Defection AU second half A

The guard is slightly taken aback by Artyom's serious and earnest conviction, but he's still uneasy. But then Artyom, whose hand had slipped into his pocket, comes out as he sighs and goes to shake hands to silently thank each of the guards for their time, only for them to mysteriously find a full clip each of MGR in their palms. "Right, right," The first guard says, nodding, "You don't seem like the type to lie about that. Go on, then."

The guards step aside to signal the opening of the gate to allow Artyom in. "Don't cause trouble and make me regret this, comrade." the first guard says, seriously. "I'm putting a lot of trust in your claim. Comrade Major Morozov should be at [insert station name here]."

Artyom's eyes widen slightly, and as he puts his clipboard, he gives a terribly grateful nod, before hurrying forward into the station. And now, it's practically a straight line to Pavel. Half the journey is behind him, and with it, the hardest part- from now on, there's no more borders to stop him, only solid Red Line, where he can mostly blend into the crowd as he and his dying feet search for the man that sparked his obsession.

It's [an amount of time] later, and several instances of stopping some military-looking men here and there to brave asking for directions- [and as he nears the Station in which Pavel was said to live,] asking specifically for where he can find Major Pavel Igorevich Morozov. It's easy enough- the Red Line has only recovered so much since the fiasco nine months ago, things are still a bit hectic, and apparently it's not so surprising that some random young man covered in bags would claim to need to see the Major. Saying he has a message needing to be delivered personally goes a long way.

Finally, finally, and finally, he finds himself at Pavel's door. The very door pointed to him by a local, who didn't know if Pavel was home or not. Either he is, and Artyom will be face to face with the object of his obsession for the first time in nine months, or he will be forced to sit and wait, in agony, for Pavel to arrive and find the last person he could ever expect sitting on his doorstep. Either way, at least Artyom may finally be able to sit down.

His stomach ties itself up in knots. His head swims harder and faster than it ever has, making him feel oddly dizzy suddenly, abrupt vertigo despite standing still threatening to spill his feel out from under him. He wrings his hands, breath coming short, eyes hazy, and once more, Pavel's face comes unbidden into his mind's eye. No. No more!! No more dreams, no more memories- the real thing is right ahead of him! He'll have his fucking closure, he'll deal with this damn obsession, once and for all, whatever it takes. The only other option now is death.

Finally, finally, and finally... Artyom knocks at Pavel's door. Is anyone home? If there is, opening the door will find Artyom, skinny in his baggy, ill-fitting civilian clothes made for men taller and bulkier than him, a heavily laden backpack on his back, and even two entire equally heavily laden dufflebags on either side, straps crisscrossing his chest. He looks a mess. He hasn't shaven recently enough, the dark scruff on his jaw darker, the circles under his eyes even darker, his eyes full of strange fear and apprehension and even stranger hope.

Or...

If Pavel's not home... well, then Pavel will just have to find this incredibly tired young man sitting on his doorstep, knees drawn up and arms folded over them, head resting on them with his face buried in the crook of his elbow, and surrounded by all these bags- there's even a guitar strapped to the fucking backpack! The poor guy may be dozing in this case.

Surprise!