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Pavel felt heavy.
Blackness replaced his vision and his body felt like he'd been run over by a train. But his mind . . . oh, his mind. Guilt weighed him down more than any bullet or train. He . . . He had made his decision. He'd spent his whole life fighting for the Reds, trying to make sure that nothing like what he just done happened to anyone else. No one had to loose their soulmates. And yet . . . really, what had he thrown his away for? Yes, there were his comrades, but he could have let Artyom go. He could have gone with him, even, to Polis. Abandoning the Red Line wouldn't have hurt anybody. Instead, he wound up opposite his soulmate, his lovely little Spartan, and-
Blyad, I shot at him. I fucking shot at my Spartan . . .
No helping it now, though.
Orange flickered in the distance, breaking through the thick darkness.
"He's here."
"We saved him."
"He's alive."
"He's hurt."
"Use the fire and the knife."
"Save him."
"Not much time left."
"Who are you?" He tried to ask, but his voice suddenly felt heavy too, like he couldn't speak.
"He's waking."
"Save him."
"Move quickly, baby."
"Help baby Artyom."
When Pavel woke once more, it was not to emptiness. Rather, a movement on his face woke him, and then be became aware of the small, but healthy glow of what could only be a small fire somewhere beyond his eyelids. Curiously, though with effort, Pavel opened his eyes.
A Spartan was knelt before the small fire, idly tossing a filter into it and watching, behind the reflective lens of a gas mask, as it was swallowed by the flame. A black, long-armed and four-fingered hand appeared within the light of the fire and placed something down. The Spartan looked over into the shadows and paused before nodding. There was no sound, but the black arm withdrew and vanished once more.
It was too much for Pavel, and he fell back into blackness.
He woke once more to another small fire and, presumably, the same Spartan Ranger. They were in the middle of a collapsed church, it seemed, but he had no idea how they had gotten there. The Ranger no longer had on the gas mask, so this must be the remains of the Spartan Order's church hideout, where breathable air still lingered on the surface.
The Ranger peered out of the corner of their eye at him, roused from their thoughts by his movement.
Must not be very talkative. Don't blame them, with what Korbut and Moskvin planned to put them through. I wonder if they have yet.
Suddenly, the Ranger nodded.
Pavel blinked in surprise. What are they nodding at?
You.
Pavel sat himself up, wincing as something of a crinkling sensation worked into his skin. "Who are you?"
The Ranger turned fully and held up a knife. At least he could tell it was a male, now.
"What in the hell is that supposed to mean, chuvak?"
The Ranger flinched and looked away again, settling onto his knees. He stared into the flames, then looked off to the side. He took off the Spartan ski mask and sighed deeply, suddenly looking very weary.
"Ehy, are you alright?"
The Spartan sighed again and laid down, wiping his eyes with an undeniably dirty hand. He waved a hand, as if to say Forget it, it's not important.
"How long have I been out?"
The Spartan shrugged.
"Has anything happened in the Metro?"
He nodded.
I'm not really getting anywhere with him. "Why did you save me, then?"
The knife was held up once more with a shaky hand. He looked like he was either going to drop it or throw it, but with a shaky breath, he brought it back down to rest against his chest.
Pain, anger, despair, hopelessness, resentment and grief suddenly smashed into Pavel.
That's right. Artyom would have gone to D6-
Artyom would have gone. But I can- I can feel him- Did he live?
"Spartan?" He didn't miss the other man's flinch. "Who won control of D6?"
The Spartan shrugged again, this time, weaker.
"Davai, I can't be that bad company. You went to all the trouble of saving me and won't speak to me?"
The Spartan curled in tighter on himself and a fresh wave of emotion hit him.
"Wait . . . Artyom?"
As soon as the thought sunk into his mind, his soul reached out, grasping, gasping for the other man like nothing he'd ever felt before. The pain was overwhelming, but as Artyom's soul tentitively reached back, he thought he could hear snippets from inside his soulmate's mind.
"-not happy?"
"-tried - kill me-"
"-once - only once-"
A younger voice made itself known. "Brother - love him - survived for him-"
"He sold me out, betrayed me and tried to kill me."
"Loves you, brother. He loves you. Dreams of you."
He clutched his side as he moved, sliding himself gingerly across the filthy, decrepit floor until he could wrap his arm around Artyom.
"I'm sorry." Pavel whispered.
He cried. The Spartan in his arms sobbed brokenly, clutching his arm in a vice grip as he shook.
"I forgive you."
He turned, then, rolling to face Pavel and the dear, sweet face of his short, hardy little Spartan came into view. They took mere seconds to meet each other's gazes.
"They forgave me. I can forgive you."
Without a second thought to it, Artyom lunged forward, locking lips in an amateur, clumsy and desperate manner. It was heartbreaking relief that flowed through that kiss, more than it was any physical desire. After it all, Artyom was willing to make this sacrifice, perhaps, considering his answers before, he already knew something about loss. They both lost something before Artyom came back, of that Pavel was sure, but he was unsure what he had lost. Perhaps it was the Line that had run between them before, now either in control of the Metro or collapsed beneath it. He didn't know, but Artyom seemed to.
He held the Spartan long after that, just letting silent comfort drift between the two of them. Surely, this small sanctuary would not remain as such forever, what with limited food and ammunition. Not to mention the strange voices and the black arm from before . . .
But, that was a problem for later. He would stay here, with his soulmate, and follow his wonderful, hardy little Spartan to whatever ends of the Earth awaited them, no matter the state of the Red Line. No duty to prevent heartbreak would ever cause him or Artyom any ever again.
Daylight rose through the collapsed windows and fallen beams of the church grounds. Pavel awoke with Artyom in his arms, head on his chest, sound asleep. Poised over Artyom's body, however, was a huge Dark One and the little creature they had captured before. The large One stroked a hand through Artyom's hair, something like tenderness in the gesture. The small One bent down and pressed his lower face to Artyom's forehead, imitating a kiss.
They're the voices, some unheard of corner of his mind whispered.
The little One seemed to notice Pavel was awake and blinked at him. He slowly approached, eyes blinking sideways, before he lent down and kissed his forehead too.
"Brother loves you." Came its childish voice. "Be good to him."
The little One moved back over to the large One and together, they vanished. Artyom cuddled in closer to his chest, content and unaware.
I guess a few more hours' sleep couldn't hurt. Pavel mused, trying to keep himself away from the image of the Dark Ones watching them sleep. Yes. I'll stay here. With Artyom.