Chapter Text
The party wasn’t actually the worst thing in the world. With no one but them at the Chuck-E-Cheese (which is a restaurant Gordon will die on that hill), it wasn’t all that loud, except when Bubby and Tommy fought over the Tekken machine. Gordon stayed mostly silent, letting the science team play in the arcades while he dug into the first real meal he had had in weeks. Even if the pizza was a bit stale and far too greasy to be healthy, he wolfed it down because it wasn’t soda. Grabbing it with his new prosthetic – courtesy of G-man – was difficult at first, but he was slowly getting the hang of it. Enough to not make a bigger fool of himself, anyway.
Once the hype of being free of the facility wore off, Gordon was happy to sit back and simply revel in the fact that he could relax and never have to see another headcrab or peeper puppy ever again.
“So h-” Gordon jumped, making a not-very-manly noise as he flew out of his chair and aimed his fist at G-man’s face, hand clenched as if the minigun was still attached. He realised the mistake quickly and lowered his now very normal, non-gun hand.
“Apologies for startling you, Doctor Freeman,” G-man continued, deadpan, “As I was about, to ask, How was the party?”
“Uh, good. Yeah. Good party,” he paused, a question on the tip of his tongue. “So, G-man.”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Does the HEV suit come off? Like at all?”
G-man raises a boxy eyebrow at him, then points a slender finger at the lambda symbol on Gordon’s chest. “It is Black Mesa property. I assume you have the, Black Mesa Undersuit, on?”
“No, I’m naked under this. Obviously I’m wearing an undersuit.”
“Well. It has, likely, been, damaged, so I have refrained from doing it.”
“So I have to stay in the heavy, stinky metal suit so I don't have another dick slip?”
G-man pauses, then continues as if it didn’t hear that. “The HEV suit uses a series of strong magnets to hold the latches together. I can offer you one of these strong magnets, to pry it off at home, in a, safer, environment.”
“Oh, magnets, okay, hell yeah. Gimme.”
G-man nods at him and produces a large, flat, cylindrical magnet from… somewhere. It’s G-man, Gordon tries not to question whatever is going on with it, and just silently takes the heavy magnet. G-man glances down at his right hand.
“I do have a question, for you, Doctor, Freeman. Is the replacement I gave you acceptable?”
He blinks. Replacement?
“Ah– The hand, right? Yeah, it works. Might take some getting used to, but it’s better than nothing.” G-man nods, and Gordon blanks on what to say next. The two of them just stand there awkwardly for a moment before Tommy walks over to save them.
“Mr. Freeman! Look! I got a Wizard Fafnir F5!” She smiled, holding it out to him with two hands – like it was some kind of small, fragile animal.
“Oh, wow! That’s cool. You gonna go home after and try it out?”
“Yeah! I’m gonna have, so many battles! Did you want to, um, participate?”
“Oh. Well, I should probably get home soon. It’s late, and I’ll probably have… cleaning to do. Like, so much cleaning. Maybe tomorrow?”
“But how are you gonna get home?”
“…huh?”
“How are you gonna get home, Mr Freeman? Yuh- your car was destroyed in the resonance cascade!”
Well. Shit.
“Really? Damn it. I mean, I could walk, probably–”
“I’ll drive you, Mr Freeman! I don’t mind!”
Gordon was surprised – both because he didn’t know Tommy had a driving licence and because he would be willing to do that for him.
“That’s really nice of you, Tommy. Thanks.”
“I’ll get my presents in the car, and– oh! Do you know the directions to your house?”
“Flat,” Gordon corrects her softly, before humming in thought. “… You got Google Maps?”
Tommy smiled, then trotted off to gather his presents.
Once again, awkward silence permeates the air between him and G-man. “So. Um. Thanks for the, uh, magnet… yeah.” Gordon mumbles before he slinks off to follow Tommy.
“That was some party, huh… Did you have fun?” Gordon asks as he buckles himself into the passenger seat of Tommy’s car, only fumbling a little with the seatbelt.
“Yeah! I wanna do it again!” Tommy takes her eyes off the road for a second to fix Gordon with a wide grin, making the other man chuckle at his enthusiasm.
“Birthdays are only once a year, bud. I wouldn't mind, just hanging out with you three again, though.”
“Like a sleepover?”
“Sure, yeah, a sleepover. Or a movie night, that works too. Less… high-energy, I guess.” Gordon shrugs, a wave of exhaustion hitting him like a brick now that things had calmed down. “I’ve had a long week, Tommy. What I want is to just lie down in bed and not move for a few hours.”
Tommy nods her understanding, her tone shifting into something more concerned. “I understand, Mr Freeman, everyone needs a good night’s sleep, even you.”
He smiles. Thank God, he got stuck with the only reasonable member of the Science Team. “If you need anything, I can always be of service. That's what friends do!”
“Thanks, man. I'll keep that in mind.” Gordon lets out a deep breath, and the rest of the car ride is quiet as he steels himself for the horrors of his flat — and wrestling with the HEV suit.
☆
Tommy dropped him off at the front door to his flat building, calling out a final “Bye, Mr Freeman!” before Gordon shut the passenger side door, watching her pull off to… somewhere. Gordon actually did not know what Tommy's housing situation was, but that train of thought was quickly nipped in the bud. He turned to enter the building, swiping a spare key card to open his door with, then giving a furious glare at the staircase next to the front desk — which he usually used for that extra cardio, not feeling like torturing himself any more than he needed to. “Thank God for lifts,” Gordon mumbled, trudging his metal ass into the singular lift his building had, hitting the 3rd floor button, and leaning against the back wall, the lift making a concerning noise as it started rising.
He knew he had a lot to do — dishes, mopping, grocery shopping, laundry. But, right now, his main concern was taking a hot shower, then having a nap. For several days, hopefully. A ding signified Gordon had reached his destination, the doors sliding open to let him walk out into the hall, going deeper in until he found his door. He took a deep breath, preparing for the worst, pressing the card against the electronic lock until it beeped at him, then opening the door.
Immediately, he was hit by a wave of dust and a stale smell, sneezing before he could cover his nose. Gordon steps in, closes the door, and groans, running a hand over his face and displacing his glasses. “I'm not dealing with this right now. Nope. That's for later Gordon.” He grumbled, flicking the light switch for the living room before pushing past it into his bedroom. It wasn't as stale-smelling as the living room, which was a bonus. He set his glasses on the bedside table before he moved into the connected bathroom, flipping the light switch there before cautiously turning on the sink. The water flowed just fine, and Gordon let out a sigh of relief.
It was a pain trying to peel each panel and layer of the HEV suit off. His arms had to reach around him in angles he'd never thought he would have to outside a yoga class, just to try to pop the chest and back panels off. What was probably only about 20 minutes later (but felt like several hours), Gordon finally had everything off. He already knew he rank to high hell, so he didn't bother checking—no vomiting for him today, no sir. He reached out to twist on the shower, throwing the hot water up as far as he was sure he could handle, while he worked on peeling the dark bodysuit off of him. By the time he was completely bare, the water had started steaming up. He shoved the plastic curtain aside, about to jump in, before remembering his prosthetic. He wiggled the metal fingers, staring at it in deep thought. It was G-man magic, or whatever, but he was still worried about whether it could get water-damaged. “Better safe than sorry,” he reasoned, grabbing it by the base and carefully twisting until it popped off, the hard inside of it rubbing uncomfortably against the scar tissue built up on his stub. People get fabric liners or something for that, don't they?
Gordon added that to his mental list of things he needed before stepping under the hot stream of water.
He’s never once used the word orgasmic in a serious sentence before, but God was it accurate to how the water felt against his sore body. Gordon just stood under the shower head for a good two minutes, letting the heat soak into his bones, before he remembered he needed to actually clean himself. He grabbed a soap at random and started lathering it up, working it against his skin as his mind wandered. He’d been away for a whole week; there’s so much he’s probably missed. Joshua’s weekend, mainly.
What day even is it? He’s pretty sure it’s a Thursday. Like, 90%. His sense of time is a little fucked up, but it’ll correct itself.
… Probably.
Gordon stepped out of the shower 45 minutes later—purely because the hot water ran out—having thoroughly washed himself twice over with a bit of trial and error, his curls saturated and sticking to his skin and dripping all over the tile. He grabbed a towel, wiping off the residual moisture, all while suppressing yawns and dreading all the cleaning he’d have to do. Once he was no longer leaving puddles, Gordon wrapped the towel around his waist, more out of habit than for modesty, before slipping his prosthetic on and heading back into his bedroom for fresh clothes, shoving a hunk of the HEV suit into the corner. He’d toss it later.
He chose an oversized t-shirt for some emo band he liked in high school, some boxer-briefs he was pretty sure were clean, and some plain sweats. It felt like clouds on his skin in comparison to the scratchy bodysuit and heavy metal panels, and Gordon was convinced he could pass out right then and there… but, cleaning.
It would be easier to get it over with now; even if he was exhausted, he would just keep pushing it off until it got worse. He bit the bullet, trudging into the kitchen to fish out whatever cleaning products he still kept under the sink.
☆
Cleaning up the living room wasn’t as bad as Gordon thought it would be. Most of it was just autopilot, going through the motions, his brain wandering off somewhere else, drifting towards memories of what had transpired just a few hours earlier. He tried his best not to go in that direction, but the sound of Sweet Voice still rang clearly in his thoughts, sending a shiver of residual adrenaline up his spine.
Clearing the fridge was a good distraction from that—the smell of mouldy and half-rotted food taking all of his attention away. He managed to sort through and clean out everything without throwing up, and he’d take the small wins. He found a good stopping point soon after, his flat smelling fresh and clean, everything (mostly) wiped down and sanitised. Gordon debated doing laundry, but his clothes weren't dirty, just a little stale-smelling. He tossed a handful of his good clothes into the dryer and called it there. All of his dishes were clean as well, if a bit dusty, lifting that off his shoulders. He swiped a glass from the cupboard, rinsing it under the sink quickly before filling it with water.
Drinking something other than soda was a strange sensation, but the glorious, nothing-taste of the room-temperature water felt like exactly what he needed. He drained the whole thing in one go, exhaling heavily as he set the empty glass onto the counter.
He was fucking exhausted. And with nothing else jumping out at him to be done, a nap felt in order for him. Gordon dragged himself to his bedroom, collapsed onto the sheets, and fell asleep within seconds.
He finds himself back in the long, winding halls of Black Mesa, horribly lost, running for his life. He clutches the stump of his right arm, still bleeding, and he makes a sharp turn into a room. He's back at Xen, the big room, a figure sat between the pillars in the centre. Gordon’s heart races, adrenaline coursing through his veins, he's alone this time. No science team or minigun to save him now. Big, inhuman eyes look back at him.
Gordon jolts out of bed, heart beating out of his chest, sweat soaking into his shirt. What the fuck. He pants uncontrollably, panic still circling the edges of his senses. He fumbles for his glasses, struggling to use his prosthetic before turning to grab them with his left and slide them on.
His room is dark, but empty. The blinds let in a minimal amount of ambient light, mostly moonlight. Ben — that thing, isn't here. He's dead.
“Benry’s dead,” he repeats, hoping that it'll force his brain to settle down. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing for Gordon to not feel on the verge of a panic attack anymore, and he stands up out of bed. He goes into the bathroom, splashes water on his face, and runs his hand through his dry, sleep-messy hair.
“What the fuck,” he whispers, the details of his nightmare already fuzzy and mostly gone from memory. He rubs his temples, feeling a bit stupid. He hadn't had a nightmare in decades, not since he was a kid.
His stump hurts from sleeping with the prosthetic on, and he notes that for later, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He sets his glasses back onto the nightstand, along with his prosthetic. Gordon lays back down, still exhausted, and tries his best to get comfy. Despite his wariness, he falls asleep within minutes.
☆
He gets woken up again a few hours later — this time by a faint knocking on his front door.
“What the fuuck.” Gordon groans, moving to run a hand across his face and instead smacking himself in the cheek with his stump. It was a reminder enough to secure his prosthetic on before grabbing his glasses. The knocking continued, but more insistent this time.
“I'm coming!” he yelled, then quieter; “Jesus Christ." He smooths his unruly hair down with a little water from the sink, hoping he's at least somewhat presentable as he blearily trudges towards the front door.
He's met with Tommy, fist raised as if about to knock again. It's weird seeing her without the lab coat on. “Good morning, Mister Freeman!” Her expression is all sunny smiles, and Gordon gives a half-hearted one back.
“Mornin’, Tommy. It's, um, early.”
“I-I didn't mean to wake you! If, if you were asleep–”
“It's okay bud,” he stops the other with a raised hand, then lowers it to pat Tommy on the shoulder. “Just continue.”
“Well, as I was driving home, last night, I thought, I forgot to give you my number! For, for um, updates! On our hangout!” He perks up, rambling a bit and reaches for something in his pocket. “Then, I realised, you wouldn't have a phone! Because of the radiation! So, I, I got you one– a new one!” Tommy holds the device in front of himself with two hands, angled towards Gordon. He carefully takes it from Tommy, turning it over in his hands. “I already set it up for you,” she taps the screen, and it lights up, the lock screen background set to a picture of the science team (and G-man) at Tommy's birthday. “I put, um, my number, and Dr Bubby's, and Dr Coomer's, in there, your–um, the contacts.”
Gordon’s speechless for a moment. He's been given gifts before, sure — some far more expensive than just a phone — but it feels different, somehow. Special. He swipes up on the screen, no lock code set yet, and stares at the home screen for a moment. “That's… Really nice of you, Tommy,” he manages, looking back up at her. “Thank you.”
“It's the least I could do for you, Mister Freeman.” His smile widens, watching Gordon explore his new phone. “How are you, um, holding up? No sickness? Radiation poisoning, is–it's very serious!”
“I'm okay,” he chuckles, “no radiation poisoning. I probably should have it, but whatever magic G–uh, your dad worked to take away my gun-hand, I feel fine. Great, even.”
“That's, um, I'm glad! That you're feeling good.” A moment of silence passes between them, and Gordon pockets the phone. He opens his mouth to speak, but Tommy beats him to it.
“Before I, got you thuh, the phone,” she starts, fidgeting with her hands in front of herself, “I found a del– dol– uh, car place, and it had some on sale, so I bought one. To replace your old one.”
“A… a car.” Gordon raises an eyebrow. “You got me a new car.”
“Yep! I-I tried to find one, like yours, your old one. It might be a bit different–”
“No, hold on, you got me a car? A brand new car.” Tommy's expression turns sheepish, and he nods. “Tommy, that's… You didn't have to do that, man. You've already done so much for me.”
“But, yuh-you need to go places! How are you gonna get to my house? Or go out for pizzas?”
“Public transport exists, Tommy. I could've gotten a bus pass—” Gordon huffs, pinching his temples. “How much did you even spend on it, anyway? Are you, like, secretly rich?”
“I just used the hush money! It came in this morning!”
He has to pause again. God, Gordon’s too old to be hit with this many surprises back-to-back.
“Okay, the hush money. From… Black Mesa?”
“The government!”
“Okay, the government. That makes it… better, I guess.” He sighs, “but still, you didn't have to do that. Can-could I repay you, or something? It'll weigh on me if I don't.”
“This is my gift to you, Mister Freeman! For, for being my friend, and going to my birthday party! I want you to accept it!”
He stares at him for a moment, then caves. “That's sweet of you, Tommy. Thank you, again.”
“No problem! I wish–hope, you have a good day!”
“You too, man.” Gordon nods, shutting the front door with a click.
He leans against the door, taking the phone back out of his pocket. The first thing he does is set up his passcode, obviously, before then swiping around. He's pretty sure Tommy downloaded a few apps, but he opts to open messages instead of Candy Crush, checking his contacts.
Tommy's is at the top, where he sees she sent the picture on his lockscreen to Gordon’s new number, a few hours earlier. Probably how she got the picture on his phone. Under that is a group chat with the science team, and Gordon opens that. The only message in it so far is from Coomer, a predictable Hello Gordon! He smiles at that, and backs out of the group chat. The rest is blank chats for just Bubby and Coomer, likely when Tommy was setting up their profiles for him.
But, there's a third contact. No name, just a phone number. Gordon’s brain supplements who it could be, but he shakes away that train of thought. He's dead. Dead and gone, forever. Probably just some random number, Tommy setting up a data plan or… whatever. He deletes the contact anyway. Just for peace of mind.
He has the rest of the day to look forward to. Like grocery shopping, running an actual load of laundry, and eating real food. Mostly grocery shopping.