real name; Jet gritted his teeth, fighting down the sudden strong urge to slam his fist into the wall over and over again. Before he could act on that impulse, however, a hand closed over his shoulder, a bit hesitant but firm nonetheless.

"…Stay out of this, Joe," he warned, in what he hadn't meant to be a snarl but came out as one anyway.

"What do you think you're doing?" There was a commanding edge to his leader's tone that suggested he already had a pretty good impression of what was going on -- whether or not he was right was beside the point.

(What am I doing? Oh, just something you've been too chicken to do yourself, so back off and let me work, 'kay thanks.)

Tempting as it was to say that, Jet already figured there wasn't much he could say to salvage the situation. Britain certainly wasn't talking anymore; the seventh cyborg had gone back to studying the wall again, perfectly aware that Joe's appearance spared him the need to explain himself.

…That wasn't totally Joe's fault. It wasn't like the Japanese teen was going to keep G.B. from speaking should he choose to continue.

…It was just considerably easier to turn his frustration on Joe at the moment.

"Go away," Jet ground out, turning a smoldering glare on the intruder. "We're almost done talking…"

"Funny, that doesn't look like talking to me," and Joe squeezed the redhead's shoulder for emphasis. "C'mon, Jet, lay off."

And there was… so much he could say to that, but -- Jet already knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that things would just get uglier and uglier if he didn't let it go for the moment. One look at Joe's stern expression was all he needed to realize he had no chance of getting the other teenager to cooperate. He knew what it looked like -- what it was, to a certain degree -- and that the opportunity had already been blown the second they were interrupted.

So, reluctantly, he let go of Britain's arm and stepped back, shooting the shapeshifter a meaningful scowl as he backed off.

This was only a temporary reprieve, after all. Once he could get Britain away from the others -- which would likely be soon, considering the shapeshifter's recent habits -- he'd try again. That was all there was to it.

Still, he clenched his fists together and glared spitefully at Joe as the pair walked off, the brown-haired cyborg giving him a suspicious glance before hurrying after his older comrade. All the rationalizations he could come up with didn't make it any easier to deal with such setbacks…

"Damn," he finally snarled, spinning on his heel and stalking off to vent elsewhere.

Joe walked a few paces behind G.B.; while he figured he really should be saying something, the words simply wouldn't come to mind. Already he figured he more or less knew what Jet had been up to: that, at least, was one less question he probably needed to ask.

…But that still left too many topics to choose from.

Britain definitely wasn't helping: the Englishman hadn't so much as looked directly at him since his arrival on the scene. In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn't gotten so much as a…

"…Thank you…"

Joe blinked at Britain's back. Then he laughed, nervously.

"Ah… you're welcome," he replied, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. Pausing temporarily, he then moved to close the distance between them, venturing reluctantly, "So, what were you guys…"

"…Nothing important. …It was my fault, really." Shaking his head, Britain added, "Don't blame him, alright?"

"Uh… okay… I'm not mad, anyway."

"…Hm."

They walked a few minutes in silence, Joe watching his friend out of the corner of his eye, attempting to read his impassive expression. Finding nothing of interest, the ninth cyborg eventually sighed and looked away, down the hallway before them.

"…You know, G.B.…"

"…Please, 009. I'm fine."

"…At least listen to what I want to say."

"………"

"…G.B.… What happened before wasn't…"

Closing his eyes, Britain shook his head sharply, cutting his companion off.

"009, I've already heard all this before."

"…Yeah, but… I'm not so sure you're listening…"

"………"

Looking over, Joe noticed that Britain was facing away, studying the wall as they walked past. Sidestepping in front of him, he caught and held his gaze.

"Look, we just want… All we want to do is help. I don't understand why…"

"…009." The shapeshifter's tone hardened, and Joe found himself staring up into startlingly cold, detached eyes. "I told you; I don't need your help. I can manage on my own; you guys have enough to worry about as it is. You shouldn't waste time getting upset over what happened to me. Understand?"

"Ah… but…"

Again the Englishman shook his head; slipping past Joe as easily as his leader had blocked the way a moment before, he started on his way again, addressing the younger man without glancing back again.

"I'm asking you, please; just forget about it, alright? I don't want to fight about this anymore…"

He continued on his way; after a moment, Joe snapped out of his bemusement and followed him. Much as he wanted to, the ninth cyborg didn't immediately pipe up again, respecting his comrade's wishes for the moment… or, at least, until he could think of something else to say that would hopefully be more effective in getting through to him.

Francoise sighed, absently rubbing the side of her face with one hand, fingers lacing up through her bangs. Pyunma leaned back in his chair to look over at her.

"Are you alright, Francoise?"

The French maiden nodded, brushing her hair back as she turned to face her comrade with a reassuring smile.

"Yes… I'm fine. Just a little tired, I suppose…"

"Trouble sleeping?"

"Mmm… Well, not exactly…"

She shook her head; Ivan had never explained why he'd been crying, though she had pleaded with the child to tell her. After drying his tears, it had been a while before Francoise could try and go back to bed herself, distracted by her concern over his odd behavior.

It simply wasn't like Ivan not to open up to her; coupled with everything else that was going on, it was more than a little distressing. Just one more issue to worry about as their makeshift family endured its latest crisis.

"Go ahead and go back to bed, if you want; I've got things under control here," offered the aquatic specialist.

"No… no, I'm fine," and Francoise shook her head in denial, straightening in her seat.

"…You sure?"

"…Yeah. Don't worry."

Pyunma wasn't convinced, but chose not to press any further: for all her sweet nature, Francoise could be just as stubborn as any other member of their team when pressed. Turning back to his station, the eighth cyborg surveyed the panels before him with the critical detachment this sort of work demanded.

There wasn't much they were needed for at the moment: the Dolphin possessed one of the finest and most advanced auto-pilot modes developed, courtesy of Black Ghost: having them present at the helm was merely an understandable precaution. Besides, there were plenty of other programs they could oversee where stationed there, many of which they were constantly running out of habit.

After all, there was no telling when their enemy might choose to launch another assault. Any measures they could put into place to prevent from being caught off guard by such plans were highly valuable.

A light began flashing at the edge of his vision; glancing over, Pyunma raised an eyebrow, feeling the muscles in his back tense involuntarily. Even as he turned his chair to better face that direction, he could hear Francoise moving behind him.

"What is it, 008?"

The query was almost unnecessary; thanks to her enhancements, it took only a second for Francoise to check for herself. Still, the pretty blonde rose to her feet and walked over, and soon Pyunma felt the weight of her arm against the back of his chair.

"Oh…" she breathed.

Dark eyes narrowing, Pyunma nodded in agreement with her unspoken sentiment. They needed to examine this first, before issuing a standard alert, but for the moment, neither held much hope that this would turn out to be a false alarm.

Standard-level encryption on one of the networks they'd intercepted before, one of Black Ghost's slightly more commonly used channels. As he set to work running decoding programs, Pyunma shared a knowing glance with Francoise. It looked like their so-called grace period was over…