Lost Count

Gone

Artyom stood leaning on the railing, staring at the landscape rushing past him. The wind was on his face, nearly stinging his eyes with the force. His hair was blown back, whipping around his head wildly. He took another deep breath through the mouth, unable to get enough of the air.

It was so clean. So fresh and pure. Nothing like the dense and choking air of the Metro. It was the first time that he had no obligation to wear his gas mask where the sun still shone. He had to have been standing out there for at least an hour, eager for a reprieve from the scolding of the others. Miller had shown up at the scene with a group of Rangers, all of whom Artyom knew personally. This made explaining things infinitely harder, what with his inadvertent sabotage of the radio jammer, his subsequent deliberate destruction of the train that pursued them, finally adding him being in the company of a Red Line soldier. Tensions were still slightly shaky in the Metro, despite everything. And now they were undoubtedly even worse due to Artyom's actions.

They shouldn't have been going around, kidnapping people. Who cares if there's still a 'war', there's going to be repercussions for the stupid shit they were doing. And he supposed there already were. They were headed across the country, out of Moscow. After the stint that Artyom pulled, it would be a miracle if they were ever allowed back down below. The Invisible Watchers must have been sick and tired of his shenanigans by now, and would have him executed if her were to ever return. Good riddance.

Just because Artyom was happy to be out in the world, wind in his hair and sun truly on his face, that didn't mean anyone else was. Miller was positively fuming, barking out orders and glowering at Artyom any chance he got. Anna had punched him when she saw him, yelling out about what an idiot he was. The rest of the crew was silent in their musings, still trying to wrap their own heads around the possibility of there being a world outside of the Metro. The only ones who didn't seem angry were Ulman and Duke, both preferring instead to talk amongst themselves about matters that didn't concern him. One would occasionally look up and crack a joke at him, but that was it. Even they were uncharacteristically quiet.

Pavel was at the end of the train car. He hadn't said a word since they woke up to the furious shouts of Miller. He only took one glance at Artyom and left through the back door, with the air of someone who wanted desperately to be left alone. He wasn't even a Ranger like the rest of them; he probably felt so out of place. But Artyom would wait, would give him space until he felt ready to talk. Then he would try again.

He would give him the journal, and--

The journal.

The fucking journal. The journal that Pavel shoved into Artyom's backpack instead of the pocket where it should've gone.

The backpack that was too heavy. The backpack that Artyom told Pavel to drop into the fire in order to lift him up.

The backpack that was probably reduced to ashes, nothing more than a mere memory. Artyom's heart stopped. All those years, everything that he had catalogued so meticulously. Gone. Just like that. A testament to the Metro's fleeting nature for anything held close to one's heart. All those drawings, all those notes. Studies, entries, sketches, communication. Everything. The outpourings of his emotions too complex for simple hand gestures.

The final four pages that had amounted to a fucking speech. One that Pavel never got to read. One that Artyom doubted could ever be truly repeated; could ever be as real and raw as it was when he first wrote it. Artyom's hands clenched on the metal railing, teeth gritting with anger and grief. He had poured his heart and soul into that journal, every paper in it was seeped in his love and caring.

And now it was gone.

Artyom's eyes were stinging and his throat was closing up. Good thing nobody wanted to talk to him right now, as he doubted he'd be very good at responding, or even listening for that matter. He needed to take a step back and process what had just happened for a moment. Blood was rushing in his ears; his heart was pounding a frantic rhythm. He needed to sit down. But going back inside was not possible at the moment, not with his current state. So he leaned against the railing, attempting deep breaths and watching the ground below race by.

"Artyom?" A voice called out. He whipped around only to face Anna, who had a concerned look on her face. "I wanted to come out here and check on you, you've been up here for two hours and--" She cut herself off at the look on his face. "Are you alright?" She took a few steps towards him and put a hand on his arm. "Hey, I know my dad was a bit harsh on you, but he'll get over it. You know that's how he is. He's just worried about all of us, and that Red soldier you've got is putting him on edge even more." Artyom shook his head, waving his hand to dismiss her assumptions of Miller bothering him.

He tapped his throat at her confused expression, their symbol for 'can't talk'. Anna immediately shut her mouth, quieting her next line of questioning. She stood there with Artyom as he took in a few deep breaths, patting his arm. He coughed and held his hands out, miming writing in a book. "Your journal?" A nod. A quick burst of movement out from the center. "Exploded?" Close enough. Another nod. "Oh, Artyom..." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. A couple of quick pats to the bicep showed her sympathy. She wasn't much good at words like that, but Artyom understood.

He wasn't much good at words at all.

"I think going back inside will be good for you. Ulman misses you, and you don't want to keep him waiting, huh?" She asked, rubbing his arm. "Maybe we can find you some paper in the meantime? At least until you feel comfortable talking." Artyom shook his head at that final sentence, feeling for all the world like he'd probably never talk again. It's not like it'd be much of a change from his usual silence punctuated by a possible odd word or two. It was just easier to be silent, now moreso than ever. He couldn't defend himself verbally from anyone now; it was just easier to take it.

Anna tightened her grip on his shoulder, guiding him off of the railing and steering him back towards the door into the train. "Come on. They've calmed down a bit now. I think they've understood now that they can't go back to Metro, and are coming to terms with being up here. It's not so bad." She opened the door with her free hand and brought Artyom inside. The other Rangers didn't pause in their conversations, only glancing over to him for a moment. Ulman and Duke shot him a smile, waving him over to come and join them.

Pavel had decided to come back in sometime while Artyom was out in the front. He was next to Yermak as the old man babbled on about the train's mechanics. Pavel had shot a quick glance over to Artyom when he entered, but when Artyom met his eyes he quickly looked away with a pursed lip. That wasn't a good sign. He didn't even smile at Artyom like he usually did pretty much whenever they looked at each other.

But that could be dealt with later. Right now Artyom's top priority was to find some paper.