Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gordon Freeman drove back to his apartment after a long, strenuous time away from home, and could really use a rest.

That would be the conversation-repellant he would toss up as a barrier to ward off any neighbors who bothered to ask where he’d been for- well. He still hadn’t figured out how long he’d been gone. He never got a straight answer from anyone and couldn’t figure it out himself. Later, later.

In truth, he almost crashed his car more than once on the way back from the restaurant. (Restaurant, he’d insisted, so he’d had something to rotate in his head as a distraction.) He didn’t have the mind to ask how his car had gotten in the lot. He wasn’t sure if he cared. Thankfully, somehow, the place had been in an area fairly close to his apartment, enough so that there was little distance to allow for any type of catastrophe to occur and kill him after all of that. He almost laughed at the thought. Can you imagine? Hey there, god, or whatever runs the universe! Sorry to come up so early, but I got into a fender-bender immediately following the most harrowing days of my life traipsing through a facility full of aliens and radioactive sludge. Hope you’ve got room for me in there.

Gordon pulled up to the complex’s parking lot, slotting his Prius sloppily between the faded lines. For a moment after turning off the ignition, he sat back, staring blankly up at the roof of the car. Did he really have to move? He could sleep in here. Who needs a bed when you’ve got ol’ reliable? He truly, honestly felt safer in his own car than anywhere else, even before the fateful day at work. He could fix a car. Cars were mechanical, mathematical. Certain and predictable, following a formula. He could listen for a sound and look at a part, and boom, he knew what to do straight away. It was like a big puzzle, and Gordon took a healthy, normal amount of joy in puzzles. It was also his, and no one else’s. It was paid off, he owned it, it was completely, utterly his. He took a great, albeit concerning, amount of comfort in that level of possession. Someone would probably love to psychoanalyze him about that.

It was all the more reason to resign himself to drifting off in his cozy hunk of steel and gasoline. But… what would the neighbors say, seeing Gordon passed out like he’d been beaten to a pulp and left to wither in his own car mere yards away from his apartment? What would he say? No, it was better to drag himself inside to safety to avoid prying eyes.

And he did, reluctantly unbuckling his seatbelt and peeling his sore form from the worn comfort of the car seat. He struggled a bit to get out, almost falling back in entirely, blaming it on the crater forming in the bottom of the seat. Huh. He’d have to reupholster that sometime.

The first shuffling step came after a few more seconds of dissociation than Gordon would like to admit. If anyone had been watching they’d have probably thought a zombie was dragging its sorry corpse across the cracked, weed-riddled parking lot and, eventually, up the stairs to the stoop. A screen door creaked, keys clicked, and the door slinked open. It was a silent welcome, like it didn’t want to cause Gordon any more trouble today. He almost said ‘thank you’ out loud.

God.

Gordon dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and shut the door with his foot behind him, making his way to the couch with all the mustered-up speed of a man who’d been put through several subsequent ringers. He didn’t exactly have the energy left in his brain or body to even consider changing out of his clothes, which were surprisingly clean all things considered, but still sported a notable layer of grime from multiple days of constant wear. At least that tin can from hell was pried off of him post-party. If he never had to look at that suit again, it would be too soon.

He fell face-down into the slightly scratchy cushions of the couch and groaned at the relief of sinking his entire weight into the pliant upholstery.

A few minutes of peaceful quiet passed, only interrupted now and then by passing cars and crickets.

Gordon lay in silence, waiting for something to happen.

To his surprise, and expectation, nothing happened.

He was finally alone. It was all over with. The realization took a while to set in completely, nestling in his chest like a weary, scraggly animal. One that had been chased relentlessly for hours on end, whose exhausted joints creaked with each step. It was too tired to lick its wounds.

It settled, and Gordon cried. It was loud, it was ugly, and he’d never believe the noises he was making were coming from his own body. The stress, relief, disbelief, all of it crashed down to pull violent, stinging tears from his eyes.

So much of what he couldn’t let out, or was too in shock to express in the heat of the moment, flooded out in a rush of unbridled emotion. Crying was supposed to feel good, right? It was supposed to relieve stress or whatever, something about the chemical makeup of tears- he couldn’t think straight enough to remember the details. Whatever, it wasn’t working, it hurt, and he hated it. He wailed and sobbed until he was sure he’d dehydrate if he kept on with it. Shudders overtook him until his body finally gave in to passing out. It wasn’t peaceful, but he was worn so thin that any loss of consciousness would suffice.

-

It was far from a restful sleep, that was certain.

The only reason Gordon pried his eyes open the next day was the physical realization that his entire body ached. From the throbbing headache wrapped in a tight band around his temples to the burning soreness in the soles of his feet, he fucking hurt. He didn’t want to move from the itchy ‘comfort’ of the couch, but the dulcet tones of a Linkin Park song were blasting from his phone. As much as he loved the classics it wasn’t what he wanted to hear right now.

Wait. Shit, that was his ringtone.

After fumbling so hard he almost hucked the already spiderweb-cracked phone across the living room, he finally slid the answer button and put the phone on speaker. He didn’t even bother to check the number before slurring out “Freeman residence.”

“Hey mister Freeman!” Tommy’s cheery tone rang from the speaker. “I thought I would- I’d give you some time before giving you a ring, let you take a- uh, get some rest after everything.”

“Guh… Tommy?” Gordon had to clink a few gears together in his head to remember that, yes, he had willingly given Tommy his cell number after the birthday party. He was just about the only sane one, or at least, the only one he’d trust with having any form of his contact information.

“Oh, you sound like you just woke up! Should I call you back later?”

“No! Ah, sorry I mean, no. No, I’m okay to talk. Hang on-“ Gordon peeled his front half upward off the couch despite the protest from his muscles, situating himself in a more proper sitting position to help him keep awake.

“Ok, alright. I’m- I’m good now. To talk.” Gordon puffed out a sigh through his nose. “What’s up, man.”

“I was about to ask you the same, mister Freeman-“

“Hey, actually, would you mind calling me just Gordon? You don’t have to uh, be formal or anything. It’s… outside of work hours. Hah.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure, m- Gordon.” Tommy cleared his throat. “Uh, well, I just wanted to see- to check up on you, make sure you got home safe. I didn’t wanna bother you straight after though, since you must’ve been- you had to have been beat tired, since you slept for about a day now. I know it was only a short ways down the road, but, y’know.”

Gordon smiled to himself. Tommy… he was so considerate, bless his heart. He cared, and knew what he was doing, and it was really a sound of comfort to hear his voice on the other end of the line. Throughout the entire event, he’d been the most level-headed out of all of them, really. It kept Gordon more sane than he realized at the time, but now that he was looking back…

Wait.

About a day?

Gordon finally looked at the clock on his phone. Oh, god, he’d slept for almost 24 solid hours. His phone was also at nine percent battery, he noticed, and he hurriedly slung his arm over the side of the sofa to fish for the charger cord that was still plugged into the wall and jam the free end into the port. Ugh, he was a mess.

“Yeah, it was… it was an alright drive back. I’m alright.” Gordon set the phone on the couch arm to let it charge. “Hey, thanks a lot, for checking up on me.”

“Of course! We’re friends, after all.” Gordon could feel Tommy’s reassuring smile even through the phone.

“Yeah… yeah, we are.” He bit his lip in thought, mulling over what he could do with this time with Tommy. “Hey… this is gonna sound stupid as hell, but… that did all happen, right?”

“You mean, the resonance cascade? Yeah, that- it all happened, Gordon. I was there. We all were.”

“Good… well not, not good, I mean- you know. Thank you. Just making sure.”

“I see. Well, I can tell you for sure, that crazy shit all happened.” A rattle of metal and steady clicking signified Sunkist’s arrival to Tommy’s side. Her sniffs to the receiver made Gordon snort. “And we’re all alive and well. Dr. Coomer and Dr. Bubby made it out safe. I think Coomer technically stole Bubby? But- but that’s probably fine. They seem happy.”

Stole… yeah, that makes sense. Bubby was technically Black Mesa property, which is, uh. Fucked up. But at least they’re safe and sound somewhere that’s not infested with aliens and toxic goop.

“Oh yeah, and you remember that other scientist we helped escape- the one with the rocket boots?”

Gordon didn’t have to think very long to remember Darnold. The guy did give him the whole… gun arm. Potion. Thing. That sure was a strange string of words to put together in his brain, huh. “Yeah, Darnold. What, did you hear from him too? Is he alright?”

“Yeah, I started talking with him last night, after I got home. He’s- gosh, he’s a delight to talk to, Gordon. You should hear what he has to say about mixology, he knows so much! And what he’s- all his experiences in his field, he’s done so many incredible things.” Tommy sounded like he was fit to burst into a ramble of thoughts about Darnold- it sounded like he was fond of him, and only after a day? Gordon would have teased him about how he was gushing like a school kid with a crush, but he didn’t have the energy quite yet. Maybe another time.

Instead, Tommy cut himself off before he could chatter on and asked Gordon to wait for a second. A pause, and some shuffling. Distant, mumbled words directed at someone else, and all Gordon could make out was a hushed ‘on the phone… not a good time… hard feelings.’ He also heard Sunkist’s collar tags rattling and her claws tapping on the floor as she ran off somewhere else. The clicks stopped and a short woof followed. Gordon could swear he heard a voice that was far too deep to be Tommy’s say ‘good girl,’ and he started to ask about it, but Tommy quickly regained his place in his fawning over Darnold. It was sweet, but Gordon wanted to know who else was with him. It didn’t sound like Mr. Coolatta, and Gordon didn’t think Tommy lived with anyone else, from what conversations they’d had before.

"Tommy- Tommy. Who's there with you? You didn't say you had a roommate."

Tommy sucked in a breath through his teeth and audibly struggled to respond. "That's… the… TV! Yeah, the- my soaps are on. That's it."

"That didn't sound very convincing."

A sigh, and a drawn out sound of frustration. "I… it's my… ah, shit. No, he doesn't- we should wait a bit. Not yet. Yeah."

"Wait for what, Tommy?" Gordon was getting antsy. What was so bad that Tommy felt the need to hide it from him?

Then he heard it. It was quiet, barely there, but it clicked. He would recognize that voice, that half-dead tone anywhere.

“Is that fucking Benrey? ”

“Fuck- hang on, Gordon.” There was a sound like a drawer opening, and a metal clink. Tommy must have covered the phone with his hand, since Gordon could barely make out a request for Benrey to take Sunkist for her walk. Gordon was now incredibly awake, and anxiously tapping his fingers on the leg that he wasn’t bouncing incessantly, waiting to be acknowledged. He wished he were more patient.

A door opened, then closed again, and Tommy returned his attention to Gordon.

“So… that was Benrey.”

“Tommy.”

“Listen, Gordon-”

“Please, please have an explanation as to why Benrey is alive. One that makes a little sense. I don’t think I can take any more fucking- whatever nonsense he does.”

“Gordon. Listen to me.” A pause that made Gordon want to cry. Again. “I don’t… really know, uh, how he’s still- still alive. But… he is! And he’s here. With me.”

“Why-” Gordon picked up the phone- “is he there-” his lips were barely an inch away from the microphone- “with you.”

“Gordon he’s my friend,” he said matter-of-factly. “Alright, he- so, after the party, he came to me. My house. He asked if I could let him stay here, since he had nowhere else to go.”

“Nowhere else?” Gordon asked. “What, he doesn’t have an apartment or anything?”

“No. He lived at Black Mesa- he was…” his fingers drummed on a surface audibly- wood, maybe. A desk? “Well, I think he’d rather tell you the details himself- if at all. Anyway, yeah, he doesn’t have anywhere else, and he’s my best friend! So I let him stay here with me.”

Gordon was… stunned, to say the least. He was still processing the whole ‘Benrey still being alive’ bit, that was a lot to chew, and now there’s this. Great. “You still can call him your friend after he tried to kill us? ”

“I wouldn’t say he tried to kill us, per se-”

“Are you kidding?! You were there! He sent those fuckin’- what were they, skeletons at us? He was huge- he said he was gonna kill us! He literally said he was gonna kill us!”

“It’s not like he wanted to, Gordon.”

Tommy didn’t yell- that would have been better. Instead his voice lowered to something grim, almost ghastly, that made Gordon shut his mouth in a second flat. He’d only experienced it firsthand once in Black Mesa, when Gordon had jokingly called Tommy a kid one too many times. Tommy had pulled him aside, looked him in the eyes, and told him, very simply, that he was over ten years his senior, and that he should treat him as such. It was a straight-forward statement, but Tommy’s tone and that look in his eyes - which he could swear were glowing - sent a chill down Gordon’s spine like nothing he’d felt before.

Simply put, Tommy scared the hell out of him when he did that.

So he shut his trap and let Tommy speak.

“It’s… complicated,” Tommy continued, “and it’s also something I don’t feel- it shouldn’t be me who tells you all of it. That’s for Benrey to say. But I also think, uh, I know that you two could use some time apart before you even begin to consider discussing anything with him.”

Gordon mulled over it for a few silent seconds, and… yeah, Tommy was right. He didn’t know everything, which he hated, but he had a few choice words for Benrey he wanted to say right this minute. Words that he might come to regret later. Maybe it was best for him to cool down and think more before he did something that would come back to bite him in the ass.

“Yeah. Okay, yeah, you’re right. Thank you… and I’m sorry.”

“No problem. When you want to-” a door opened, cutting him off. “Oh, you’re back early- wh- why are you carrying her, what happened?”

Who Gordon could only assume was Benrey was too far away to be heard clearly, and all he caught was ‘she’s fine’ and ‘mud puddle,’ before Tommy snorted and returned his attention to Gordon.

“Well, uh, I gotta go give Sunkist a bath so- hey, I’ll call you later, if you feel up to it? Or text you? Is that alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

Gordon hung up, leaned his head back on the couch, and huffed a sigh from his nose. There was a lot to take in… it was so, so much. His brain was mush, and also hurting pretty bad. He should get something for that before doing anything else in his fugue state.

He had a lot to mull over.

Chapter Text

It’d been about two weeks since Tommy’s first call, and Gordon was having a time of it figuring out what to do with himself. The higher-ups at Black Mesa really didn’t want their little fucked up cat to be let out of the bag, and the absurd sum of hush money Gordon received only a day after his solid 24 hour sleep said as much.

Because of this sudden funding, he wasn’t exactly in a rush to go job hunting any time soon, which meant he now had an incredible amount of time on his hands.

Gordon was far too antsy of a person to do nothing all day, so he invested in a hobby or two to keep himself busy, one of which he was working on now. Pieces and bits of a soon-to-be miniature Thunderbird were scattered across his coffee table amongst his myriad of tools and glue tubes in a manner that only he could call ‘organized.’ It was admittedly pretty incomprehensible to anyone who wasn’t Gordon’s brand of neurotic, but he knew what he was doing, and that was all that mattered.

He sat in a concentrated trance, about halfway through cement-glueing the engine together when his phone buzzed on the table. Putting the partial mini-machinery down, he moved to pick up the phone and unlock the screen. Tommy again, probably. He’d been calling and texting Gordon at least once a day, usually offering a shoulder to lean on and vent to if the need arose. He also liked to fill Gordon in on the lives of the rest of the science team; Coomer and Bubby had settled down in a nearby city and found jobs that let them go buck wild with experimental science, a line of work that required secrecy, apparently. Well, uh, good for them.

Tommy on the other hand had continued his talks with Darnold, every so often gushing to Gordon about him. Apparently they’d made time to meet up for dates; Tommy sent him more than a few photos of him and Darnold out on the town, or spending time together in his house, usually with cutesy filters over them. It was sweet. Sickly, almost, but sweet. Eh, whatever, Gordon was happy for them.

It wouldn’t seem like much to anyone else, but Gordon was genuinely, actually glad that there seemed to be some normalcy outside of his own apartment. He'd been wallowing in his own thoughts, and tears, but knowing that the people he could call his friends were living their lives normally… it was comforting. Slowly, the exhaustion of it all seemed to settle. Like sediment at the bottom of a river, after a particularly large rock had plunged to the bed and disrupted the delicate peace of the resting silt.

Today’s message from Tommy was a small paragraph of text describing Sunkist’s endless endeavor to be covered in something she shouldn’t be. A picture followed shortly after. The substance of the day was a particularly bright shade of purple oil paint - Tommy liked to dabble in the arts, he’d learned - that would absolutely stain the floor and her paws if it wasn’t scrubbed off quickly. The photo evidence featured her in the half-filled bathtub, with someone sitting on the edge to one side, facing the camera. One large hand lifted up one of her front paws while the other held a sudsy sponge. 

Gordon recognized those hands as Benrey’s, sturdy and square attached to strong arms. He’d seen those hands do so much, how could he forget? Now the rest of him… Gordon hadn’t ever really seen much more, beyond the less than flattering security guard uniform. The chunky vest and puffy pants didn’t reveal much, but now that he was out of it he looked oddly normal. He was too regular, in a plain grey t-shirt and those swishy kind of athletic shorts. The photo cut off most of his face, but Gordon could see the barest hint of a smile. Nothing like the cocky grin he wanted to slap off of his face during their time of peril, but a genuine one, subtle and soft. Relaxed, even.

That was not what Gordon should be focusing on. He should have been infuriated at the sight of Benrey at all, or ignoring him entirely. Instead his eyes ate up everything the photo offered, like he was searching for something. He was, truthfully, looking for some indicator of Whatever Benrey Was hiding beneath a human-flesh cloak.

Gordon started to notice things he hadn’t back then. Such as...

Benrey’s hands looked very, very strong. They should, he thought, since the guy was a security guard. Despite the power behind those hands his grip on the messied paw in his palm was gentle. His arms were just as sturdy, thick and muscular but with a layer of softness that rounded his edges. Broad shoulders were loose and relaxed, lacking the rebar-stiff stance they previously held in times of turmoil. They curved gently upward to meet his neck, leading up to a soft but present jawline. And that little smile that said so much that Gordon didn’t understand yet. It made him feel a certain way that he couldn’t place.

He searched for something, anything, that gave away Benrey’s existence as something else. But he didn’t find it. Rather he felt he was being a bit… weird. Someone else would call it obsessing. Gordon would call it being cautious. Paranoid maybe.

Too cautious to realize he was squirting cement glue all over his fingers. Shit.

He tossed the phone on the couch and nearly ate shit hopping around the table in his haste to reach the sink. The faucet hissed as nearly scalding water poured out. He plunged his hands in and sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Maybe if he used hot enough water he could burn some sense into himself and snap out of whatever thoughts he was having.

-

Much to Gordon’s dismay, that didn’t end up being an isolated incident.

Not the glue part, that didn’t happen again. Much.

Gordon started to suspect Tommy was up to something. He appreciated - looked forward to, really - his calls and texts, but there was a sort of undertone to them. Each day that passed there was a new conversation topic, but something stayed static; almost every time Tommy hit him up, or sent him a picture, Benrey was there. He was mentioned in passing, his voice lurked in the background, or he got caught in a photo. Gordon had a feeling Tommy was doing it on purpose, as some sort of ploy to get Gordon to talk to Benrey directly.

It was infuriating. It should have only been infuriating.

But to Gordon it almost felt like an egg hunt, or some fucked up game of Where’s Waldo. He would scan over photos for any hint of Benrey being there, comb every text for mentions of him, strain his ears to listen for his voice during calls. He felt an obligation to track down any signs of Benrey’s existence in anything Tommy sent him, for some reason.

It was admittedly, Gordon realized, batshit fucking insane, and obsessive. If it wasn’t for his reasoning that, ‘hey, this is the guy that tried to kill me not too long ago, maybe I should keep tabs on him,’ he would have mentally torn himself apart looking for any sort of justification for this absurd behavior. He knew he was being a lunatic about it, he was fully aware that it probably wasn’t worth the trouble and stress he was causing himself. He didn’t even know what he was really looking for anymore. But he kept up the habit, still not sure what the end goal was.

That was, until Tommy dropped a little bomb on him.

The two started meeting for actual face to face hangouts. They’d only done it once or twice as time went by, since Tommy understandably spent more of his leisure time with Darnold, but their time together was well appreciated. Today was one of those days. They took up a two-person corner table in a local diner, a place that Tommy insisted had the best burgers and root beer floats in the state.

After they got their food, two of the same as per Tommy’s recommendation, they chatted it up like they were old friends. Tommy showed off more photos of Sunkist, himself, Darnold, and even a few of Coomer and Bubby that they’d sent his way. Stories behind the pictures followed, sweet and silly, short and long-winded. It felt… really nice. Gordon needed the nonchalance of a friendly hangout more than he thought. And to get out of the house, that was important. Stretch his legs, get that fresh air everyone talks about.

Gordon was just finishing up his food when Tommy’s face lit up, and he reached beneath the table into the bag he’d brought with him.

“Whatcha got, man?” Gordon sipped at his rootbeer float as Tommy rustled through the bag.

“I have...” Tommy said, pulling a box from below and placing it on the table. “Something for you!”

“What? I- you didn’t have to get me nothin’, man, I didn’t-”

“I wanted to. It seemed like something you- you’d like.”

The box wasn’t too big, not taking up much more room than one of their plates. Wrapping paper covered the flat sides, a vibrant yellow with orange polka dots. Gordon looked up at Tommy, who gave him the ‘go ahead’ nod, and he carefully peeled off the paper. He didn’t think it was gonna be reused or anything, but he hated looking too excited by ripping gift paper to shreds.

Gordon pulled back the last of the paper and took a deep breath. Fingers gently slid beneath the bottom and lifted it with the care of something that would shatter immediately if he handled it too roughly. In his hands he held the box, printed on the outside with a photo of a Prius- one that looked just like his own, color and all. It had a parts list on the back, color guide- it was a model kit. Gordon stared starry-eyed for a good while in stunned silence. A tiny version of his own car that he took so much comfort in. This was so… it felt stupid for it to mean as much to him as it did. It meant Tommy had been listening to his stupid little rants about his stupid little cars after all. His friend listened to him. Honestly.

His eyes returned to Tommy, who was smiling expectantly down at him. “What do you, uh, think?”

“Tommy…” Gordon rubbed a thumb almost reverently across the front edge of the box. “This is one of the most considerate things anyone has ever given me.”

“I’m so glad you like it! It uh- it’s pre-painted, they didn’t have one available that you could do yourself. I wasn’t sure if you- if that mattered.”

That was actually a pretty big help, since Gordon hadn’t actually thought to buy paint for any of the models sitting at home on his shelf. He should really do that sometime.

“No, no it’s perfect. Thank you so much, man.”

“No problem, Gordon.” Tommy pulled at his collar sheepishly, looking off to the side. “And, uh. Not to make this seem like- like a bribe or anything, but… I wanted to ask a favor from you.”

“Dude, after this? I’d love to help you out, what’s up?”

“Oh, good! Well,” Tommy had a flat smile that served as more of an apology than an expression of comfort. “I was thinking, you- we could, uh. Have a day at… my place. Doesn’t even have to be a day, really. Just some time.”

“Oh, cool, yeah, that sounds like a- wait. Bribe… oh, you- I get it. You want me to make up with Benrey, right? Yeah, that’s not happening.” As much of a fan of repaying favors he was, Gordon was absolutely not ready to make nice with Benrey yet. If ever.

“I mean you don’t have to- you don’t need to move so fast, if you don’t want to! I just thought that after a little time to cool down, you might, uh, feel better about talking things over. With him.” Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed and his smile was gone. He looked truly concerned about them working things out. “And I thought you of all people could use some time with Sunkist.”

Gordon chewed his lip in thought. God, he really didn’t want to face Benrey so soon. Well, it had been… what, a month almost? Still, it was such a big step compared to his weird habit of seeking him out through contact with Tommy. Maybe he did need to man up and talk directly to the guy. Clear his mind, get some questions answered. Chew him out just a little, or a lot.

Plus the deal was being sweetened with a very thoughtful gift. And Sunkist. Ah, what the hell. He was such a pushover.

“Y’know what… yeah. Yeah, okay. I’d like to come over. When were you thinking?”

Tommy’s face lit up immediately. His eyes were almost glowing. Gordon had a very hard time saying no to Tommy when he had such obvious joy in his features.

They finished up, decided on a day and time, and Gordon thanked Tommy again for the gift as they parted ways outside the diner. Gordon sat in his car for a bit before heading home, mulling over what he’d just agreed to.

Pros: he might get some answers to some burning questions, Sunkist would be there, and he’d get to spend more face to face time with another human being.

Cons: he’d have to spend face to face time with a nonhuman being. One that knew how to grate on his nerves without being an immediate threat.

He rested his forehead on the top of the steering wheel and sighed heavily. He was gonna have a time of it with this one.

Chapter Text

It was almost the day. The end of the world was coming. It was already a day before? Gordon knew his sense of time was a little fucked from the still-undiscerned amount of time spent in Hell, but Jesus.

The inevitable second thoughts were flooding Gordon’s head, and he told Tommy as much over the phone. It was a video call this time, since he’d unintentionally given Tommy a ring when he was in the middle of a painting of his, in a smudged apron and smock. Gordon said he could call another time, but Tommy insisted that the company would help him work.

He seemed to know what Gordon wanted to talk about before he spoke his first word, telling him that yes, he should still visit tomorrow. They needed to work shit out, badly, for the sanity of everyone involved.

“I think your issue is that you show a- you express emotions a lot,” Tommy said, smoothing his wedge knife over his palette. “Real over the top, and loud. But they’re not your emotions. To me at least, it looks like, uh, you’re not being honest with yourself. Or anyone else.”

“I- damn, alright, “Gordon huffed. “I didn’t think I was gonna be probed like a lab rat today, but, sure! Why not. Trip to the therapist’s.”

“I’m as much a scientist as you, Gordon. I’m observant. And I've observed plenty of your behavior to reach a, uh, a conclusion that you’re hiding some feelings.”

“Hiding feelings?” Gordon laughed dryly. “Yeah, feelings. I have feelings about Benrey alright, and they’re not good ones.”

“Mmm.” Tommy cocked an eyebrow but otherwise his expression remained the same. “Funny, I didn’t even mention Benrey. But, uh, to contrast, Benrey has trouble showing any emotion at all. Like, yknow, earnestly. You’ve seen- you’ve been around him, he hides behind his jokes and weird… Benreyisms.”

“Yeah, I’ve been the butt end of a lot of those.”

“He’s made you laugh a lot. More than anyone else, more- more than me, for sure.”

“Nervous laughs are a thing!”

“Gordon. I think- y’know what I think? I think you were, no, you still are putting up a front.”

“A front?!” Gordon sputtered and threw his hands in the air. “A front for what? There’s nothing to hide!”

“Suuure, buddy.” Tommy rolled his shoulder and swiped a particularly large glob of paint with his knife, transferring it to the canvas before locating a brush. “Listen, you might try to pretend you don’t- like, like Benrey’s the worst out of all of us. You say you hate his guts, but you were giggling along to all his jokes and playing along to his... little games. You always talked about him nonstop when- if, if he wasn’t around.”

Gordon felt like he was under a magnifying glass being held up to the sun, being burnt to a crisp by a particularly big fan of making ants regret coming out of the hill. All the while Tommy’s hands were like birds, carrying the brush and fluttering from one area to the next across his canvas with grace and intent, not seeming to pay too much attention to him. All while he was holding a solid Gordon roast session with so little visible effort, like baring his soul to god and everyone was second nature. Gordon couldn’t see what he was doing from this angle, but each swoop of the brush looked strong and deliberate, however wild they seemed.

“You could’ve ignored him so easily, or- or not talked about him. But,” he pressed his brush to the canvas one last time before setting it down and looking straight into Gordon's eyes. “You did. And that’s why you’re coming tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but, I didn’t- how was I supposed to know he would keep on with it?” Gordon said incredulously. “I haven’t known him for nearly as long as you have. And you, over here fuckin’, psychoanalyzing me like you’ve known me for longer than… I still. I don’t know how long we were in there, but...” He sighed and put his head in his hands.

“I don’t know either. The resonance cascade may have, uh, caused temporal distortion alongside the spatial warping. And y’know, everything else.” Tommy pointed the blunt end of his paintbrush at Gordon and furrowed his brows. “And, hey, you’re not too hard of a guy to read, y’know! I hate to tell you so bluntly but you’re… you’re a bit of a dick, Gordon.”

“Wh- a dick? Why?”

“You were bitchy to everyone we met the entire time through Black Mesa.”

“Well, that was a dire situation! We could’ve died at any point!”

“You waited a whole five minutes after meeting me to call me a freak when you thought I couldn’t hear you.”

“I-”

“That was before the resonance cascade.”

Was it? It all blurred together so badly that Gordon couldn’t remember. Ah. Well. Gordon shut his trap before he could shove a foot in his mouth and let Tommy go on.

Tommy swirled his brush in his paint water jar, turning the liquid a muddy blue with streams of orange and yellow. “Well, listen. I want- I like both of you, a lot. I’ve known Benrey for longer, yeah, but I think of you both as good- really, uh, good friends of mine. I care about both of you. You don’t have to be the best of friends or anything, but I do want you two to talk things over. Be at least, uh, neutral or something? I know you two can make it happen, and I- I would be happy to help you through it.”

Gordon watched the colors swim around in the water and let his thoughts follow their pattern. He cared about Tommy too, how could he not? He’d been able to rely on the guy for so much in the past few weeks, like he’s never been able to do with another person before. He wasn’t really a ‘friends’ guy, but that wasn’t by his own doing. He didn’t think it was anyway; he hadn’t really held any close friendships before. No college buddies, coworkers, nothing. They always seemed to fade out too soon, explained away with distance and schedule conflicts. ‘Nobody likes Gordon Freeman.’ He’d said it as a huffy throwaway complaint before, but god, did he feel it in his chest whenever his efforts to make nice were deflected.

But Tommy, he felt like someone who would stick with him. He’d helped him through the cesspool of emotion following his return home that, now that Gordon thought about it, maybe he should have asked to dump on him all at once. It made his heart twist to even think of losing such a good friend by not doing something so simple as visiting their house.

No matter how hard he shoved back, Gordon Freeman was once again a very easy pushover.

He sighed and tapped his hands together. He wanted to try. For Tommy, if nothing else, but it would also be nice to tie up loose ends. Answers would be nice too. Maybe he could get away with one solid punch, if he played his cards right. Fuck, what? No. No that would- no. Bad thoughts, Gordon.

“Okay.” He clapped his hands on the sides of his head lightly, running his fingers down his face and scratching at his beard. “Alright. You win, I’m still coming. Is there anything I should know, or like, definitely not say?”

“Hmm.” Tommy tapped the excess water from his brush on the rim of the jar. The colors maintained their momentum and floated dreamily. “Well… try not to tear him a new one right off the bat? He… he does feel bad about what he did even if it might not seem like it. He’s nervous.”

Nervous… after all he did he was still nervous. God, Gordon wished he could study Benrey. An observational study. Picking at his brain from a healthy distance sounded like a good way to pry through all the layers of absurdity.

“Sure… I’ll try not to be too rough on him, I guess.”

“Good.” Tommy plucked a clean corner of his apron and dried off his brush. He leaned his head back and squinted at his canvas. He looked… contemplative. His eyes drifted a bit, like he was getting lost in thought. He blinked and shrugged, muttering something about working on it later.

“Tell you what, I gotta scoot, but I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” Tommy tilted his head and gave an assuring, lopsided smile. Gordon loved that smile. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be there too. And Sunkist, for moral support.”

“Yeah. Thanks, man. I’ll catch you tomorrow.” Gordon hung up and put his phone on the coffee table screen-down. His hand dragged down his face and he let out a long, low groan. He’s fucked. He’s so, indisputably fucked, ten ways to Sunday. It’s for Tommy, he repeats to himself. All he has to do is not freak out too bad. Not tear into the guy he had so many thoughts about, who ate away at his brain like a parasite. It’s fine, it’ll be fine.

It will be fine. It has to be.

-

Tommy had… a very nice house.

It wasn’t anything over the top or fancy, having a modest one floor, but it did say a lot about him. A flattened dirt path lined with an array of vibrant flowers trailed from the end of sidewalk up to the porch, light birch wood with overflowing potted plants hanging from hooks in the fascia. Three plastic lawn flamingos overlooked the plush grass of the lawn, left to flourish and grow wildflowers amongst the blades. Ivy spiraled up the balusters of the handrails, which were smooth and pleasant to the touch under Gordon’s palm as he made his way up the few stairs and onto the porch.

Even the door felt very much like Tommy, a sweet, dark oak with a massive fake sunflower decoration hanging just beneath the window. It felt homey.

Gordon’s hand hovered over the doorbell, his fingers curling and uncurling like a particularly indecisive pillbug. It took longer than he’d like to admit to suck it up and ring the doorbell, the odd tune echoing from inside.

Oh, god. Who was gonna answer? Gordon prayed to some ambiguous higher force that it would be Tommy, but it could just as easily be Benrey. He lived there too, it would make sense for him to answer a door at his own place- well not. His. But, he did live there. Oh, Jesus, what if Mr. Coolatta lived here too? Tommy had never mentioned living with his father, not that there was anything wrong with that, but if he did? And opened the door to find the guy that helped level an entire facility? God what would he even say-

The door swung inward, and the recipient of Gordon’s nerve-wracked form standing uselessly on the porch was-

Oh. Sunkist.

She could… open doors, apparently. Huh. Clever girl.

Sunkist woofed softly up at Gordon, butting her head into his thigh in greeting. “Heyyy, puppy. It’s been a while, huh?” He pet her head and scratched behind her ears, crouching down to her level. He was immediately bombarded with puppy kisses all over his cheeks, which knocked his glasses askew. Ah, momentary heaven.

After thoroughly dampening his face, Sunkist motioned her head toward the inside of the house as if to say ‘come on in!’ Gordon followed, tapping the tips of his shoes on the porch before entering and pulling the door closed behind him.

There was a small rectangular mat in the corner of the short foyer, with swirly letters that read “shoe zone.” Gordon wiggled out of his sneakers and set them down on the mat, beside a pair of dark brown dress shoes and a pair of beaten-up Converses.

Sunkist bounded off into the entryway to the right, paw pads thumping across the orange and yellow paisley rug spanning the length of the foyer. Gordon trailed after her into what looked to be the living room and… wow. Wow.

Relatively the space was… pretty normal. The walls were painted a buttery yellow and spread the sunlight from the windows across the muted green carpet. The furniture was modest, mostly brown with a few patterned pieces, nothing too flashy. It would have felt very cozy, if it weren’t for the mass of rectangles overtaking nearly a quarter of the room.

Several of what Gordon assumed to be Tommy’s paintings lay diagonally against one wall, close to the corner. It wasn’t cluttered by any means, but the variety of energies and themes from the different artworks put him into a trance. The contrast was jarring; in the center of the lineup, a square canvas was covered in the entire rainbow of hues, a calming, emotional swirl of color. Just to the left of that was another painting that Gordon had trouble parsing, but was completely manic and lacking direction. If he had the artistic vocabulary, he would have described the style as ‘a Dali that took a dip into Peter Saul’s paint water jar.’ But he didn’t know what any of that meant, so such a comparison didn’t come to mind. Instead, he perceived it as ‘kinda weird, but pretty cool.’

Gordon’s thoughts were interrupted by the shuffling of socked feet making their way toward him. Tommy poked his head through the doorway, beaming.

“Hey, Gordon, you made it!” Tommy strolled into the living room and gave Gordon a friendly pat on the back. He was dressed very… hm. Gordon didn’t want to call it “nerdy” but he didn’t know how else to describe it. He looked like a professor about to run out the door to his afternoon lecture, note-stuffed briefcase in one hand and a steel thermos of a coffee-energy drink combo in the other. His bright yellow button up shirt was dotted with swirls and spirals not unlike those you’d find peppering a bowling alley carpet, and the black-and-rusty tie around his neck felt a bit professional to be wearing in your own home. The black slacks emphasized just how much of Tommy’s height was in his legs, and led down to very businessy black socks. It was… a lot. But Gordon liked it. Reminded him of a few of his favorite professors at M.I.T.

Once Gordon stopped looking Tommy up and down like a mannequin on display, he returned the gesture with a side hug. He took until then, exactly then, to fully realize how much taller Tommy was than him. He had to be bordering on 6’ 8” or something like that, since he had to duck under the doorway a bit in order to not bump his head when he came in. Gordon himself was an average 5’ 10”, but god, Tommy made him feel like an ant . Whatever, that wasn’t important, and Gordon should really stop thinking about that. Distractions.

“I… yeah! I’m here. Dude, are those your paintings in the corner? All of that?” He waved an arm in the direction of the colorful pile.

“Oh, that! Uh, yeah I- I’ve been painting a lot since we got back.”

“Woah...” Gordon wanted to linger, maybe study a few of the canvases, but Tommy was nudging his shoulder in a ‘let’s go’ kind of way. Damn. He was gonna see how long he could stall for. Ah, well. Sunkist bumped into his legs and urged him out of the room, running ahead to bound after Tommy.

Gordon found himself in a room that seemed to be a sort of man cave, or the Tommy version of one. Shelves were packed with books, video game cases, and well-loved consoles, an odd knick knack or two acting as stand-in bookends. There was a large television on a stand with numerous cords and wires spilling from the back of it, connected to an assortment of electronics, including a beefy looking PC resting on a desk. Posters of all sorts covered the walls; some were normal things you’d find in a designated chill room, like band or movie posters, but others were… strange. Diagrams of anatomical studies, with a few avant-garde art prints sprinkled in. Gordon couldn’t really piece together any system to how they were arranged, but they seemed to go together anyway. Eh, to each their own.

The most important thing, though, was in the middle of the room. A big, hefty couch that looked like you would sink into it like quicksand if you sat in it took up the center of the floor. And sitting on that couch was the source of all his problems.

It took Gordon a minute to process that, yeah, Benrey was here. He was physically present, in the same room as him, breathing the same air. Looking up at him with round, dark eyes from beneath that shroud that always seemed to cover the top of his face.

What Gordon should have done was say something. Anything. Words that would indicate he was still on earth and not floating around in the vacuum of space.

Instead, he stared. He looked Benrey over like he was on display in the middle of a laboratory testing chamber and the subject was going to disappear if he didn’t maintain eye contact. Even in person he looked… so, horribly, unsettlingly normal. In the most casual of clothing, a black band t-shirt and sweats. The only remotely unusual thing about him was the way his hair seemed to absorb light. It was like when owners tried to take pictures of their black cats and all they captured was a feline-shaped void. Otherwise he looked plain, regular, normal.

Gordon wanted to yell, he wanted to tear his hair out, he was so, so frustrated. Even when he was sitting right in front of him, so close he could feel the energy he radiated, Gordon couldn’t find a single damn thing that gave him away.

His inner turmoil was interrupted by a hand, waving lazily in front of his eyes.

“hey.”

Gordon had so much to say. If he had the time, he could write a book about it, and it would be the longest, most emotional, and least comprehensive piece of literature ever created.

But… god. He was already tired.

“... hey.”