It is night.

Gordon, it seems, has succeeded.

They have succeeded.

Barney plunges his shovel back into the mud, the cold and the rain sending shivers down his spine as he digs the last grave for the night. The saddest one. The one he'd rather not dig.

The holes are ragged. Calhoun doesn't have a whole lot of experience, but knows generally how deep to make them so they don't attract wild animals. He digs to the light of White Forest, to the lamp light and sound of someone- he doesn't bother to find out who- nailing together crosses for the graves. They've won, but at what price? Hundreds of people are dead. The HEV suit is trashed. It malfunctioned, and Gordon suffered from that. It was a mistake, so why was he so angry?

Another shovel of dirt. More rain. There's thunder in the distance now, and he hopes it doesn't wake the recovering rebels inside. They needed their rest, as did he, although it was becoming increasingly hard to get a good night's sleep with his thoughts racing. That's why he had opted to dig graves; in a desperate hope that he might wear himself out enough to rest properly.

The sound of a nail being banged into wood in the distance stops, and Barney picks of the pace, muscles straining and almost giving way, fire in soul and fire in his fingers and fire-

"Hey, Calhoun. I'm finished, once you are."

The cross marker is held out to him. He doesn't read the name. He doesn't need to.

"Good, thanks. Just put it over there for now, I'll put it in when it- you know…"

He didn't mean to be so curt. This all- this whole thing, the thing that shouldn't have happened if they just bothered to build the HEV right- It was hard on all of them. Gordon was someone to rally around, Gordon was someone to burn a trail for them to follow, Gordon was a rock in this revolution, and now, he was…

Barney didn't want to think about it, and so, as he wanted to, Barney focused on the rain, and how annoyed he was at it filling the hole. Little things. Trivial things. How he was going to have to scrape the mud off his boots in the morning. How his bangs were clinging to his face, and he needed to trim them soon. Little things. Things that meant more to him back at Black Mesa. Comforting things. Familiar things.

There were so many people dead.

That thought mixed in with the thoughts Barney wanted, the ones about how he needed to clean his helmet and shave. He wasn't an angry person- in fact, he was one to describe himself has the exact opposite. Usually, these weren't the kind of things that he thought about. Things will happen. It wasn't anyone's fault.

But Barney Calhoun was furious.

That shouldn't have happened. The metal shouldn't have broken, the battery shouldn't have malfunctioned. The image of Gordon's back as Kleiner desperately tried to pry him out of his suit flashed before him; the charred shirt he was wearing underneath the HEV, the great, blistered expanse of burned skin covering his shoulders…

They knew within the first few minutes that his injuries would not heal well. The burns were just a small portion of the wounds he had sustained, but they wouldn't know that until they had successfully pried off the remaining pieces of destroyed HEV.

That night, when he would not wake, they realized that it might be a struggle for him to live.

In the three days since then, when his condition declined, it occurred to them that he wouldn't make it, that he had internal wounds that could not be repaired, that many of his wounds were deep and that many were infected.

That he was in pain. So, so much pain.

It would happen soon.

Barney found himself hoping it would come soon. Damn Combines. Damn Breen. He hoped they were happy. This was what they wanted, right? That he would suffer? Well, he's suffering now, right? He can barley move. Is that enough pain for you, Breen? Was that enough? Was tha-

Barney let out a yelp of pain, having slammed the shovel into his boot instead of into the ground next to him. He swore in fury, and slammed the shovel onto the ground. God, he wanted to scream.

He hated being like this. Covered in mud, soaked and cold to the bone, tired, hungry, injured from the battle that had freed them from the Combine. Not himself. Not the calm, happily drinking, carefree Barney he was back at Black Mesa. And he doubted that Barney would ever come back, after what he saw and did three days ago. He was digging graves, for god's sakes.

A three-pronged hand touched his shoulder, and Barney Calhoun, the angry, terrified Barney Calhoun, whipped around to see Uriah, standing next to him.

"The Freeman's time is neigh. The Freeman wishes to see you."

Rain pounded into Barney's hair, down his shirt, onto his face and arms, but Barney felt cold in another, different way.

Gordon's breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, filled with pain. They had done their best to get him comfortable in his mangled condition, and other than that, they had quickly accepted that they had done all they could.

[Alyx?] He signed.

"Hey, I'm here. You're okay."

[I can't see. I can't see.] Green eyes wide in fear, Gordon Freeman signed sluggishly, weakly, with his hands rested on his chest.

"It's okay. Just relax, big guy. You're doing just fine." Alyx ran her hands through his hair, slicked with sweat. Barney could see she was holding back tears. Luckily, Gordon could not.

She looked up.

"Barney, you look like shit." Her laugh put Gordon at ease, and he could see his eyelids starting to droop, could see his body starting to go limp against the mattress. Still fighting. Of course he was still fighting.

But it was time for him to rest.

"Hey, Gordon. How you feelin'?" He kept his voice light, forced it back to old, Black Mesa security guard Barney. That was the Barney Gordon should pass knowing.

Gordon smiled weakly.

[Peachy.] He watched him relax a little more, saw his hands start to tremble when he moved them, and then watched as his blind eyes went wide again, as the smile dropped from his face in concern and fear. [Barney. What happened? I can't remember, did we win? Are they gone? Are they-]

Barney grabbed his friend's cold, trembling hands, and held them tight. He had already answered this question for him yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. He just couldn't remember.

"They're gone, Gord. They're gone. You did so well. Everything's gonna be just fine."

Gordon's eyes fixed sleepily on Alyx, if not a little off centered, and Barney felt the anger and frustration and stress seep off of him, leaving him weighed with grief and sadness.

And yet, he smiled.

Alyx wiped tears from her face, and Barney placed Gordon's hands back across his chest.

"Gordon, hey. Look at me."

[Where are you?] His fingers started to lag, and Gordon's hands started to grow noticeably limp and cold.

"I'm right here." He touched his arm lightly, so he could tell where he was, and Gordon's eyes drifted in his direction.

"You get some rest, okay? And, I'll…I'll see ya when I see ya. Sound good?"

Gordon nodded slowly, and closed his eyes.

"There ya go, doc." Barney drew up the blankets, his voice a whisper. "There ya go."

Barney didn't have to bury him, and for that, he was grateful. He did, however, have to watch Kleiner put him in the coffin, and had to help place it in the grave, the one he had dug himself.

And after, Barney Calhoun washed the mud and dirt and blood from his body, and slept for the first time in an eternity.

As did Gordon, he figured.

It is day at last, and the rebels rest.