Ivan looked down at him with a menacing hatred, a twinge of contempt, and a smirk of delight. It had never been secret; the fact that he had a taste for macabre and murderous hobbies, but Gilbert never imagined himself on the receiving end of the Russian's torture. In a large dark room, a bright orange fire blazed in the hearth, its warm flickering light illuminated the crude brick walls of the cellar and gleamed off the many instruments hanging on the walls. A small cot was wedged into the far corner and by the door was a large wooden cupboard.
Taking the long leather whip from the pile of Gilbert's belongings on the table, Ivan stood over his victim with a gleam of malice in his eyes and that horribly twisted smile. Gilbert's eyes fluttered closed as Ivan's hand flew above his head. He clenched his teeth in anticipation of the cutting blow, it should've come by now.
Gilbert let his breath go and slowly looked up, that was when the weapon finally came down. Ivan had been waiting for that millisecond of doubt, only to reinforce his punishment twice as effectively. The thin braid of leather slashed at Gilbert's arms and shoulders, his hands were bound behind his back. He wished he still had the protection of his black wool coat but it lay on the table with his other effects.
It was another four strikes before Ivan feigned a yawn, tossing the whip aside. He sat down in a wooden chair at the table, poking through the things he had confiscated but not yet investigated. Gilbert bit his lip, holding back tears of pain and frustration; he had been praying that Ivan would speak even once during the past countless hours he had spent torturing him. He had surrendered, he had lost his brother, he had been abolished as a nation, and yet Ivan had not said even one word to him since they arrived back in Moscow.
"What the fuck… do you want from me?" Gilbert sighed, faintly growling. He shifted in his restraints; thick rope bound his arms behind his back and two shackles on his ankles kept him close to the wall. Kneeling on the hard dirt floor of the basement, he still wore his black wool breeches and tall leather boots. His ghostly pale skin was covered in bruises and blood dripped from a number of gashes he couldn't count.
"You don't want information? You don't want me to beg for my life?" Gilbert leaned forward; he knew the Russian was listening, even though he didn't look up. Ivan continued to pick through the pile on the table, he unbuttoned the pockets of Gilbert's jacket and found a piece of folded paper but he didn't seem interested in reading it.
"You fucking sadist, you're no different from me. No better than me! I'll never be a fucking Commie like you. You and your whole damned country can go to hell." Gilbert then broke out into a rather loud version of the German national anthem, his eyes never leaving the Russian's.
Ivan looked over at him as if he was bored, resting his chin in his propped up hand. It was at that time he began opening the paper he had found earlier, and Gilbert stopped singing to protest.
"Don't fucking ignore me!"
Ivan continued to ignore him. He was unimpressed by the paper, as it was written in German and he didn't understand all the words.
"So then what does this accomplish?" A sneer pulled at Gilbert's lips as he switched to taunting. "Or are you just getting off on it?"
At those last words, Ivan leapt to his feet and was standing in front of Gilbert in two long strides. With his right hand he gripped Gilbert's head and pulled him forward. His cheek smacked against the Russian's muscular thigh, and he heard a deep chuckle from above. Ivan widened his stance, sliding Gilbert's cheek against a semi-hard swelling.
"I like to hear you yell." Ivan almost growled with desire. Gilbert's eyes were wide as his mind raced, what did he just get himself into? He gulped a mouthful of saliva audibly and the Russian pulsed against his cheek.
"Spokoĭnoĭ nochi, Gilbert."
At first, Gilbert had no idea what that meant, preparing for the worst he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes and looked back up, Ivan was gone. He looked around, making sure he wasn't sitting down or standing behind him. The room was empty and he finally let out his breath; panting and rocking on his knees as tears came to his eyes.
He heard Ivan's voice echoing from upstairs, and then came the soft footsteps of someone else on the wooden staircase. Gilbert sat back on his feet; making one last attempt to wriggle free of the ropes before his new master arrived, but it was to no avail.
In the doorway stood a young woman about his brother's age, she wore a beautiful purple dress with a white apron. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders and her bangs framed her face, her expression as hard as steel.
"Well, a gute nacht to you, Fraulein." Gilbert smirked and attempted to bow at the waist but found it too painful to bend very much. He straightened and watched as the woman silently entered the room and went over to the table.
She shook out his uniform shirt and placed it on a hanger she had brought down with her, next his black tie was wound around the hook. Placing the paper back into a pocket in his jacket, it went on the hanger too. His belt, hat, and pistol she left on the table untouched.
"Does nobody in this damned Commie country know how to have a fucking conversation?" He muttered to himself, but she turned to face him.
"Do not be confused, prisoner, I am not a Russian." Her voice was monotone, although her accent sounded very Russian.
"Well what are you then, one of us or one of them?" Gilbert's words were selectively emphasized.
"I am Belorussia of the USSR. Natasha Alfroskaya."
"Ahh, right, should've known it'd be nothing but Commie bastards up here." Gilbert's eyes went to the floor but then he looked up again to watch for her reaction.
Natasha shot him a glare as she poured a glass of water.
"Oh, and bitches too." Gilbert nearly giggled at his own wit but settled on a wicked grin of accomplishment as her eyes narrowed further.
Now the Belorussian was gliding over towards him with her own look of malice.
"It will do you no good." She hissed.
Gilbert was going to provoke her again but she was reaching down to untie him and he thought it best not to interrupt, lest he be left in chains all night. Natasha undid the knots and coiled the rope onto a hook on the wall as Gilbert shook out his arms.
"What are you doing working for that asshole anyway? You must've known we were going to win either way, right?" Gilbert was still somewhat in denial about the war.
"He's my brother." She still spoke in monotone as she opened the cupboard to get him some bread and a tin of preserved fish.
Gilbert nodded his head with a look of concern, suddenly he found himself without words. All he could do was remember his own brother, and how pitiful they both had looked in their political hearings as if they were spoiled goods up on the auctioning block in front of the invading forces. He was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of the clinking chains as Natasha unlocked his shackles.
"You must've had no choice, right?" Although he was freed, he still knelt on the floor. "You were probably dragged into all this."
"I would follow my brother to the ends of the Earth."
Tears once again rose to Gilbert's eyes as he was reminded of Ludwig. For he had taught his brother everything he knew, paving the way for the time when his younger sibling would succeed his leadership in Europe and become a separate nation. In reality, he and his brother were merged in quite a sloppy and unofficial way, and the Kingdom of Prussia was all but forgotten, considered only a larger part of German history. Yet hardly anyone noticed that Gilbert held no disdain against Ludwig for this, he knew it was not done on purpose, but rather the work of their respective bosses in their wild quests for power over other European countries.
Natasha set down the meager rations on the table, silently beckoning him to come sit and eat. She stood awkwardly between the table and the fireplace until he finally stirred from his thoughts.
"I swear if that fucking bastard does anything like this to West I'm going to…" Gilbert's teeth clenched as his mind seethed, searching for new insults.
Natasha came around the table and pushed him down into one of the chairs.
"Eat."
"Yes ma'am." He said as sarcastically as he could muster. Now that the adrenaline in his system had dissipated, he was finding it hard to hold it together. He took a large sip of water from the glass and then broke a piece of bread from the loaf, tearing off a smaller piece he let it dissolve on his tongue.
Natasha watched him closely as he glared blankly at the fire, slowly rolling around the pieces of bread and fish in his mouth without chewing.
"He will only be hard on you at first. There is much to do now; he won't have time to play with you." She quietly offered her advice, not knowing why she was being so kind.
"He's wrong if he thinks he will succeed. Herr Hitler has failed to spread National Socialist power over Europe, how could Stalin possibly think he could do the same with Communism?" Gilbert's gaze was still fixed on the fire.
Natasha didn't answer. She was already wrapped up in her own thoughts on the matter.
"If he thinks he can rule Europe with an army of lumbering ogres and old tanks then he's got another thing coming. You blame us for the killing of the Jewish vermin and yet you've killed so many more without any discrimination. You get off on torture and you're so deluded that you think these Soviet nations are your friends when really you're nothing but a big fucking bully." Gilbert must've thought he was speaking to Ivan himself.
"Shut up." Natasha said forcefully. "Do not talk of my brother this way."
"Oh yeah, what are you going to do? Go on and hit me with a frying pan, I've got to be immune by now!" Gilbert chuckled as he taunted her, taking a sip of water.
Suddenly, Natasha was kneeling on the table and choking him with both hands. She clenched so tight, that he was unable to swallow the water in his mouth; it began to trickle from his lips as she leaned into him.
"I will not tolerate your slander."
All he could see were her narrowed eyes as she pressed her face closer to his, trying to emphasize her disgust. In her violet colored eyes he put the pieces together; slowly he reached up a hand and touched her cheek, gently brushing his thumb over her soft lips.
Natasha instantly recoiled at his touch; she sat back on the table and leaned away from him almost in horror.
"I get it now." He smirked. "You're in love with him." Gilbert sat back in his chair, folding his arms and glaring back at her with a look of satisfaction, just waiting for her response.
She sat frozen; her eyes had gone from enraged slits to wide with shock. Her hand was drawn to her mouth, trying to rub off the touch of his fingers.
"Oh I am so right!" Gilbert chuckled to himself, watching her slowly dismount the table and sit silently in her chair. Then he was struck by another train of thought. "Hey, are you alright?"
Natasha nodded her head slightly, not looking him in the eye.
"He doesn't notice, huh? Yeah I've been there before." He sighed and sat forward, trying to get a lower perspective on her face to watch her expressions. "You could always just get him really drunk and jump him."
Her expression changed to something like remorse.
"You already tried? Well I agree, vodka is some strong shit. I wouldn't remember the day after either."
"I couldn't do it. Looking at him, passed out, I wanted it to be…" Her faint voice trailed off, leaving him with a good impression of her attempt.
"You wanted it to be special. You want him to want you back." Gilbert thought of putting his hand on her shoulder to reassure her, but remembering her reaction from his first touch and her hidden strength he decided against it. That was, however, when his mind began forming a brilliant idea.