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Natalia keeps her eyes on Ivan and slides the blade from where it is hidden in the smooth leather of her belt. She's tired from the lack of sleep and her stomach is so empty it hurts, she is so past hunger. She doesn't even hiss when her fingers slip and the blade slices through the flesh on her hand, besides, after the mission in Africa two months ago, even bullet holes feel like paper cuts these days.

"Natalia." Ivan says now, twirling his own thin blade in his hand, and occasionally tossing it at the target that hangs from the wooden door where they had both entered less than two hours ago-him dragging her by the curls in her long red hair and the braided ropes that are bound around her thin wrists. "Natalia, Natalia. I just feel so betrayed." He smiles at her in a dark sort of way, his dark eyes cold in the long shadows that are cast from the small dusty window on the far side of the room that she is currently being held in. She wonders briefly how long she will have to pretend to be the victim here: it is often tiresome pretending to be weak.

Natalia watches as Ivan's knife bounces off the wall, and if she had any energy left in her, she would have laughed. She smiles hard instead. "I had no choice Ivan. I have been betrayed by to many to care for you."

"Natalia. I hope you realize that I have no choice but to kill you." Ivan steps forward, and picks up the knife, sliding it between his fingers and taking several steps towards her. He leans towards her throat.

Just don't be the first to die.

Natalia saws at the ropes that bind her wrist until she feels two of the threads snap beneath the pressure. She slices the last thread until the coarse strands rub against her hands and chafe the already bleeding skin. Natalia does not blink because she likes the pain.

"Father. You do not have to kill me. I wasn't the one that turned Viktor away from you." Natalia tells him, pretending to beg, flexing her fingers behind her back. She wrinkles her nose and blinks her eyes, until she feels the dampness of tears on her dirt streaked face. "Father. Ivan, please."

And then she breaks her hands free and pulls her knife, sending it upwards until it pierces the faded cotton of his shirt until it lands in his chest. His face is blank, surprised at her speed, terrified of her skill, and he pulls the blade from his chest and stares at the blood that covers it, almost thoughtfully.

"Why are you so loyal to Russia?" He gasps, blood gurgling from his mouth. He moves to wipe it away, and only succeeds in smearing it, the pain caused from the wound in his chest obviously showing in the sluggish feel of his movements.

"I fight for my country!" Natalia cries indignantly, betrayed more by this accusing question then the fact that her protector had planned on killing her.

"What makes it yours, Natalia?" Ivan asks, quietly. "The home, the family you know longer have? I am your only family and you have just killed me. You have nothing here. You should go with that American. He might just give you something to fight for."

"You were supposed to be family." Natalia says, not knowing what exactly that word means, but somehow still without any regret, or feeling for the man that helped to train her in the small mountain shack in the cold hills of the Russian Northern-land.

"You do not know of family." He spits, and Ivan clutches at his chest with white-knuckled fingers.

Natalia jumps for his throat, and snaps his neck.

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Thanks for reading! I know this is kind of AU, but i liked the idea, so i wrote it. Please leave a review! I like constructive criticism. Thanks :)