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"Meet me at the Theater at the same table."
Artyom received a letter with this simple text. There were no signatures, only the stamp made it clear that the letter came from Red Line, with which he had very bad memories.
Betrayal.
Yeah, Artyom wasn't used to that sort of thing. Usually everyone, on the contrary, gave their lives for his cause, after all, he was a confidant of the Miller, and he was also the one who launched the missiles on the Dark ones lair, which earned him respect and the title of ranger.
Was he proud of it? No, because later, when he met the only surviving Dark one, he realized how they were alike.
The Dark ones had been exterminated just as his people had once been exterminated. They both felt alone, alone in the world. He longed to numb that loneliness forever...his traveling companion helped with that for a while, becoming like a ray of light in a dark room.
He certainly felt empty when he thought of Pasha Morozov and what had happened on that very "Theater".
"Don't be mad, Artyom - just doing my job to protect the Red Line! And you, musketeer, are from the wrong side of the barricade"
It wasn't that he was angry on Pasha, it was just hurtful. Very much. How many times had Artem saved Pavel? How many times had Pavel saved him? All the talks about their closeness, all the path they had traveled, and even those silly nicknames and musketeers tales Artyom considered a sign of their friendship. A friendship he didn't want to lose.
Yes, everyone he'd considered friends had just left him at some point. Sooner or later, willingly or unwillingly.
But he didn't want to just let Pavel go.
He found him in Venice in some cheap strip-club by accident, and from that moment on he knew he wasn't going to leave until he got his revenge. Revenge for the pain he'd caused him. He wanted Pavel to answer.
Finally, after following him, he caught him, put the ill-fated knife to his throat, but... he wondered. Was this the revenge he wanted? To kill Pavel for him killed his faith in something greater? That them - people of very different views - could exist in peace and harmony?
No sooner had he come to a conclusion than the door was burst open and Morozov took the opportunity to flee.
No matter what anyone said, he continued to foolishly believe.
"I never had much sympathy for the Communists, but Pavel ... acted like a hero."
He often wrote down in his diary what came to his mind. He himself couldn't talk, but that never prevented him from communicating. Pavel was one of the few people who understood him with half a word, or more accurately, with half a gesture.
Perhaps that was another reason they became so close.
He liked Pavel because of his character. In some ways he reminded him of Bourbon, God rest his soul.
Yes, they had something of an affair with Anna, but he was so disgusted to think of her and the fact that they had slept together. He wanted to erase that moment from his memory, he wanted to die in that moment. He felt like it was cheating. Treason against himself.
Often he wrote about Pavel in his diary: He wrote down everything he remembered about him, trying not to leave out the little details, lest he should forget. Often a picture of him popped up on the pages... Just in case.
One day, Anna found his open diary on the table when Artyom himself had evidently gone out for a booze. She shouted in such a way that apparently the whole complex had woke up.
"Come on, Ranger, kill and maim, like you always do it, huh? Or you're a chicken? You're chicken of what?"
Their second encounter was a gunfight on a Red Square.
He shouted something out the window about how Artyom could have just gone away and left him alone. About how sometimes you have to think with your head. That Korbut would not forget about him, and neither would Pavel. He wouldn't forget as long as Artyom was alive.
Was Pavel thinking about Artyom all this time? Artyom thought about how similar they were, even though they were very different.
After shooting all the Pavel's comrades, Tyoma went up the stairs, for Morozov's own head.
Pavel yelled for him to get up and finish what he had started.
Was it what he wanted?
Little Dark one, penetrating Artyom's thoughts, said that Pavel was not angry at all, he was just sad.
Sad?
A quick shot from Artyom's side. He shot him through the filter of his gas mask, and Pavel, who was beginning to suffocate, fell to the floor without power after reaching the end of the second floor of the building. He missed a few phrases about Dark one and Artyom's goals for him, while Artyom himself slowly approached him with the same knife, instantly putting it to his "comrade's" throat.
Again these thoughts... did he deserve it? Is this what Artyom wants?
The blue eyes looked straight into his soul. He wasn't angry, he was just sad. How similar they are. It's infuriating.
He got up slowly, shaking off his thoughts, and after screwing in a new, whole filter, he walked away silently, leaving a couple of first-aid kits beside his comrade. He realized he'd never been mad at him. He was just... sad.
Dark one, on the other hand, had promised that Pavel would surely survive. Artyom hoped he would. Having lost Pavel, he would not be able to live, he himself was well aware of that.
Too much he would have to write in his diary.
And now, a month later, he receives a letter asking him to meet at the Theatre, at that very table.
How did he know it was Pavel? He just had a feeling. To receive that letter was a relief. He was alive.
Now he was sitting at that table, looking at the letter much more closely, wondering if he had missed anything important in it. Yes, it consisted of only one sentence, but what could he expect from Pavel?
This man had failed him once already. He must not fall for these shenanigans again.
His heart was beating frantically. Worried. Was this a joke, or a trap of some Red Line survivor?
Thinking, Artyom didn't notice at all who crept up behind him.
- d'Artagnan! - Exclaiming this silly nickname, Pavel put his arm around the shoulders of the sitting man, which frightened him greatly. Apparently, he really was glad to stay alive, or at least to meet Artyom.
Artyom looked back at his comrade with a silly smile. He'd simply be lying to himself if he thought he wasn't happy about Pavel's appearance. Hell yes, he had been waiting for this meeting since the incident on the Red Square! His heart was beating with terrible speed at the sight of an old and living comrade.
- You know, somehow I didn't think you would come. Well, after... Well, you know what I mean! - Morozov did not want to create a pervasive atmosphere again, pulled back the chair in front of Artyom and, at the same time calling for the waiter, finally sat down.
It only took a moment for the guy, whom Artyom didn't recognize, to arrive, because the last time they were served by a man much older than this one.
Artyom wondered if he was a fake waiter.
- Pavel Igorevich, the usual for you? - Asked the guy who approached, distracting Chornyj from his thoughts.
- Nah, this time two shot glasses instead of one, - he pointed at Artyom, who's been sitting opposite. - Reunion with a comrade, you know, is a good reason.
The waiter nodded understandingly and went in the direction of the fridge, and a second later returned with a tray with a bottle of vodka and shot glasses on it. After placing the contents of the tray on the table, the waiter left safely.
An awkward silence ensued. Pavel did not know what to talk about, and Artyom could not talk at all.
- Well, um, Tyoma, - at last, having thought over his speech, Morozov began, - I, as you understand, have not just called you for a drink after a long separation, - hesitantly took a card from his uniform pocket, he put it on the table in front of Artyom. - I came to apologize, but not empty-handed.
Artyom, not trusting, took the card in his hands and began to examine it for the presence of poison or a chip.
To Artyom's surprise, the card was perfectly normal and safe.
It depicted the Eiffel Tower against a blue sky. Postcards from the surface were very valuable in the Metro; you could get at least a hundred army bullets for one of these!
Of course, he wasn't going to sell it, because it was signed by Pavel himself on the bottom, and that was worth a lot.
At least for him.
- You couldn't hardly sell it now, could you? - And again he understood him from half a gesture. - It's just so you won't forget me. You and I are musketeers, aren't we? - The last time he spoke like this, he was being brought in for questioning by Korbut, which made Tyoma look at his comrade incredulously.
Seeing Artyom's look, he continued:
- Hang it on the wall, I do not know ... You will admire, remember. Or stick it in your stupid diary, it would be funny!
Diary.
God, does Pavel really know about the diary? Has he ever opened it? No, because if he had, he'd consider it a freak. No way.
Artyom looked at Pavel, clinging to all his facial features, so that he could remember him as well as he could. When else would they be able to get together like this? Artyom hardly ever visits the Theater, and Pasha, as one of the Red Line, can't get into the Sparta's territory for sure.
- Tyoma... - and Pasha started the conversation again. - It's awkward to ask, well, after what you did for me in the Red Square, but, maybe, you'll leave me something too? I just... well... I don't want to forget you. We are... well, you know.
Artyom lowered his eyes, thinking. Leave something for Pasha? He had nothing really, except a lighter and a watch, which Pasha wanted so much.
Suddenly, an imaginary lightbulb above his head went on.
He walked slowly out from behind the table and approached the seated Morozov. He quickly unzipped his watch, clasped it in his hand, which of course Pavel noticed, and smiled. Leaning over and slightly ducking, he pressed his own lips to his, slipping the watch into his uniform pocket.
Yes, he definitely wanted to leave him a watch and memories, and perhaps himself. For memory.