As always, the disclaimers are located back in the first chapter notes. Finally got this finished…! I apologize for the undue delay, and thank you for your patience and continued feedback. I also apologize for the fact that this accursed thing morphed into an apparent trilogy somewhere along the line… ack… Now that this is done, I'm considering going and banging my head on the wall for a while for letting this spin out like this…

~ * Liberation * ~

One of the most irritating aspects of time is how it never seems to keep pace with anyone else's wishes. At times where there is little to be done other than wait, the minutes trickle past slowly. But without warning the currents pick up speed, and in the blink of an eye one goes from having too much time on one's hands to struggling to find enough to complete whatever must be done.

Doctor Gilmore sank into his chair with a sigh, reluctantly giving in to the demands of his aching frame. The elderly scientist's body protested his continued participation in this race: a coarse knot of pain had formed in his back, demanding he cease for the time being and turn his attention towards self-maintenance.

Closing his eyes, he gently ran his fingers along the length of his creased brow in an attempt to somewhat assuage his growing headache. Too many hours of staring at computer screens caused the burning sensation that throbbed just behind his eyelids.

Still, he only allowed himself a few seconds before leaning forward once again, fingers resuming their practiced dance over the keys as he committed more information to memory and database alike.

His back's protest at the movement went ignored; the needs of his own body were trivial in comparison to all that still remained to be done. The good doctor was used to spending long hours slaving away on projects, a talent he had all but perfected beneath his former employer. While he knew from experience he would pay for his delays later, he considered that unimportant at the moment.

What mattered was how they had looked when they arrived, when he saw firsthand what 005 had reported so tersely. Prior experiences taught the scientist to expect and prepare for the worst, and yet did little to reduce the shock of seeing anyone he cared for injured.

…Especially since Geronimo had neglected to mention precisely how the shapeshifter had been wounded.

In retrospect it made some sort of sense… serving to confirm certain suspicions that he'd been grappling with even before 007's abduction. That certainly didn't mean Gilmore was pleased to discover his suppositions were correct.

He wasn't truly upset with the noble 005 for failing to mention the nature of the shapeshifter's injuries. It was an understandable oversight, even though -- or perhaps especially since they had surely witnessed…

…No, he couldn't fault either one for being distracted. How could anyone be expected to think clearly in the face of all that had happened at the base?

Still, it had been jarring to realize that the lifeless figure cradled so tightly in the strongest cyborg's arms was dying from self-inflicted wounds. Sickening to discover how deeply he had driven his claws into himself… to think that someone who had once seemed so vibrant and cheerful reduced to openly seeking his own death…

What could have brought him down so far? Gilmore wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know all the details, helpful as that knowledge would be in finding a more permanent solution.

…Besides, Britain had already shown prior to his abduction he definitely didn't wish to discuss what he'd been going through. Whether or not that would change after he recovered… though the doctor wanted to be positive, privately, he sincerely doubted the chances of that.

(One step at a time,) he reminded himself sharply, monitoring the readouts before him even while typing incessantly away. The important thing was to ensure that G.B. would at least have the chance to deal with his personal problems in the future, regardless of how long it ended up taking…

The scientist's tired gaze shifted away from the screen to where his patient lay. Though the shapeshifter's hand was no longer buried in his side, the improvements in his condition seemed woefully slight. He still looked far too frail, a shadow under the sheets covering his battered frame… a phantom tethered to this world by the machines pushing him along the road to recovery.

Gilmore was already suppressing the gruesome operation, not wanting to remember the agonizing process of prying Britain's hand free, rushing to seal the cruel gashes left behind. Living through the nightmarish procedure had been difficult enough once; he had no desire to replay it over and over again while he worked now.

At least Britain's condition had finally been stabilized enough that he could move on to other matters, tasks that would hopefully speed the shapeshifter's physical recovery.

Refocusing on the screen, Gilmore called up one of the programs he was running and scanned the displayed information. To his relief, the procedure was still going smoothly: the vaccine appeared to be working normally, without any hint of a problem.

Doctor Gilmore had fully expected Black Ghost to use the virus that had given them so much trouble before on 007 again, so he wasn't surprised to find traces of it in the transforming cyborg's system. It hadn't managed to take complete control like before; he wasn't certain whether this was because of the vaccine he'd created, or something else entirely. Still, he wanted to ensure the infection was completely neutralized.

The virus hadn't been completely responsible for 007's torment this time, however.

The torn remains of the dark uniform 007 had been wearing before lay on the countertop nearby. After ensuring Britain's condition was stable, the good doctor had taken a bit of time to look over the suit, and while he hadn't yet run a full analysis on it, from what he'd already observed Gilmore believed he was getting a better picture of what exactly had transpired.

By running his hands along the inside he discovered innumerable tiny barbs embedded within the fabric. He'd pricked himself several times while handling it; while he'd quickly figured out that the outside layer was smooth and safe to touch, a certain morbid curiosity made him keep working on the coarser side, observing how it responded to being flexed and moved about.

Judging from the cursory summary 005 had given him of their encounter with 007, it seemed this played a key role in Black Ghost's manipulation of the shapeshifter. Clearly the tyrant had a back-up plan in case the virus didn't work; the suit itself was wired to shape what it covered.

He'd seen the results himself while peeling the uniform off. The barbs were small enough that it was difficult to see most of the marks they'd left, but there were patches where the tiny needles must have pierced more often, concentrated mostly on 007's arms, chest and neck.

It was the wounds he couldn't see that troubled Doctor Gilmore the most. The physical damage the suit had inflicted was minimal: after all, what good was a method of manipulating someone if they died in the process? Even the most obviously damaged areas would heal, leaving scars of a different sort to be dealt with.

Again the doctor's hand strayed to his brow, and he shook his head in further attempt to shake off the wave of exhaustion washing over him. He squinted slightly, narrowing his eyes just enough that the faint blurriness creeping into his vision was dispelled, and began to type again.

You're going to run yourself down if you keep this up, Doctor.

The scientist's head jerked upright: despite the familiarity of the voice and the fact he'd been half-expecting the reprimand it still took him off guard. Straightening his shoulders, he continued typing even while mulling over a proper response.

Apparently he took too long to reply, for the faintest sense of annoyance trickled through his thoughts. There was movement at the edge of his vision, and Gilmore knew that if he turned his head he would have seen the basket sitting in the seat beside him floating gently upward.

That was more or less the reason why he didn't turn to look. Instead he stared steadfastly at the screen and kept working.

You've done more than enough already. 007's going to be fine now, thanks to you.

"001…" the doctor used a bare whisper to respond despite the knowledge that their conversation wasn't likely to wake up his patient. "You know it's not as simple as that…"

You've done all you can for now. He isn't in immediate danger anymore.

Gilmore shook his head again; just because the shapeshifter's condition was stabilized didn't mean he didn't fear the possibility of a relapse. He couldn't just leave now, and while he couldn't find the exact words to explain this to the youngest cyborg, his thoughts alone conveyed the message to Ivan.

Don't worry. You're not the only one capable of looking after him. And considering your condition, it's probably better for everyone concerned if you let me take over and get some rest. How long has it been?

Honestly, Gilmore had to admit that it had been a bit too long. He hadn't gotten more than a few restless hours of sleep since the assassin's attempt on his life; again, there were too many concerns that far outweighed details like resting. He was fully aware he was pushing it, but that was irrelevant, both at the time and now. They needed him…

We need you to stay healthy, Doctor, interjected Ivan. With everything that's happened, the last thing we need is you wearing yourself thin like this.

He couldn't deny the logic in that, but there was still so much waiting to be done. He'd been so preoccupied with saving G.B. that he hadn't been able to check on the rest of the team. He knew from status reports that he'd received after their departure that most of the away team members had been injured: nothing life-threatening, thank the stars, but still requiring he examine them more closely…

Already checked on them; everyone's fine, more or less. 008 mostly has a concussion, which he's already sleeping off… Left unspoken was the implication that the African could have gotten off far worse than he had. 002 and 004 are doing alright, no serious internal injuries or anything, and 005, 006 and 009 are functioning fine. There's nothing that won't keep for tomorrow.

Easy enough to say, but still… Still, he was more comfortable staying awake and available in the event that things worsened…

If anything happens, and Ivan's firm mental tone made it clear he didn't expect anything to occur, I'll wake you up if we need your assistance. I promise.

Again the doctor shook his head, irritated both by Ivan's persistence and the sneaking suspicion that sooner or later he'd have to comply with the babe's wishes. It certainly wasn't as if his body rebelled at the thought of sleep in the same fashion his heart was. His back still ached dully, and his eyesight was beginning to blur again, making it difficult to read what he was writing.

Good night, Doctor Gilmore.

Gilmore would have told Ivan that he wasn't planning on dozing off just yet if another blanket of exhaustion hadn't swept over his senses at that exact moment. The scientist blinked, then sagged back in his seat as all resistance swept out of him and his eyes drifted closed.

Ivan smiled behind his pacifier, allowing himself a moment of smug satisfaction as he stopped levitating his bassinet to near eye-level with the doctor and let it settle back down on the chair.

Oh, the doctor was likely to be cross with him once he woke up -- if he realized what the psychic infant had done. That was somewhat doubtful, however: the poor man had been so exhausted that it hadn't taken more than a little nudge in the right direction to send him into slumberland. He might not even recall most of their little conversation, with the sorry state he'd already been in by that point.

It amused Ivan a little that Gilmore didn't seem to recognize that he could be just as obstinate as the best of them at times. But then, everyone in their little group tended to be stubborn when it came to putting the needs of their teammates above their own.

…Which wasn't a terrible personality flaw to have -- if you considered being compassionate and caring a flaw, which Ivan certainly didn't -- but could lead to certain annoyances at times.

The baby shifted in his bassinet, gripping the side with both tiny hands. There wasn't much to see in the chamber other than the sleeping scientist and his patient, but Ivan wanted to take the chance to look around anyway. Staring at the ceiling got old after awhile, and was especially frustrating at times like this.

He'd only awakened recently -- around the time that they were escaping from the Black Ghost base, ironically enough -- but was more or less aware of what had occurred during his rest. The others often marveled at how he typically managed to awaken more or less right when they seriously needed his aid, but so far nobody seemed to have figured out precisely why that was.

Ivan hadn't chosen to breach the issue yet, because he didn't know how they'd react to the news that he more or less 'dreamed' of them. There were plenty of aspects of his powers that even the psychic infant didn't fully understand yet… how could he explain what he saw of their exploits while he was sleeping to them?

There was the sound of furtive movement outside: Ivan had identified the visitor long before he approached the doorway. All the same, he turned his head when the portal swished open to admit Chang inside.

"Doctor Gilmore?"

The chef approached, stopping short when he got close enough to see that the scientist was fast asleep. He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled, setting down the tray he carried on the nearby counter.

"…Well, I guess he won't be needing this as much as I thought," he said softly, referring to the mug he'd brought in.

He didn't sound put off in the slightest by this. Leaving the drink where he'd set it down, Chang walked over to another part of the room, briefly leaving Ivan's range of sight. He returned a few minutes later with a spare blanket borrowed from the supply room, which he laid carefully over the good doctor. The prideful smile he had after straightening and studying the sleeping man faded as his gaze tracked over to the occupied cot.

006…

Chang looked back to the infant with a slight start, blinked, then smiled and nodded as he quickly caught on to what the Russian cyborg was thinking. Picking up the bassinet, he carried it over and sat down next to the bed, cradling the basket in his lap.

Ivan didn't need to delve into the chef's mind to sense his concern over his friend's condition: practically anyone would be able to tell just by looking at the Chinese cyborg. Instead, he focused upon the shapeshifter, gently pressing deeper through the layers of his tortured mind.

He had to take things slowly, proceeding with the utmost caution. A part of him wondered if it was wise for him to be attempting this at all, but judging from what he'd witnessed through his visions Ivan couldn't simply sit back and do nothing at all. It was clear Britain needed support, regardless of whether he sought for or even wanted it… He had to do something, if only to ensure the shapeshifter stayed on the road to recovery.

The alternative was… not an option.

So, with Chang drifting half in and out of slumber somewhere behind him, Ivan set himself to the task of helping G.B. whether he liked it or not.

~ * ~

…It wasn't fair.

Wasn't the pain supposed to have ended by now…?

He felt a bit guilty… leaving the others behind like this… abandoning them after so much had happened… They'd been trying to save him, he knew, but…

…Chang probably had it the worst, since circumstance forced him to let the chef witness it. He remembered seeing the horror on his best friend's face… wanted to apologize, but didn't know if he'd been able to before the darkness swept over him again.

He wished he'd had time to explain… but he'd needed to take the unexpected chance before it was taken away from him just like everything else had been…

It hurt… still hurt…

…why…?

…Why hadn't it stopped hurting yet…? Shouldn't it have…?

It hadn't taken this long before… back in the tank his senses were stolen away within seconds, or so it seemed… it was hard to judge…

…but it hadn't taken this long, he was fairly sure of that.

…Was it different because this would be the last time…? He wouldn't be waking up… he couldn't go back… did it just seem longer because of that…?

…No… why…?

……maybe… he…

…No.

No.

This had to be it.

It had to end now.

It had to stop.

He couldn't take this anymore.

He couldn't…

…couldn't wake up…

…He couldn't wake up, because then the nightmare would begin again.

He couldn't take it anymore…

The pain was supposed to be going away… why wasn't it…

…No… it wasn't leaving… it wasn't fading… wasn't over…

…It wasn't fair!

He didn't want to wake up! He didn't want to keep going on… he couldn't go on like this!

Why…

…because he was weak…

…too weak to fight it… too weak to do anything…

Just like Black Ghost had told him… just like what the others had to think…

…He was too weak… too weak to be worthwhile… too weak to live… or keep from living, apparently…

…Wasn't there anything he was capable of…? He just wanted to die… couldn't he even do that…?

…Too weak to do anything he wanted… even end his suffering…

…Hah. Maybe that was it… It wouldn't be that easy to end it, would it…?

A weakling like him… didn't have the right to decide anything for himself…

…So the pain wouldn't end unless… he managed to get stronger…

…Was that even possible…?

…It had to be. He couldn't go on like this… and if he couldn't end it one way, he had to find another way of dealing…

…If he was stronger, he wouldn't have suffered in the first place…

…Maybe if he found a way… if he could become stronger somehow, then the pain would end…

…That had to be it…

If he was stronger, then… one way or another… it would end…

…It had to, or…

…or he would………

~ * ~

Reluctant awareness made the figure shift uncomfortably, a moan passing through his barely parted lips. His own soft groan only speeded his return to consciousness, and at length Britain's eyes cracked open.

The light was painful to behold. Though it wasn't blindingly bright in the room, his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, so it seemed harsher to him than it would to anyone else.

…This was not one of Black Ghost's laboratories. They tended to go to extremes: the labs were either flooded with light, plunged into darkness, or so dimly lit that the shadows still pervaded the room. But this chamber was none of those things. The lightning was almost… cheery… welcoming, familiar…

…Ah. That had to mean he was on the Dolphin, or someplace similar. It only made sense, considering the last things he'd seen before… failing again.

Britain closed his eyes, feeling his stomach knot painfully. The others had come to rescue him… despite the fact that they had to recognize he wasn't worth the effort. Had he ever been…?

His side throbbed painfully, the agony he'd felt from his wounds sharpening considerably as more of his senses returned. It wasn't nearly as wrenching as it had been the moment he stabbed himself, but still… just the fact that he was still feeling anything was a reminder that he'd managed to screw that up as well.

Wincing, he shifted his weight to the left, enough that he was able to look away from the ceiling and notice, instead, that he wasn't alone.

Chang was seated just a few feet away, Ivan's bassinet resting in his lap. At some point the chef had drifted off, but even now was stirring in his sleep, blinking wearily. The baby sitting attentively in his arms was wide-awake.

Welcome back, G.B.

Ivan's mental greeting seemed even softer than typical; Britain supposed the sensitive child was more aware than anyone else of what sort of state he was in. He supposed he should try smiling or something, but couldn't quite rally the energy just yet.

Chang shook off the after-effects of his nap soon enough, and blinked rapidly, astonishment flooding his face as he realized that the shapeshifter was facing him. A relieved smile quickly appeared, and he started to stand, only to awkwardly fall back into his seat thanks to his burden.

"G…G.B.…" he managed at length, choking slightly. "You… are you…"

There was far too much he wanted to say, too many questions he needed to ask and demands he needed to make, that settling on something was difficult enough without the added problem of struggling to speak. The thankfulness and relief on his face at seeing his friend conscious again was enough for the moment, however.

G.B. finally managed a slight smile for the chef's benefit. In his overwhelming excitement at seeing 007 awake, Chang wasn't quite able to discern how thin and drawn the expression was. Nearly blinded by the tears threatening to well in his eyes, he couldn't see that there wasn't any joy or relief in the shapeshifter's own.

Ivan was capable of seeing it, however. The infant felt a pang of regret as he took in the dullness in Britain's eyes, noticing a darkness that he didn't remember there. Although they could claim a victory over some of Black Ghost's machinations, it was obvious to the infant there was still a long road ahead of them dealing with the consequences.

The worst part was the foreknowledge that he couldn't force matters to turn out alright in the end. Even the young psychic could only do so much himself… and he couldn't repair all the damage that had been done.

Britain closed his eyes shortly, no longer able to watch the joyful visage of his friend. Why was Chang so excited, anyway…? Surely he had to understand that he wasn't anything to get worked up about… After all, he was weak, worthless, and more a liability to their group than anything else …

…But that would change. Britain was going to make certain of that.

Somehow, he had to find a way to make himself stronger. He didn't care what it took… all that mattered was that he found a way to keep from being useless to everyone else. He'd find out how to stop suffering… one way or another… the pain would end…

Reopening his eyes, Great Britain smiled at Chang and thought of how wonderful that end would be.