The week proceeded on. But things were different. Most still kept their distance from the android out of respect or fear. But it was probably a combination of the both. Spitfire was worried. Jett wasn’t an emotional wreck like most. He wasn’t displaying typical signs of grief.

No denial, no anger, no bargaining, no depression, though Spitfire wasn’t sure about acceptance. He talked little; sparingly in fact. Conversations consisted of one word answers. He ate little; only down to the essentials that were necessary to keep his systems running. He didn’t even sleep at all; only staring out the window during the night until morning.

In class he worked alone. Spitfire would attempt to get him to talk but he was beginning to reject human contact more and more. Most of his free time was spent in the hanger looking out into the darkness of space.

Spitfire tried to go on as normal. She talked with a lot of her friends she had made at the school, she conversed with Dane more than normal but Jett avoided everyone like the plague.

While she didn’t voice any of her concerns to anyone, secretly she was worried sick about him. From her time spent with him she’d quickly determined that his sister was more of a mother to him than his own mother was. She had been the only maternal figure in his life.

Her death was had the same effect as the loss of a mother. Only for him there didn’t seem to be any effect. The only emotion Spitfire had seen out of him was on the day she died. Now he just seemed… dead.

The Admiral had been there to sort out all the legal matters that had come with Caitlyn’s untimely demise. Fortunately she had paid off the house and cars and left everything to Jett but that was little comfort for him. In fact nothing seemed to faze him at all. At practice he was silent, in the dorms all he did was lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling, and anywhere else he sat alone.

The school tried grief consoling, hell they even offered to give him the week off but he didn’t take it. He simply didn’t speak to any of the counselors.

Now a week and a half after Caitlyn’s death Spitfire was starting to get worried.

She sighed and sat down in the chair at the food court. She was sitting just outside one of the restaurants in mall area of the station. Various students, teachers, and other personnel walked about and talked; going on with business they had to attend to after school was over for the day. Various stores were all surrounded the court. Clothing stores, grocery stores, a GameStop, an arcade, Victoria’s Secret, Hot Topic, a few restaurants, etc.

Dane was wearing sunglasses and leaning back in the chair in front of her, close to falling over. She placed a book on the table.

“What’s that?” Dane asked.

“Just a journal,” Spitfire sighed, “Thinking about keeping a diary.”

“Yeah well just keep it hidden. There are a lot of people who would love to get inside your head,” Dane laughed indicating to the football players at the next table.

“Yeah what is it with them? I’m seeing them around a lot more than usual lately.”

“I don’t know,” Dane laughed, “Maybe one of them has a thing for you.”

Spitfire turned red, “Oh shut up you asshole.”

Dane recovered and sat upright in his chair, “So what’d you wanna talk about?”

Spitfire turned serious, “Jett. I’m worried about him. He doesn’t eat, sleep, talk, or do much of anything. He hasn’t showed anything resembling an emotion since Cat died. I just can’t get through to him at all.”

“Well have you tried kissing him?”

“Dane this is serious.”

“I know I know, bad joke.”

“I just don’t know what to do. I just want to see him smile again.”

Dane sighed, “You know if you had said that at any other time I would have thought you were crushing over him. But sadly you’re right. I kinda miss his sometimes funny sometimes cynical attitude on things.”

“I don’t know what to do. He seems so emotionally dead,” she sighed.

Dane looked over her shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Look for yourself.”

She turned. Jett had just left the bookstore carrying several things; a book on Battlefield Psychology, The Art of War, and a book on Modern Battle Strategy.

He didn’t as much as glance at them or anyone as he walked towards the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Again his eyes looked more grey than blue. He calmly opened the door and stepped into the staircase.

“What do you think that was about?” Spitfire asked.

“You’re asking me? How am I supposed to know?” Dane shrugged, “I could barely get inside his head before. No way in hell that’s gonna happen now.”

“Well we have to try something. We can’t just let him stay like this.”

“Maybe. But have you considered this is just his way of grieving? I mean, neither of us is human so the five stages of grief may or may not apply to us. Hell I don’t even know how I would react to something like that. Right now he seems… unpredictable.”

“Hmm. Maybe. Let’s wait and see. I’ll keep watch over him for a few more days. If nothing changes then we’ll do something. Deal?”

“Alright.”

They stood up and walked towards the elevators to the dorms.

***

“Now why was hot stuff talking with robot boy’s cousin?”

“Why are you asking us? It’s not like we know them.”

Ryan sighed, “Well I thought that you would maybe know something.”

“Not really. All I really know is that the Cyborg’s Sister died last week. Apparently she was some kind of war hero.”

“Danny, I don’t care if she was the president of the entire Earth/Mars Alliance. What I do care about is the girl the Toaster boy is rooming with.”

“Yeah she’s a hot thing isn’t she?”

“Careful Danny,” Chris laughed, “Don’t want Amanda to hear that.”

Ryan slammed his fists on the table, “Guys shut up. I really don’t care about your relationship statuses right now. What I want is to figure out how to bag fire hair over there.”

“Well you could just do what you did with Christy.”

“Getting drunk and having sex behind her parent’s shed does not sound like the type of thing she’d go for.”

“Well what do you think she would go for?”

“Hmm. I have an idea. Come on.”

***

Spitfire opened the door to her and Jett’s room and walked in. Something was different this time. Instead of sitting on the bed staring at the ceiling he had several large sheets of paper placed on the bed and was carefully drawing diagrams into them, occasionally looking back at a book or a topography map before returning to his work.

Spitfire strolled in and dropped her bag at the foot of her bed, “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.”

She sighed, “When are we going to go practice my teleporting again? We haven’t done it since we got here that first week.”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Later.”

“Ok.”

The android stood up and walked over to the desk they shared in the room and pulled up a window. He began scrolling through it at speeds faster than normal.

“What are you doing now?”

“Counting.”

“Counting what?”

“The stockpile.”

“Stockpile of what?”

“Old things.”

“How old?”

“20th century.”

“So what are you counting?”

“Weapons.”