Can't Catch a Shadow

One year later

Hetalia took a bite of her freshly stolen apple, enjoying the view of the fallen snow on the streets of Moscow.

"Hey, you," a voice called from the alley behind her. She spun around and looked at the young man leaning against the brick wall. "Come here."

Adjusting the knife she was holding in her pocket, she walked over as she took another bite of her apple. "Da?"

"YA khochu k poshel na khuy," he mumbled to her. It as a phrase she was familiar with; 'I want to fuck you.'

Hetalia kept her calm and pulled out her usual facade. "I'm sorry, what?"

A smirk appeared on his face. "Don't you speak Russian?" he asked, sounding legitimately confused.

Hetalia shook her head. "No. My parents, though they are Russian, taught me English instead."

Although the man's face told that he was confused and intrigued, his eyes told a different story of victory. He had obviously done this before. "What's your name?" he asked.

Hetalia paused for a second, keeping her demeanor as aloof as possible. "Izabel."

The man extended a hand towards her. "Anton."

Hetalia shook his hand, pretending to be excited to meet him. "Your English is very good," she said.

A smile spread across his face. "Thank you, Izabel. Say, you look like a girl trying to leave, da?"

She nodded, actually meaning it. "I'd very much like to get out of the country."

He nodded, smile still plastered on his face. "Well, I have a way to get you some papers, if you're interested."

"Da," she said. "Very interested."

Two days later

Anton was panicking as the cold steel pressed to his skin. "Izabel, what are you doing?" he asked uneasily.

"I don't do favors like those, Anton," Hetalia said smoothly as her knife grazed his throat. "I'm fourteen years old. I won't have my last shred of innocence stolen by you."

Anton gulped, feeling his heart beat against his rib cage. "What are you going to do to me?"

Hetalia glared down at the man underneath him. "I'm going to make sure you don't do this to any girl ever again."

****

Hetalia washed off Anton's blood in his kitchen sink, humming quietly to herself as she did so. She turned off the water and dried her hands, the lemony scent of the soap still present on them.

She looked through Anton's front closet to find a proper change of clothes. She found a nice leather jacket with deep pockets and a warm interior. Hetalia put it on, feeling slightly giddy at the look of the badass jacket on her body.

She walked out of the small house, manila folder containing her papers in her gloved hands.