All the general disclaimers are back in the first chapter.
-- Discretion --
Ivan hated his sleeping habits.
It wasn't the fact that he essentially lost half of every month, or even that it was all at once, instead of spaced out more normally. Keeping well rested was vital to their continued safety and survival; dealing with Black Ghost was difficult enough without the added risks fatigue brought.
More, it galled the youngest cyborg how rigid the schedule was, how inflexible and demanding the needs of his tiny body were. Fifteen days of relative alertness were immediately followed by fifteen days of slumber -- not accounting for when overuse of his powers forced him into early naptime.
His inability to determine when it was best for him to sleep was a constant source of annoyance for Ivan. This glaring lack of control was perhaps his greatest weakness -- aside from the obvious limits of his perpetual youth.
Everyone else was able to ignore the need to rest and recuperate -- and all too often did, thanks to necessities real or imagined. As often as Ivan chided them for it, occasionally, he wished he possessed the same freedom.
For while it seemed dubious to consider what could amount to self-abuse when carried too far beneficial… there were times where he could see the advantage in the long run.
It was a flexibility he didn't have access to. Perhaps that was what made it so alluring, sometimes… just the concept of having another option available.
While it was true he could rouse himself at times -- the rest of the team often spoke thankfully of how the infant seemed to know right when they needed him the most and woke accordingly -- Ivan didn't consider it nearly as comforting. Nobody else realized just what a struggle it was for him to force his powers to work when his body demanded sleep.
There were always consequences to deal with afterwards. If the others had known, they wouldn't have found it nearly so surprising that he plunged right back into a deep slumber after performing whatever save was required.
Ivan wasn't about to tell. Like everyone else, he had a role and was willing to do whatever it took to protect his family -- no matter how severe the punishment.
But he couldn't always protect them, especially when the threat wasn't coming directly from Black Ghost, but rather from within.
Ivan sighed, silently, and lay back in his crib, staring at the ceiling without seeing it. Every last detail of this room was already committed to memory, to the point where the Russian child could have floated around with his eyes closed without fear of bumping into anything.
…And yes, he did know this from experience.
Here lay another one of the problems inherit in his 'fifteen-day-sleep-cycle' routine: when he was fast asleep, it was a struggle to wake up, but when it came time for him to be awake…
It wasn't exactly impossible for Ivan to take a nap or get a few moments of rest; whenever the opportunity presented itself, he tried to capitalize on it, fully aware those extra minutes might make all the difference further down the line. This was about the only way of adding some small degree of flexibility to the schedule, and he wanted to take full advantage of this when he could.
…Unfortunately, the time he squeezed out in this fashion was often lost later on, burned up the next time he used his powers. At best, he might gain a few hours… not counting when overexertion led to falling asleep.
All too often, it seemed like the most control over his sleeping habits came when he pushed himself beyond the limits of his ability and ended up throwing the schedule off by accelerating it.
Ivan hardly appreciated the irony.
Even when he did take a nap, they weren't prone to lasting more than a couple hours. His body felt it didn't need the rest -- why would it, after fifteen-odd days of uninterrupted slumber (not counting when he dragged it kicking and screaming to temporary awareness for the sake of his family).
…Which meant that, more often than not, Ivan found himself wide-awake and bored out of his mind.
If it weren't for how his abilities allowed him to 'look' far beyond the scope of his nursery, Ivan had a feeling he probably would have snapped by now. While it used too much energy to levitate everywhere he wanted to go -- hence his preference to being carried whenever possible -- at the very least, he could check what was happening elsewhere without leaving his crib.
Just looking around mentally didn't take nearly as much stamina. By this point, Ivan had nearly perfected the art of pinpointing the others and checking on them… with or without their knowledge.
It was a dangerous hobby to indulge. For all his rationalizations, Ivan knew how thin the line between innocently glancing at the others and violating their right to privacy was. So he was very careful not to probe too deeply, satisfying his need to occupy his mind without damaging their trust.
As a general rule, Ivan didn't establish a connection with somebody else's mind, direct or indirect, without having a good reason behind it. When he used his telepathy, he made certain to be direct and to the point, expending just enough energy to ensure the message got through to everyone as intended.
The built-in communicators the rest of the cyborgs possessed made holding long-distance discussions easier because he could 'hear' that instead of having to lift the words from their thoughts. The minds of others tended to come across as confused jumbles, and it took considerably more concentration to pick up more than raw emotions.
If he pushed hard enough, Ivan could peel back the layers and, conceivably, pluck out anything he wanted. When the situation called for it, for example, he could delve into an enemy's mind and, given enough time and concentration, retrieve whatever knowledge they had -- potentially vital information that might mean the difference between success and failure.
He absolutely hated when it was necessary to do that.
While he didn't do any permanent damage -- that was one line Ivan never wanted to cross, a step he wasn't willing to take unless and until he was pushed and there was no other possible option open -- he despised having to go in and take anything that wasn't freely offered. Certainly there didn't appear to be much choice in the matter when such situations came up, and when it came down to it he'd rather ensure the safety of his family than the privacy of a hostile stranger… but…
…It was an unwelcome reminder of what he was capable of.
Just as Ivan knew the limits of his talents, and felt continual annoyance over his problematic sleep-cycle, so too was he aware of what sort of incredible feats he could accomplish. Teleportation, levitation, telepathy and mental shields were far from the only powers he possessed.
Not only could he probe into another person's thoughts, he could potentially delve into the core of their very being, into the innermost depths of their heart, mind and soul…
…And what could be reached, could also be attacked.
That line of reasoning had allowed Ivan to deal with the virus before: by linking with 007 he had been able to reach the core of the infection, working alongside the displaced soul to fight back. While he hadn't been able to destroy it completely -- despite wanting to wipe the horrible thing from existence -- he'd been able to damage it enough to ruin the control it held.
He just hoped he hadn't done any damage to Britain in the process. He'd worried about the possibility of a backlash, but by that point, there hadn't been any more time to consider alternatives… or any alternatives he could see, even looking back now.
Ivan didn't think he'd actually hurt anything, however, in the long run.
…And anyway, despite his efforts, Britain had already been damaged enough by outside influences.
Grimly seeking some form of diversion from that track of thinking, Ivan silently reached out to check on the rest of his family.
Francoise was already asleep: hardly surprising, given the late hour and the consideration that, as per usual, she had spent most of the day caring for the psychic cyborg. Ivan sustained the link just long enough to assure himself she was lost in pleasant dreams before moving on, loathe to disturb her well-earned slumber.
Joe was also fast asleep, as was Chang, having already retired to their separate rooms. Doctor Gilmore had dozed off as well, although Ivan was torn between annoyance and amusement to discover the scientist had, once again, been working on the computer right up to the point where he couldn't resist the need to rest any longer. The elderly man was slumped in his chair before a black screen: either he had the presence of mind to switch it off beforehand or someone else had been kind enough to do so after the fact. The blanket draped over his shoulders seemed to suggest the latter.
Albert, while holed up in his own quarters, was still awake. Judging from how he was sitting up in bed, reading a well-worn-looking tome, it seemed evident the German cyborg planned on remaining so for some time. Ivan took note of what he was reading, picking up where he'd gotten the script from without really intending to glean the information, and moved on.
Geronimo was lost in meditation: again, far from surprising to the first cyborg, who had discovered the gentle strongman engaged in this activity almost regularly in the past. Knowing the value of organizing one's thoughts, he shifted his attention elsewhere quickly, careful not to do more than brush against the fifth cyborg's more vulnerable mind.
Pyunma was at the Dolphin's helm: while his presence wasn't required there at the moment to guide the vessel along, this was far from his intention anyway. The combat specialist gazed out the window, and beyond, to something Ivan wasn't able to see without probing more deeply than he desired.
Jet was, once again, intent on draining every last scrap of strength left in his body through solo training. Frustration and hatred radiated from the second cyborg in waves, drowning out the exhaustion almost completely. Ivan could still sense it, however, and frowned, sorely tempted to 'suggest' he get some rest.
Understanding that the stubborn redhead would eventually give in on his own, without unwanted encouragement from outside sources, helped Ivan find the will to move on.
Briefly, he directed his thoughts inward, caught up in his own private struggle of sorts. He didn't have to expand his senses to have some idea of what else he would find. The problem lay in whether or not he should confirm what he already knew.
…Or if he had the right to do anything more than confirm it.
Having the ability to do something didn't translate to automatically having the right, after all.
Tentatively, he reached out, searching… then pulled back after detecting what he expected.
There was no surprise in that, either. Not that Ivan ever wanted to become used to this particular condition.
Doing anything meant deliberately ignoring his comrade's wishes. If he got caught -- if he pressed too hard, tried too much -- there was no telling what the repercussions would be, for either of them.
…All the same, he couldn't ignore it.
Hesitantly, Ivan expanded his senses again, taking the utmost care not to disturb anything despite his growing desire to end the suffering with a single scream, shocking G.B. out of the nightmare.
Gradually, although all too clearly for his comfort, a mental picture of the shapeshifter came into focus for the first cyborg. He was able to see, just as vividly as if he had teleported into the room, the tremors running along Britain's back as he grappled with some private horror.
A soft, frightened moan accompanied a particularly fierce shudder, and the shapeshifter moved his hands, either grabbing or clawing uselessly at empty air. Pitching onto his side, he curled in on himself, unable to escape whatever tormented him. Watching him struggle, Ivan fought a losing battle with himself, torn between different thoughts and concerns that all boiled down to one desire: the need to help.
When tears started to form in the tightly closed eyes, Ivan figured his decision had been made for him.
There was a deadly sort of game to delving deeper: while he wanted to strike straight to the heart of the nightmare and take it away, the risk of exposing his presence was far too great. All it would take was one slip, and then… he didn't want to consider the damage it would cause.
So, instead, reluctantly, he skirted around the edges of Britain's consciousness, searching for a way to wake him without giving away his hand in it.
As he prodded gently, tugging at threads, images flashed through the corners of his mind… glimpses of what he sought to unravel. It was an unavoidable side effect; incapable of dealing directly with the cause, Ivan was reduced to unwilling witness even as he tried to loosen its grasp.
He couldn't make sense of much, gleaning only swift impressions from each momentary flash: smears of black and red and… pink…?
Stifling, suffocating… Ivan knew it was all illusory, but that didn't stop some measure of pain from registering in the back of his mind. He remained removed enough from the nightmare that it was nothing more than a twinge, a sort of surreal detachment that nonetheless cried out…
…and while he couldn't feel, that didn't keep him from seeing… seeing, just for a second, red on red, spreading and staining…
…hearing a taunting, teasing voice in the back of his thoughts, threatening something that couldn't reach the psychic infant, but chilled his blood all the same…
…sensing the hopelessness and utter despair swelling inside until…
Britain woke with a hastily muffled cry, clutching at nothing but empty air.
Ivan reeled back with an effort, severing the connection so that he was merely watching as the shapeshifter shook off the effects of his shattered nightmare. Feeling fresh despair and self-recrimination sweep over his comrade, it took considerable effort on his part not to reach out and touch minds again.
Letting him know he wasn't alone might end up doing more harm than good.
He could feel it: Britain's shame as he felt the tears still coursing down his cheeks, his anger at himself over letting the nightmare affect him so badly. As he watched, silently, G.B. sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, scrubbing roughly at his wet face with one hand.
There was relief… a bitter relief that, at least, nobody else had witnessed his outburst. Determination not to let anyone else know, a certainty that the knowledge would only hurt his precious friends… the allies he felt certain he didn't deserve.
If Ivan shattered that illusion, how would Britain react?
Ivan already knew Britain worried about exactly that. After trying so hard to shield the others, to keep them from discovering how deeply he'd been hurt… the Russian cyborg could ruin that with just a word. He could expose everything.
What Britain didn't realize was how much Ivan already knew. If he did…
…The silence he'd kept so far rankled. But…
More clearly than anyone else, Ivan recognized just how fragile a state Great Britain was in. Fractured, so frighteningly close to shattering completely beyond repair.
…And for all he knew, breaking the silence would break the shapeshifter as well.
Britain was so convinced that this was the only way he could protect his friends… outside of one other possibility that remained constantly in the back of his mind… the easiest way of ensuring he would never be able to hurt them again.
That undeniable presence frightened Ivan worse than anything else. He felt it… just how close Britain was to taking that step… how he saw it as the only other way out, should everything else fail.
If he alerted the others… would it be enough?
…Was that a risk he was willing to take…? …Should it be…? Did he have the right to…?
Withdrawing back to his own mind, Ivan left Britain grappling with his private burden for the moment. He had far too much weighing him down at the moment, and the sight of the shapeshifter fighting so hard to hide everything deep within wasn't helping.
But the image remained stuck in the back of his thoughts for a long time.