It started in the winter of 1989. At first, there was just a flicker of rebellion in Toris's eyes, the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could escape this Soviet hell. He cultivated this hope cautiously, caring for it like a seedling that would soon blossom. He had to be careful, pick the right time to allow it to flourish.

Soon enough, his time came.

Toris watched his Russian boss out of the corner of his eye as he washed the dishes. The large man was slumped at the kitchen table, resting his head in one hand, holding an unlit cigarette in the other. His violet eyes matched the purple shadows underneath them, and his beige hair was unwashed and lifeless. He sighed for the umpteenth time that morning.

Toris was no longer afraid of his boss. Who would be scared of a wreck like Ivan?

It wasn't that the Russian was weak; Toris had no doubt that Ivan could still crush his skull in an instant, if he wanted to.

The problem was, he just couldn't be bothered to torment Toris and the other Baltics anymore. The Lithuanian knew it was wrong, but he almost missed the old Ivan. The dark aura that surrounded him was no longer one of menace but of despair. In truth, it unnerved him a little. When would Ivan throw off his facade and go back to being his old, tyrannical self?

Toris refused to take that chance. He had to leave while he could.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Braginsky?" he asked after he had finished the washing up.

"Nyet," Ivan replied, attempting to take a long drag on his cigarette and scowling when he remembered it was unlit. "And I told you to call me Ivan, da?"

Toris wrung his hands together. "Sorry, sir. I guess I'll go to bed now, then. Do you mind?"

"Nyet."

Toris hung his apron up on the hook by the stove. He smiled to himself; today was the last day he would be wearing that damn thing. "Goodnight, Ivan," he said quietly, before half-running upstairs to his bedroom.

"Toris? What are you doing?"

The Lithuanian froze for a moment, then relaxed when he realised who it was. He turned around and grinned. "Oh, Eduard," he sighed. "I thought you were someone else."

"You're leaving us, then," Eduard stated, staring at the suitcase Toris had been stuffing with warm clothes.

The Lithuanian avoided Eduard's gaze. "Yes, and I think you should as well. Raivis too." He stood up and grasped both of Eduard's hands in his own. "Come with me, Eduard," he pleaded. "You've seen the state Mr. Braginsky's in—he probably won't even notice we've gone. If he does, I don't think he'll chase us. He doesn't seem to care about anything anymore. I'm running away and there's nothing he can do about it."

Eduard gazed into Toris's baby-blue eyes. They reminded him of the sky—of flying and freedom. He smiled slightly. "I can't leave, Toris—not yet. Braginsky's more likely to go after us if we all leave at once. Raivis and I will stay here to cover for you, and then we'll run away together."

Toris threw his arms around Eduard's neck, who patted his back awkwardly, before returning the hug. "When are you leaving?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Toris broke away from his friend, zipping up his suitcase and pushing it under the bed, well out of sight. "Tonight."

BONG!

One.

BONG!

Two.

BONG!

Three.

Toris lay in the dark, not quite believing that three o'clock had arrived so fast. He glanced over at his two sleeping friends. He wished he had had a chance to say goodbye to the little Latvian, but he couldn't take the risk. If he knew where Toris had gone, he was bound to let something slip. It wasn't the kid's fault, he was just naturally spacey.

Toris sighed and picked up his suitcase.

He crept through the silent mansion. By now, he had learned where most of the squeaky floorboards were, and he made it downstairs without making a sound. The trembling man wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. If Mr. Braginsky caught him...

He shook his head, refusing to dwell on all the horrible things that could happen to him. There were more important things to worry about, like picking the lock on the kitchen window without waking his boss up.

After an agonising minute, he heard the lock spring. From there, the window opened surprisingly easily and it was little effort for the young man to throw his suitcase outside and climb out after it.

Toris spared one last glance up at the enormous house. It seemed black and hulking against the background of stars and snowflakes. The Lithuanian would not miss it one bit.

"Goodbye, Mr. Braginsky," he whispered before turning and running off into the snowy Russian night.

He did not notice the pale figure watching him from the window of the master bedroom.

A/N: This is another story that I posted to DeviantArt, so I thought I'd post it here too. ^^ It's not meant to be completely historically accurate, but I've tried to write about how the nations would deal with the breakup of the USSR as people. However, I've stuck to the order the Baltics left the USSR in. :)

x~SmarticleParticle~x