She's seven when it finally happens.

He and Al's ghost are upstairs, reading some paperwork for the New Republic, when suddenly Al tenses up, and mouths something to Ivan.

Ivan only catches the word 'Pain' when from across the house, he hears a howl of a terrified little girl.

Both are out of the room in an instant, running down the stairs.

"Ana! Ana!"

She comes running, tears streaming down her face. "Papa! It hurts, papa! Everyone is screaming, and it won't stop!"

He sweeps her up into his arms, and quiet Canada, who was watching her today, whips out his cell phone, dialing a number.

"Arthur, it's Matthew. Something just happened at NR, but I'm not home. I need you to investigate and report back."

Ivan can imagine the British man saying several angry things, but he knows he'll do it, because they all care for Ana.

Ivan hauls her up to bed. She's running a fever, and sobbing.

"It hurts papa!"

"Shhh, it's alright. Papa's going to find out what's going on, and then he'll stop the hurting."

Ana clings to him, and he tries to calm her, but it's not very efficient, because he knows his eyes are blazing with rage. It's not fair that one so young should have to deal with pain so great.

"It's not fair!" Ivan shouted at the sky.

It only took seconds for the General to appear, shoving him to the ground. "Life's never fair, little one. Mongol occupies your land, and I bring you winter. That is why you must listen to the lessons I give you, because you must grow strong."

Ivan stared at the man, and then nodded. "What must I do?"

The General had taken Ivan's hand, and guided him away.

"First, we must teach you to be strong."

Matthew eventually comes in, and somehow manages to convince Ivan that he needs to head over to Arthur's house and hear what has happened himself.

But before he leaves, he turns and sees Canada comforting his daughter, and on the other side of her, Alfred strokes her hair, though his ghostly hands cannot be felt.

You're a better father than me, Fredka. I wish she had been the spirit of a New Russia, if only so that you could raise her.

In an instant, he regrets that thought, remembering the bitter past his people have had. How sometimes he had to ignore the pain for weeks, months, or even years, because he had to be strong. How he had the scars from so many bloody wars and conquests. He had even more than Alfred.

As he hurried walked to England's house, the world bending under his feet, he remembered the scar that in recent history, had pained him most of all.

A small acid burn, on the top of his right hand.

He'd carried it around ever since that night.

Arthur gave the report.

Three cities, three large explosions. No group had stepped forward to claim responsibility yet, but the suspicions were that it was homegrown terrorism expressing its displeasure with the fact that the new nation was a socialist nation.

Ivan snarled. The targets had been low risk cities, or so they had thought, so civilians had been completely unprepared.

Portland, Oregon.

Austin, Texas.

Providence, Rhode Island.

"They're trying to maximize terror. Three attacks, orchestrated perfectly, all across the nation, on low risk targets, to show that no where is safe."

"Da, I understand how terror works!"

Arthur raised his hands up a little. "Look, I know you're worried about Ana. I am too, but you're not helping either of us here by getting upset over nothing."

Ivan starts to snap back, but then thinks better of it, sitting down and mumbling in Russian.

"Huh?"

"I wish I had paid more attention. Then this might not have happened."

"That's exactly what Al said after 9/11. Listen, it isn't your fault. We never expect these things to happen until after they've already happened."

Ivan sighs, sinking deeper into the armchair.

"You're right. It's just..."

"I know, Ivan. I know."