Apocalypse, now [February 19, 1964, 8:54 pm]

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin popped the last chocolate in his mouth and closed the box.

He felt better.

It had been a long, stressful day. Every time he'd walked unthinkingly past a window, realizing only as he'd passed that he shouldn't have done that, Volgin had nearly flinched, and Colonel Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin did not flinch.

Ocelot had been scowling, even more than usual, as he saw to various security precautions: extra patrols, guards posted on rooftops, a stuffed effigy wearing one of Volgin's uniforms left to sit behind his desk. Ocelot was looking even for another decoy, but there were few men who even approached Volgin's size.

That made Volgin think of Alexei, who actually did approach his size. Alexei, who'd appeared out of the ether and back from the dead to warn him, who cautioned him to move from his regular quarters in the Main Wing to his secondary quarters bunkered below, and just in time, too.

Like he'd known there would be an attempt on Volgin's life. He must have.

Volgin wanted to talk to Alexei now. He wanted answers, but more than that, he wanted to feel Alexei's ruthless mouth and unyielding arms, to have Alexei take him, possess him the way only Alexei ever had.

He sighed.

But there was no Alexei. Not last night, not all day.

His monthly shipment of imported Belgian chocolates had arrived earlier in the day, and it had been like a godsend. Exactly what he needed. He'd even put off eating them until he was alone in his quarters, and could really enjoy them.

He'd eaten every delectable piece in the span of mere minutes.

Carefully, Volgin hid the empty box in the trash, making sure to get every wrapper. It wouldn't do for Ivan to find out. Ivan disapproved of the chocolates, especially when Volgin ate too much in one sitting. "You'll ruin your teeth, Zhenya, or you'll get fat," he would chide, and then take them away, just like Volgin's mother had done, all those years ago.

Volgin loved Ivan, but he also loved chocolates.

Ivan didn't have to know about this.

Volgin got up, restless. Too early to go to bed, too late to be stalking around the base, especially with a sniper on the loose.

Maybe he should go find Ivan. Maybe he should find Ocelot, so they could have that talk. Maybe he should find someone hapless to terrorize, one of Ivan's men, perhaps, someone dispensable, whose smoking corpse wouldn't be particularly missed the next day. There had to be some sort of discipline problem that could use his assistance.

Hmm. Yes. That sounded like a good idea, actually.

Volgin turned to the door, then frowned. His stomach hurt. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten all those chocolates at once, after all.

Comments

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

The catacombs beneath Groznyj Grad were surprisingly unsentried.

Lynx had little problem getting through to the fortified underground wing, which he remembered from his own days at the Grad.

At one point he had seen a spray of fire and heard the insane cackle of someone laughing to himself, but he had been in a neighboring corridor, out of the line of sight. Just to be safe, he had pressed his formidable bulk into an alcove and let the lunatic guard dog pass before continuing on.

Zhenya's underground quarters were deliberately unassuming from the outside, and not located near the center of the complex, where one might expect them to be. The heavy metal wheel-opened door was marked like a utility closet, and there was no way of knowing that it was teflon, or hermetically sealed like a safe.

It was in en route to the core of the bunker, in what was an otherwise transient and empty hallway. Anyone infiltrating the center of the complex would be chagrined to find broom closets and storage behind the tantalizingly classified looking doors further on.

Had he not known this, had he not spent many nights in Volgin's comfortable "dungeon", Alexei might have wasted precious time locating Yevgeny's quarters.

But here they were, unguarded, and utterly impregnable, even to Lynx of Chernaya Spetsnaz.

So Alexei rang the bell.

The button and intercom were inset in the wall panel, and he pressed the red button, hearing its faint, gritty tone resound inside, dampened by the massive security insulation of the door.

Glancing left and right, as he did, to make sure no passing patrols marked him and shot on site because of his sensitive location.

He thought he heard the intercom pick up, so he pressed the talk-back button.

"Colonel Volgin," he said calmly, closing his eyes, trying to control his fear, which he'd managed to repress during the necessarily concerted task of infiltrating the bunker. Now he found it returning, apprehension spiking coldly like time-lapsed icicles.

"It's Alexei...Ryshkin. Let me in before I'm spotted."

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin's eyes widened as he heard the voice through the intercom, tinny and echoing, shot with feedback but still clearly recognizable even though it didn't do justice the way the rich, resonant tones sounded in person.

Alexei had the voice of a devil, sonorous and dulcet, murmuring low promises in his ear, ones that he always fulfilled.

Volgin sprang to the door and hit the release, without answering.

The complicated security system rumbled, then began the ponderous process of unlatching. Volgin knew from experience that it took nearly half a minute, but it seemed like ten.

Abruptly, he felt hot, sweaty, like he was nervous.

There was no reason to be, he told himself. The biggest shock had already come, finding out that Alexei was still alive, after thinking - knowing - he was dead.

They'd kissed again, and Alexei had touched him. It would have gone further, if Alexei had been able to stay.

Alexei had accused him of sending him away, and Volgin had explained what had really happened, that night. Alexei had told him about the young soldier he'd inadvertently killed, and Volgin had understood the regrettable necessity of it.

There were no more barriers between them now. Nothing to hold them back.

Alexei had promised to have him, all night.

Volgin had been looking forward to it, all day.

Volgin felt moisture on his forehead and frowned, reaching a gloved hand up to touch his brow, almost expecting it to come away with brackish, charred blood.

His unintentional but yet still self-inflicted wounds bled like that, seared blood rising from the rents that crossed his skin like molten whip-lashes when he burned himself with his own power.

But his gloves were merely damp, untinged with pigment. Just sweat.

Volgin shook his head.

There was no reason to be nervous.

In the next moment, the door hissed and rolled aside, and Volgin's heart leapt, just the same.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

When the door released, Alexei surged past it, and caught sight of Volgin.

He stared for a moment, stricken by relief.

"You're alive," he said, closing his eyes, sinking back against the wall. "I thought I wouldn't get here in time."

Most of the high-voltage tension left him, then, at that simple realization, and he ran his hand back over his head, breathing softly and regaining his composure before opening his eyes once more.

"Zhenya," he said, "there are some things you need to know. I can't keep you in the dark. I've tried, for your sake, but it's done more harm than good."

He vaguely regretted being so brusque and abrupt, but his mind was in preservation mode, and had shunted aside soft thoughts, in favor of the primal instinct to guard and serve.

"I didn't have a chance to tell you what happened, after I recovered from...you. For some time, my memory was largely vacant. I had the same kind of amnesia lightning victims have, unsurprisingly, I suppose. I was disenfranchised. I had my whole mind, my knowledge, my training, but no past. Black Ops saw it as the perfect opportunity to offer me an assignment. All it entailed was relinquishing an identity I didn't have."

Lynx paused.

"The choice was simple for me. I took the charter. Went from Major Lynx to Lynx, no rank. And I left Alexei Nikitavich Ryshkin without any misgivings." He shook his head. "Can you blame me? I barely knew the guy."

His eyes sought Volgin's, and found the silent and unremitting look of a great horned owl- listening intently for mice in the grass. Ready to strike out at the slightest twitch of movement, but content to be still until that time.

Alexei rubbed his brow.

"Eventually, my memory came back. Fits and starts, at first. Piece by piece. Then most of it fell back into place and stayed intact. I remembered who I was. I remembered who you were."

He was silent for a moment.

"I remembered my feelings for you."

Volgin opened his mouth to speak, but Lynx gave him a firmly pleading look, and after a moment's nonverbal protest, he sat back, crossing his arms, simmering visibly.

"And I remembered what happened that night- at least, I thought I did. I remembered...doing that...thing you like, with the boots, and the strap-" he trailed off, shaking his head. "And then nothing. I concluded it must have happened then. I told the specialists about my reversal, and they tested my recall. It held, and it still does, apart from rare and occasional lapses." He shrugged, dismissively. "A hiccup, comrade. A cough."

Lynx frowned.

"The psychiatric officer was thrilled with my spontaneous recovery, and apprised my superiors at once. My superiors-"

Alexei drew a hard, heavy breath.

"I was given a new assignment, to return to Tselinoyarsk. With my knowledge of the area, and your personal routine, it was a gift horse to them. They asked where my memory stopped. I told them. They told me-" Alexei laughed, quietly, rubbing his jaw. "They told me that you had dismissed me with prejudice, to replace me with a young prodigy, and that when I challenged your authority...you electocuted me and left me for dead."

He paused.

"They thought it would stoke my need for vengeance. I didn't know if it was true- but I also didn't put much creedence in their words. I didn't see how they could know. What they couldn't possibly know, is that it didn't change anything. I knew I had to take the assignment, and work contrary to their purpose, whatever it took."

Alexei rose to his full height, and looked at Volgin, almost across, but his eyes angled slightly up, by necessity.

It was odd, looking up at someone. An experience Lynx rarely encountered. And one of the things that he'd always appreciated about Volgin.

He found his voice again, and let it confess.

"...I was ordered to lead a small tactical team into the mountains of Tselinoyarsk. I'm here as part of a quadrille of assassins. Among them...a pair of snipers."

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

"Snipers," Volgin repeated, but his mind wasn't on the snipers.

That last part, about the tactical team, made sense in a distant way, like one of those administrative details Ivan tried to explain to him from time to time while Volgin sat quietly at his desk, mind wandering. Oh, he was sure that what Ivan had to say was important, of course, or else Ivan wouldn't be saying it, but still, there were other things that were moreso.

Same with the snipers. One had tried to kill him. He was still alive.

Details.

His focus was on Alexei, his poor, lost Alyosha, who might as well have been electrocuted and left for dead, for all Volgin had known.

Volgin realized suddenly that he hadn't yet paid Krauss a visit to ask the German why he'd seen fit to keep the miracle of Alyosha's survival from him.

An oversight. One he intended to correct, later.

But more important now was Alexei, who had survived death at Volgin's hands to return to save Volgin from death at his; that was irony, Volgin was fairly sure.

His eyes swept Alexei's face. Just as he'd drawn in his mind from feel, that other night when Alexei had crept out of the darkness and into his bed, and had let Volgin touch his face. High cheekbones and angled, aggressive jaw. Low brows. Short brush of hair.

Volgin savored the things that he hadn't been able to see in the dark, like the lightly tanned skin and the warm blush of Alexei's lips, the rich brown of his hair, and most of all, those beautiful, lightning storm eyes.

It had been four years, but he was still the Alexei that Volgin had known on the outside, and in all the ways that counted, on the inside too, from what he could tell.

"Oh, Alyosha," Volgin said, softly. "It's all right. It'll be all right now. We'll figure something out."

He extended his arm, holding out his hand to Alexei, palm up, quietly entreating.

"I...I'm so sorry about what happened, Alyosha. You know it wasn't what I intended. I'm sorry you had to suffer that way. But...it doesn't matter now."

Volgin met Alexei's eyes and held them, as steady as a thunderstorm on a warm summer afternoon, the kind that came on suddenly, but stayed long.

"You can come home," he said.

A moment later, he coughed, apropos of nothing.

Volgin frowned.

He thought he tasted blood, in the back of his throat.

That was odd.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

"Zhenya, you know that I don't blame you for what happened. I never-"

Lynx had been about to relent and finally release his deathgrip professionalism- the mantle was half-shed, even now, hearing Volgin's quietly impassioned treatise.

But something triggered in him, hearing Volgin's soft hack, and seeing...

"Zhenya," Alexei said, very softly, "there's a fleck of blood on your lip."

Immediately his heart locked down and the steel rose in his spine like a dorsal fin.

Lynx's gaze shot past him, scanning the room. When he first came in, he'd given a cursory look for the box, intending to throw it away if he saw it out in plain sight, but he hadn't seen anything that looked like confectionary in Volgin's spotless quarters.

Now his eyes searched every inch like a minesweeper, leaving no corner unexamined. Nothing. No sign of any box or wrappers that would indicate Volgin had received Lemsky's treacherous truffles.

Bewildered, watching him, Volgin looked as if he would speak, but was overcome by another cough. This time he covered his mouth with his hand, and Alexei saw his palm as he pulled it away.

A delicate roostertail of blood crossed his life-line, frothy and thick with sputum.

"Where are they?" he demanded, suddenly, seizing the sleeve of Volgin's greatcoat in his fist, urgency in his tone. "The fucking chocolates, Yevgeny- what did you do with them?"

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin looked at Alexei, eyes wide and bewildered.

He couldn't understand why he would cough up blood like that, nor did he know how Alexei could possibly know about the chocolates, or why they were so important.

The blood was the more troubling. Volgin had cracked his fists into men's chests and stomachs before, and watched them cough up blood afterward. He knew that when it was thick like honey, they usually died. Internal injuries, Khostov said. Ruptured spleens and kidneys, ribs cracked and pushed into lungs, bruised hearts. There was only so much the human body could take.

He looked down, frowning at the bloody spittle, which didn't seem that thick, at least.

"Chocolates?" he asked, blankly, looking up at Alexei again.

The chocolates seemed like the least of his worries.

Volgin shook his head.

"I ate them."

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

Alexei's eyes stilled on his face, and he hovered there, breathless and devastated.

"...All of them?"

His hand faltered, then reclenched.

"All of them?"

Lynx closed his eyes.

"I don't even know what he used," he whispered, helplessly.

Helplessness was not a feeling he was used to either.

"Zhenya, is there a doctor on base? Someone who knows his chemistry?"

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin blinked.

He was beginning to feel a little light-headed, unsteady on his feet. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and felt cool as it crossed flushed and feverish skin.

"There's..."

He had to think about it, for a moment.

"Ah, there's a doctor. And a forensic pathologist. Lieutenant Rakitin. Why, Alyosha? What's going on?"

He searched Alexei's gaze, clenching his fingers into his bloodied palm.

His hands felt strangely numb.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

Alexei's eyes narrowed.

"Call them," he demanded. "Now. Tell them there's no time to lose."

He lowered his eyes, but raised his voice slightly, so as to be understood.

"Tell them," he said, in a measured, precise tone of utter calm, "tell them you've been poisoned, by an unknown substance."

Alexei's hand tightened, as he saw Volgin looking blanched. His breathing was labored.

"Yevgeny. Yevgeny, please, call. You must have an emergency-"

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

Volgin wavered on his feet as the world seemed to spin.

"All right, I..."

His legs gave out from under him then, and he collapsed to the ground like a heavy coat falling off its hangar, simply standing one moment, in a heap the next.

Volgin felt hot, suffocating and nauseous, and it seemed like the only thing he could hear was the pounding of his heart, though he was aware that Alexei was there, close, at his side.

"Alyosha..." he tried to say, but wasn't sure if it came out.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

Volgin's collapse was like an acropolis crumbling, and a jolt to the system.

Alexei's heart plummeted with him, and leapt back up into his throat.

"No," he said, roughly.

He lurched forward reflexively, bending, wasting no time.

Slipping his arms under the immense man and curving beneath, lifting with his legs as he lofted him up, into his arms, in a twisted parody of the classic romantic carry.

Volgin had never been light, especially as semi-deadweight, but Alexei spared no thought for that now. He'd thown Volgin around enough in the past, though only in the service of pleasure. This was life and death, and adrenalin surged though him, making the monolithic Russian feel like no more than a great broken toy in his arms.

Lynx gritted his teeth as he hit the door lock button with his back.

"Come on," he muttered.

It seemed like it took an eternity for the security safeguards to disengage again, but finally it cleared, and he stood without the door.

He forged toward the elevator, which had a classified ID system. Shifting his cargo, he pressed Volgin's index finger against it and rolled it. Access was granted.

"Hang on, Zhenya," he murmured, against Volgin's broad and feverish brow.

He knew where the infimary had been, four years ago, but that was no guarantee.

They ascent was silent and rapid. He couldn't have asked for more.

He hoped it was enough.

When the doors opened, Alexei knew he would have to throw himself at the mercy of the first man he saw, no matter who it was.

[n-s-leonov.livejournal.com]

Leonov's patrol was not complete. He would never dream of cutting corners. Others were the same, the other soldiers who paced the halls like indecisive blood vessels in the fortress's veins, for fear of the pretty Major who oversaw them with lidded eyes and rapid fist. Leonov was not like them. He knew there were greater things to fear.

"Hawks," Nikolai murmured, floor to ceiling. "Handsaws."

His route approached the elevator. His steps followed. As he had no choice, he followed after.

[heartofthunder.livejournal.com]

"Aloysha...."

Volgin was vaguely aware of being carried somewhere in Alexei's arms, and that something was terribly wrong. He could barely breathe.

"Ocelot," he muttered, thickly. "Tell Ocelot..."

His world swam, then, and swallowed him whole.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

"Ocelot," muttered Alexei. "Got it."

He recognized the name. His superiors had told him of his successor. Ad nauseum, in a way that made him suspect they were trying to viscerally prejudice him against it.

"You'll be ok," Lynx said, softly, whether or not Volgin could hear him. "You're a big man, and nothing has killed you yet. Not even your own power."

The doors shot open with a halting jerk and give, and Alexei stepped out into a tranquil evening cross-traffic of soldiers, looking wholly out of place, and impossible to ignore.

He didn't even hesitate.

"You, or you," he demanded, "or anyone- the Colonel needs a doctor, now."

[n-s-leonov.livejournal.com]

"That way," Leonov said mildly to the large man cradling the collapsed Colonel in his arms. He pointed.

[ocelottery.livejournal.com]

Senior Lieutenant Arkady Sergeyevich Kolyin was having another bad day.

This was supposed to be his day off, after two consecutive days on, but after he'd gotten in his eight hours, he'd gotten stuck being back on duty with Semeyonev again. Increased patrols, because of the sniper.

At least he'd gotten to sleep, Arkady thought, glumly.

Savva was talking again, gossiping.

"So yeah. I figure it's been going on at least three weeks. About as long as he's been here. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they hooked up the first - "

A hubbub rose, in the near distance. Voices, sounding alarmed.

He and Semeyonev looked at each other again.

Then they broke into a run.

They rushed up to the building just as a man carrying what looked like a rolled-up rug stepped out, only it wasn't a rug the man carried, it was -

"Oh god! Volgin," Semeyonev said.

Kolyin stared. The man who carried the burden was large, but the man he carried was larger, and dressed in the Colonel's overcoat.

This time, the Colonel's head was intact, though.

Kolyin checked.

But the man carrying Volgin was a stranger to his eyes, dark-haired and Russian, face grimly determined. He wore unmarked fatigues and had a dangerous mien.

Kolyin's hand went to the gun at his side, but he sensed Semeyonev suddenly stop in surprise.

Kolyin frowned, and he glanced between the stranger and Savva, who stared at the man like he knew him.

"Sir?" Semeyonev asked, looking astonished.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

Alexei felt tentative relief at the sound.

Lynx knew the soldier's voice, and the eyes, not to mention the ready stance. He could always tell one of his men, even in a balaclava.

"He hasn't got much time, Parnik," he said, "take me to the infirmary. And get the pathologist, the one from Moscow."

The criminal forensic man was a better bet than the doctor, from what Alexei had seen. Poisons were a matter of chemistry fighting chemistry while keeping the body's heart and oxygen alive.

This Rasputin or Raketov or whatever- he would have dealt with poisoning cases, would know how to identify the tincture Lemsky had used.

And, Alexei realized, suddenly, there was Leshovik.

Why hadn't he thought of it before? He could CODEC the sniper, have him brace Lemsky for a straight answer on the substance.

Glancing down at Volgin, he could see no sign of life but a steady pulse in the skin of his great throat.

Unconscious, but alive.

As soon as we get there, Alexei told himself, as soon as he's in safe hands.

[ocelottery.livejournal.com]

After a spare second, Semeyonev nodded.

"Yes, sir!" he said, and looked to Kolyin, his expression shading somewhere between apologetic and urgent.

Kolyin held his ground, hesitating, though as he eyed Volgin, he didn't doubt the Colonel was in a bad way.

"You know him?"

Savva nodded quickly.

"Da. He was my commander before Ocelot. It'll be okay. We can trust him, Arkasha."

Kolyin glanced at the stranger one more time, feeling misgivings, but he didn't want to be the one responsible for Volgin's death because he'd delayed getting him to the infirmary.

"Okay," he said. "This way. Come on!"

Semeyonev raised his hand to his ear, murmuring into his CODEC to call for the pathologist as they moved out at a quick pace and crossed the yard, making a direct line for the infirmary though the light covering of snow that had fallen earlier, in the afternoon.

The man carrying the Colonel, this former commander of Savva's, kept up with them easily, even though Kolyin was sure Volgin weighed over a hundred kilos.

Double doors opened directly from the yard into the infirmary section of the medical wing. They burst inside, startling the night duty nurse, who at first looked angry at the sudden intrusion, then horrified as she realized who the patient was.

"Put him on the bed, in there!" She pointed toward an open room where a wheeled bed stood unoccupied.

The man who was carrying Volgin moved forward. He was breathing steadily, but not hard, Kolyin noticed, shaking his head briefly.

Semeyonev grabbed his arm. "Call Ocelot!" he hissed.

This time, Kolyin didn't bother to protest, though he sighed as he raised his hand to his ear and buzzed Ocelot's frequency.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Adam was having his crop buzzed when the hail click came, watching the tiny blond glints and tips cascade and sparkle into the sink like gold dust.

That sound, again. Like tinnitus, neverending.

"Stoy," he barked, lightly.

He held up a hand, and the barber turned off the razor.

"Ocelot," he said, frowning.

Kolyin's frequency. It was only nine or so. It could be anything, since they were on patrol.

Still, Irinarhov's words rang in his ear, or at least, the gist of them.

He'd said that given enough time, any assassin was eventually successful.

"What do you have for me?"

[ocelottery.livejournal.com]

Hope sprang eternal.

Ocelot didn't sound as aggrieved as last time, though it was early enough that Kolyin probably wasn't rousing him from a slumber, either.

"Er, Major, you should get down to the infirmary right away. Something's happened to the Colonel."

Kolyin paused, and eyed the large stranger.

"And this time, you should probably put some clothes on, sir."

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"Shove your stubby fist in your ass face and stabilize the situation until I get there," snapped Ocelot, disconnecting.

If Kolyin was able to crack wise, at least the Colonel's head most likely wasn't a cheerful geyser of bubble gum.

Ocelot threw the dropcloth off and stood up.

"This will have to wait. There's a situation."

He was aware that one half of his head was trimmed and perfect, like a topiary hedge, and the other was slightly long, but there was nothing for it.

He was out the door and spinting down the hall before the barber could begin to sweep the floor.

When he reached the infimary he didn't even pause, but shoved his way though the swinging doors.

"Major," said a GRU soldier, stationed at the door, pointing to the ward inside.

Ocelot broke direction, and charged through the door.

Seeing Volgin lying there, Ocelot got a shock. He was pale and clammy, and coiled in on himself like a child. He got the strangest image of a giant toddler with stomach flu. He convulsed, every now and then, and his breath heaved like a rusty spring.

Adam ignored his men and went directly to the Colonel's bedside, leaning down.

"Sir," he muttered, "what happened?"

When he got no reply, he whirled around, eyes narrowing, looking for answers.

"He's unresponsive," he declared. "What happened? What are we dealing with?"

[ocelottery.livejournal.com]

Kolyin and Semeyonev looked at each other.

Savva's look turned pointed, as if goading Kolyin to explain things to the Major, but Arkady glared back, then purposefully turned his gaze toward the stranger, Savva's commander, who was hovering darkly near the Colonel's beside as the nurse began to check Volgin's vital signs.

Semeyonev seemed reluctant, but looked back at Ocelot.

"Major Ocelot, this is Major Rys'. He..."

Savva hesitated.

"Er. He can explain what's going on."

Kolyin hoped to god Semeyonev was right about that. Former commander or no, the man wasn't authorized to be on base, at least as far as Kolyin knew, and that was a serious breach of security right there.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot turned, and retrained his narrowed eyes on the man on the other side of the bed.

Trained his eyes up.

And scowled.

"Lynx?" he exclaimed. "Of Osnaz Lynx?"

"Formerly of Osnaz Lynx," corrected the man, quietly. "I have no official rank or squad at this juncture," he added, after a moment.

It was clear enough to Adam that the beast of a man was referring to Shadow Ops.

The look he leveled at Ocelot was meaningful. Loaded. A request. Don't pursue it.

Ocelot nodded, after a moment, warily.

It was likely that someone had been sent in without notice, considering that Volgin's life had been threatened.

"Good enough for now," he said, slowly, as his gaze returned to the suffering Colonel. "But what about him?"

He pointed at the bed.

"What's wrong with him?" he demanded.

Lynx shook his head. His large hand idly stroked Volgin's great brow, and Ocelot found the sight both bizarre and surreal.

"He's been poisoned, Major. I don't know what the substance is, but it must be injectible and tasteless, and probably colorless as well. It was administered in a box of chocolates."

"Poison," muttered Ocelot. "And where the hell is Khostov?" he said, turning on his men, drawing his gun and raising his voice.

"Zhenya asked me to call for the pathologist, the investigator, before he collapsed-" Lynx broke in, from behind him.

Ocelot turned slowly.

"Zhenya?"

There was a pause, a beat, and their eyes met, locked and unwavering. Ocelot's light, iridescent and intense, and Lynx's, calm and incandescent like tropical water.

After a moment Ocelot broke off with a bloodless smirk.

"I guess we wait, then."

He glanced at his watch then lowered his voice, turning to Semeyonev.

"If he's not here in ten minutes, make the nurse deal with it," he said, darkly.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

In spite of his preoccupation with Volgin, Alexei found it strange seeing Ocelot, and finally putting a sharp-featured, striking face to the name.

He kept silent, smoothing back the Colonel's pale hair, as a frown creased his face.

There was no way he could leave Zhenya's side to CODEC Leshovik without arousing suspicion in Ocelot.

But waiting was killing them both.

He was about to demand that Ocelot find this pathologist himself, when the door opened, and a woman flew in, pulling on a dressing coat as she did, the young night nurse trotting anxiously in tow.

She was probably no younger than forty, and slightly matronly, wearing a long, demure nightdress. Her brown hair was set in exacting pincurls for the night. Though she was unremarkable in every way, something about her suggested maternal authority, and every man in the room suddenly looked guilty, fidgety like a small, bad boy.

Everyone stepped back, out of simple surprise, and she crossed past Ocelot and directly to Volgin.

"Hands off, Mamontov," she clucked, and Alexei paused, bemused.

"Shto?"

"Hands," she repeated, not unkindly, looking him in the eye, and peeling his giant fingers away, "off. I need to examine him."

Startled, Alexei stepped back, looking up at Ocelot, whose face was a priceless mask of uncertainty and indignity.

"And you are?" the young major finally asked, bowing sarcastically.

"I'm the head nurse," she said crisply, without turning. "How long has he been unconscious? Stomach pains?"

"Poison," said Alexei, hesitantly, averting his eyes. "Confirmed."

Her gaze was sharp as she turned to him.

"I see," she said, slowly.

"And he hasn't been this way long," he added, quickly. "I brought him here as soon as it began."

She looked Volgin's face over, opening his eyelids, looking at his eyes. They were slightly red, and glassy.

"He coughed up blood," Lynx said, suddenly. "Right before he collapsed."

The nurse immediately looked at Volgin's lips, and her eyes narrowed.

"Arsenic," she said crisply, to the night nurse, who hovered anxiously like a headless butterfly.

"Poison," exclaimed the younger woman. "I'll get the charcoal."

"Njet, Svetlana," the head nurse interjected reprovingly. "Surely you know that arsenic is a metal- and charcoal won't absorb metals and alkalids."

"It won't," said Night Nurse, lowering her chin and searching Head Nurse's eyes carefully.

"No," said the Head Nurse tolerantly. "We'll need to begin chelation."

"Oh!" The aforenamed Svetlana brightened considerably and ran into the supply closet.

The Head Nurse addressed the rest of them with a sweeping, efficient glance.

"If it was recent enough, simply evacuating his stomach contents and using chelation treatment to remove the rest should suffice."

She busied herself setting up an IV and a saline drip.

"And I can get back to my book," she added, taking Volgin's limp arm and swabbing it briefly with alcohol, then inserting the IV needle without ceremony.

Alexei and Ocelot both winced.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

Sleep caught Ippolit at odd hours. There were too many more important things to do. He set it aside until it crouched and pounced on him like a jungle cat. He had fallen onto his bed fully dressed, intending only to humor the need for rest until it was pacified.

A persistent buzz leeched into his dreams. Someone needed him, and he wasn't there. Something was terribly wrong.

Light and reality invaded his eyes, and he answered.

Rakitin was out and running before he could process what he'd heard.

The infirmary was crowded with the Ocelot major and people he didn't recognize. All Ippolit could see was the Colonel, unconscious, sheened with sweat, and obviously in pain. The sight drove a spike through the center of Ippolit's heart.

"Good god," Rakitin breathed. "What the hell happened?"

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"You're here," said Ocelot, announcing the obvious.

He turned back to the bed, crossing his arms.

"The Colonel's been poisoned. They think it's arsenic. Since no one knows where the good doctor has gone, the nurses have taken charge."

He shrugged.

"Better than I could do."

Ocelot frowned, watching the young Svetlana and the older chief of nurses ready an unpleasant looking device with a long tube.

His eyes narrowed.

"What end is that going in?" he demanded, uneasily.

"Hush," said the older nurse. "It's just a tube for gastric lavage."

"For what?"

"A stomach pump," she said, firmly. "It's been less than an hour-" here she looked at the elusive Lynx, who nodded affirmatively, meeting her gaze with troubled blue eyes, "-therefore, most of the poison can be retrieved before it even passes into his system."

Ocelot made a face that eloquently expressed his feelings on gastric lavage.

"You don't have to watch, Major," she said primly, prying Volgin's jaw open.

He cringed and glanced at Rakitin, who didn't seem the least bit bothered. Anxious, maybe, but not repulsed.

"When the patient is unconscious, we always intubate for breathing before intubating for the lavage pump," the Head Nurse explained, now inexplicably directing her comments at Rakitin, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit in unsavory tasks in the name of Science.

Svetlana eagerly held another wicked-looking length of rubber tubing by his lips.

"All right, Svetlana, like we practiced. If you hear gurgling, you know you're in the esophagus. We want the trachea, dear."

Svetlana beamed as she tiptoe-eye peered into Volgin's throat, threading the tube past his lips, concentrating prettily like she was brushing a doll's hair.

"That's it. No- now put some arm into it, dear! You'll never clear the esophagus without some force."

Svetlana obeyed, like a good soldier, furrowing her brow and shoving for all she was worth.

"I've only done this to seals before," she told them, beaming.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

"Don't tell me that," Ippolit muttered.

As invasive as it felt to watch, he couldn't take his eyes away. A skeletal hand squeezed his throat. The Colonel was supposed to be invincible. Untouchable as a force of nature. Not curled on himself like a hurt child.

"Poison," Rakitin said numbly. "Who- why would anyone want to poison him?"

He shook his head, dislodging the whisper in the back of his brain.

"If it was arsenic, he shouldn't be unconscious. I've seen people dead of arsenic poisoning."

Rakitin let the insinuated idea of the Colonel, dead, pass him by. Purposefully but gently, he brushed past the nurses to thumb up the Colonel's eyelid.

"They don't look like this."

Close. But not exactly. The differences were subtle, but enough to set off alarm bells in his mind.

If he'd been here sooner- No. There was nothing he could have done.

Rakitin let a list of symptoms and substances run through his head, back and forth. Nothing quite matched.

The thought that it wasn't long ago he would have been excited at the prospect of an entirely new poison was drowned by a silent whisper. Please wake up. Please wake up.

[ocelottery.livejournal.com]

Semeyonev was looking green, and Kolyin wasn't feeling much better, truth be told, but there was nothing they could do while Ocelot was standing right there.

If Ocelot stayed, they stayed, though Major wasn't looking too happy about being here, himself.

Kolyin kept his eyes averted, not wanting to watch the giant tube being forced down the Colonel's throat. He was about to turn to Savva and say something when several nurses flooded into the room like cats at mealtime, looking energetic and intent, brimming with purpose.

Arkady blinked. He hadn't known there were so many nurses in Groznyj Grad, never mind so many women. Where had they all come from, and why hadn't he really noticed them before?

He felt quietly astounded as he watched them get to work preparing other dubious looking instruments, no doubt to use on the Colonel.

Kolyin winced.

One nurse pulled at a curtain hung around Volgin's bedside, pausing to look at the assembled group.

"I'm sorry, but you can't stay. I'm going to have to ask you all to leave. You can wait down the hall if you want, but you can't be in here. Someone will come to find you when there's something to report."

Her tone was brisk, polite but firm, and she gave them all a smile that invited no arguments.

Kolyin was the first out the door.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

Reluctance weighing down his steps, Rakitin followed. The nurses were swarming, and Ippolit's instincts regarding others' territory were deeply ingrained.

One of them happened to twitched the curtain aside as Ippolit looked back, revealing a glimpse of the Colonel's face, pale and drawn, violated with tubing, scars standing out like livid wounds.

It was all wrong.

Like he was just another mortal, vulnurable and heart-wrenchingly finite.

There was nothing Rakitin could do now. Once the poisoned material was extracted, there would be all too much. Feast or famine.

Rakitin winced. Bad choice of words.

The smart thing to do would be to get some sleep. Take advantage of the last chance he was likely to get for a while.

Rakitin joined the solemn procession in the hall and prepared to wait.

For the first time, he consciously realized there was a stranger in their midst. Ippolit hardly knew everyone on the base, but he would have been bound to notice someone of that impressive size and build, not to mention the striking blue eyes, now fogged with unmistakeable anxiety.

"Excuse me," Rakitin said tremulously. "Er, who are you?"

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

Realizing the words were intended for him, Alexei looked up, fixing his eyes on the speaker.

The officer, the pathologist from Moscow. The one Volgin had told him to get, before he'd lost consciousness.

He gave the pathologist a gracious nod, and tried to alleviate the solemnity in his gaze with a smile.

"I'm...a ghost," he said. "At least, until further notice. The name I go by is Lynx."

He glanced at Semeyonev briefly.

"I was a commander here, in a previous life."

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

"I see," Ippolit said, glad to be on firm, familiar ground in one thing, at least.

Finally, someone admitted it.

Rakitin's memory presented an image he had paid little attention to while it was happening, more concerned with the fallen Colonel than the man who gazed down at him in anguish.

"And you came back for him."

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

"Well I-"

Was sent back to kill him?

Came here to warn him that I was sent here to kill him?

"..yes," said Lynx, evasively, letting his eyes climb the wall. "I came back because I knew he was in imminent danger. It was inside information, I guess you could say."

The pathologist seemed unconcerned with the details of his classified background, which suprised Alexei.

Normally on the rare occasions when one might mention Black Ops and ghostmen, people fell all over themselves trying to keep a polite distance.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" he asked, hesitantly, after a moment.

The pathologist was probably pissing in the dark, just like him, but at least he might have some idea of the vicinity to aim his dick.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

Ippolit understood that this Lynx wouldn't want to be specific about his origins. It took impressive spiritual fortitude to openly acknowledge what he was, let alone how he had gotten that way.

"Why would anyone want to hurt him?" Rakitin said, mystified.

Even as he asked, he knew the answer. The same reason some defaced works of art. The base, repugnant pleasure of destroying something beautiful.

Rakitin nodded firmly to Lynx's question, meeting his piercing eyes.

"I'll find out what it is, and I'll find a way to reverse it. I swear to you."

He didn't mention what he would do when he found out who had done it. That could wait.

Ippolit's anger broke into resolution, and he smiled reassuringly.

"Whatever it is, it won't be enough to keep him down for long," he said, with more confidence than he felt.

[snow-death.livejournal.com]

Lynx glanced at the closed door, as if he could will himself to gaze through it.

"He's a hard man to kill. I'm not sure it could be done with anything less than an act of god."

They were encouraging words, but he also believed them, somehow. He felt a sense of relief that he had caught Volgin before he collapsed, so that the poison hadn't had a chance to absorb. According to the nurse that seemed to make all the difference.

Now that the urgency was over, Alexei was beginning to come to a conclusion of exactly where he was. He was standing in the midst of virtual strangers, as an unknown commodity, and one of an unsettlingly size and reputation.

The pathologist and Semeyonev seemed not to think much of it, but he could feel the other soldier's eyes like steel wool, abraiding his back, and then, there was Ocelot.

Alexei looked at the young major.

"Well," he said quietly, "what now?"

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

There was a silence, and Ocelot seemed to be thinking. He scowled, seeming conflicted, and paced slightly.

The rhythmic clinking sound that followed in his wake drew Alexei's eyes down to the heels of his jackboots, which were affixed with gold-toned spurs.

"Major," Alexei began, "I know this is...unusual."

Ocelot snorted.

"This is Groznyj Grad," he said, as if that explained it all.

Ocelot paused, frowning, arched eyebrows low over stark, pale eyes.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you accept our hospitality tonight. Until Volgin regains consciousness, I can't in good conscience allow you autonomy, or the run of the base. Without more information, or Volgin's own word, I have no way of knowing whether you actually poisoned him, and carried him out to mislead us."

Lynx's eyes were steady and unyielding.

"Understood."

"I'll need to put you in a holding cell overnight, Major Lynx."

"It's just Lynx now," Alexei said quietly.

Ocelot scowled slightly.

"Savva, lock him up."

He turned away.

"I'll let you out as soon as we know anything."

Part of him was relived that Lynx was going willingly. That boded well. Even though guns were hard to argue with, the man was obviously horrifically strong. His easy carrying of Volgin had confirmed that.

Ocelot didn't watch as they led him away. He had conflicted feelings about jailing his predecessor. It seemed almost...traitorous. In a different way than the way he preferred.

It was only a night- and when Volgin recovered- when, Ocelot stressed to himself, then everything would shake out, one way or another.

Now he only had to decide what to tell Major Raikov, and when. He deserved to know, but there was nothing he could do at the moment anyway.

First thing tomorrow, decided Ocelot grimly. When we know more.

[ocelottery.livejournal.com]

Savva seemed reluctant, or at least conflicted.

Kolyin went with him, even though he hadn't been specifically ordered, but he took it as a given that they would share the assignment. The dynamic duo of Kolyin and Semeyonev did everything together - except to hear Savva talk about it.

Then it was the dynamic duo of Semeyonev and Kolyin.

They escorted Savva's commander, this Lynx, across the Grad and toward the brig in silence. Kolyin figured that it was probably awkward to be put in charge of locking up the man you used to serve under, but Savva seemed to be handling it well enough, though he was quiet.

They arrived at the brig and started processing Lynx for incarceration, searching his person.

Disturbingly, the man didn't have a single piece of gear on him, not even a tactical blade. It made Kolyin even more relieved that this Lynx had come along quietly and was cooperating. Lynx was a huge man, not as large as the Colonel, but still impressive, and if he'd been the one that Savva had learned his hand-to-hand skills from, then it wouldn't really matter if Lynx had any gear or not if he resisted. He didn't, though, and they finished up quickly.

Savva seemed uncomfortable throughout the process, almost apologetic. He turned to the GRU guards as they locked Lynx in a small cell furnished only with sink, toilet, and bunk.

"It's only house arrest for the evening, so treat him well," Semeyonev told them. "Give him what he wants, within reason. Except for, you know, ketchup or something."

The guards nodded, solemnly. "Yes, sir."

Savva hesitated, but glanced at his commander. "We'll see you in the morning, sir," he blurted, then hurried out.

Kolyin thought he grasped Semeyonev's discomfort. Conflicting loyalties - to have once served under this quiet man who nevertheless had a commanding presence and a strangely tranquil demeanor, forced to lock him up at the behest of his current commander. Kolyin could understand feeling guilty about that. He gave Lynx a nod and rejoined Semeyonev outside.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, and Kolyin waited to see if Savva would say anything.

When he didn't, Arkady turned to look at him. "'Parnik?'" he asked, giving Savva a slight smile.

The name Lynx had called Savva had clearly been a squad nickname, the kind that some commanders gave their men.

Ocelot wasn’t the type to do so, but apparently Lynx was, and knew Savva as "Hotbed," which Kolyin was sure had been given in the spirit of a not-quite literal meaning.

Semeyonev turned to him, but then had the grace to look sheepish after a moment.

"Well...you know," he muttered.

Kolyin just laughed.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

Ippolit watched the large man with the pretty eyes depart, the set of his back quietly dignified even as he was being led to a cell, and wondered if he would ever see him again. They came and went. You never knew.

It was a precaution, obviously, as Ocelot had said. If Lynx had meant any harm, malice would have been pouring off of him in waves. Instead there was only concern, palpable and invisible as thin, clean glass.

The Colonel would be all right. He was the Colonel. Nothing could hurt him. Nothing could kill him. Hadn't the last night proven that?

Rakitin pressed his back against the wall and waited to know if he was wrong.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

It could have been minutes or hours. Maybe this was what a sniper felt like, letting time run past without touching him, like water off a duck's feathers. They had some special oil that made that happen. There were many specialized substances that occurred in nature that had hardly begun to be synthesized.

Rakitin watched from somewhere distant as the nurse approached. Listened as if through echoing pipes to the brisk voice as she explained. Yes, the Colonel's condition had stabilized. Yes, here was that blood sample he had requested.

The red vial was a bright focus point in the white corridor.

Rakitin watched himself go back to the lab, pausing to grab a soldier who had witnessed Lynx being taken away with bovine incuriosity and tell him to pass along the message that the Colonel would live. There was some connection between the two. The large man's eyes and voice as he asked if the Colonel would be all right had made that much clear. Enough to be imprisoned without fear for company.

Rakitin began his tests.