Lost Count

Reunion

Today was the day. Leonid and his group of soldiers were scheduled to arrive in a few hours, in order to begin discussing alliance specifications with Miller. They had all agreed to travel to Polis, a neutral ground, in order to have the talks.

Artyom had accompanied him, along with Anna and a few other Rangers. Ulman had to stay behind, as his injuries were still a little too severe in order for him to set off into the tunnels. So Sam had accompanied them instead; the American Ranger wouldn't leave Miller's side for longer than a minute. He would be a good guard for the crippled colonel. At least until his prosthetics were finished.

The railcar pulled into Polis and the Rangers exited it, with Miller in the lead. Sam helped him with the cumbersome wheelchair, ignoring Miller's assertions that he could do it himself. The others had to hold back their laughter at the colonel's indignant protests and Sam's incessant bickering with him. Artyom followed after them with Anna and the six other Rangers falling into step behind. They were led to the 'hotel' they were to be staying at. Artyom was to have a room to himself, a rare event indeed. Most of them were able to afford that luxury, as the Rangers were now respected even more throughout the Metro. After what had happened, they were put onto an even higher pedestal than before.

They were hailed as saviors; people stared and gaped as they passed. It made Artyom more than a little uncomfortable. He didn't like having so many eyes on him at once. Any small mistake would be amplified by the hundreds; the people were scrutinizing and observant.

Artyom decided to forego mingling with the civilians and instead spent his time in his room at the hotel. Anna had stopped by before she left to go out to lunch with the other Rangers, asking if he wanted to come with them. Artyom shook his head from where he lay, waving his hand for them to go on without him. Anna acquiesced and shot him a small smile before shutting the door behind her, leaving him alone to his thoughts.

He was too nauseous to eat anyways. The idea of meeting with the soldiers of the Red Line just wouldn't leave him in peace. Any time he ever saw Red Line soldiers he felt more on edge than usual. He didn't want to think of the possibility of seeing him again. Artyom couldn't help but laugh at his own foolishness; Pavel was working him up into a tight knot of nerves, and the man hadn't even showed his face in months! The chance that he'd be there is so small, there are fifteen thousand soldiers of the Red Line. It's just impossible. Artyom didn't think that enough time had passed, didn't think that enough time could ever pass.

If he saw Pavel ever again it would be too soon.

He already saw him enough in his dreams; the damn man haunted his every step. His voice would always call out like it had when Artyom saved him from the lost souls. It was so broken and sad, pleading and begging for his help. His eyes were even more blue than Artyom remembered, like the sky from his dreams. They seared holes into his heart and left them there to fester like an infection. With each day that passed it worsened and grew inside of him, an ache within his chest that wouldn't go away. This had never happened before.

Artyom had put great thought as to what these dreams could mean, and the possibility of what they meant didn't scare him as much as it should have. He wanted to see Pavel again, deep down. It was hard to admit to himself, but unless he accepted what he was feeling then it'd never go away. He still thought of him as someone to care about, someone that a friendship could be salvaged with.There were other thoughts that still made him sick, made him want to vomit in fear, but they weren't enough to make him give everything up and quit.

Artyom was stronger than that. He'd dealt with this before, with others like him. It would pass, as it always did. Feelings were impermanent; they shriveled and died with enough time that passed. Even if Pavel showed up, it would be fine. Pavel wasn't even--