Henry and Nicole unbarricaded the clinic entrance. Marcia stood in the lobby, blood-drained, rooted. It seemed like the air itself had left her as she watched. John stood on the other side of the toughened glass doors, face hidden in blood, his arm in a makeshift sling. His good arm carried an overstuffed duffel bag.

"Goddamnit, Mom, give us a hand! Dad's hurt!", said Henry.

Marcia did not react. Breathing became mechanical, each inhalation painful. She did not know if John would come back each time he went for supplies. He always volunteered, but she could no longer take it. It had to stop. It had to stop.

Nicole shouldered the duffel bag and placed John's arm around her neck. He did not look at her as they passed her on their way to one of the medical offices.

—

John was at his desk in the rec room when his wife knocked on the open door. He stood up and walked to meet her.

"Hey, you. Nice to see you in a clean labcoat. Look, I'm sorry. I froze. I just don't like it when you go. Why can't Thomas or Nicole go, for once? Or me?"

John took Marcia's face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

"C'mon now. You? No no, I'd never let you risk yourself. Losing you would be like losing... well, like losing the sunrise itself. And the others - they don't have the body for it. So I gotta go. And besides, nothing's caught me so far. Just a couple of scratches."

"But what if you don't get so lucky? One of these days, one of those things - He's a man now, but not by much… To be fatherless at this stage, I don't know…"

"Hey hey! Nobody said anything about being fatherless. He's a bright young man. One day he could run for president."

"We should leave this place. We're so cut off, and I'm not even sure we're ever going to make any progress. I mean, we're trying to make a weapon against the combine, something to make those soldiers remember, but nothing we've come up with really—"

"So you want to go somewhere closer to City 17, closer to Black Mesa East? We're biologists, Marcia, not physicists. We'd be no use to them."

"But they'd be of use to us!"

John took a step back and combed his dark hair with his hand.

"Okay. Alright. It's decided, then. I just need to get that radio up and running, and we'll be able to let them know we're coming. Maybe get a little help."

"I don't think that thing is ever going to work", Marcia said, flashing him a ghost of a smile. Convincing John to leave the little town was enough for her for one evening.

—

It was four AM. John twisted the radio knob very slowly, earphone pressed to one ear, receiving nothing but static. Five minutes before the hour he had promised himself he would give up, however, he heard something. Maybe it was the pain in the cut in his arm, or sleep deprival, but something came through.

"This is…eeman. Situation is not…ood. If any…..please….Ravenholm…..lease"

John desperatly tweaked the antenna and squeezed the earphone so hard to his ear that he could hear his heartbeat, but he heard no more of the message. He grabbed the paddle-shaped microphone and began to frantically ask the man to respond, to give some more clues about his whereabouts and situation, but - nothing.

Marcia came to the rec room door, wearing her dressing gown.

"John, who are you talking to? Arn't you coming down to bed?"

"I heard him. He's in trouble", said John, hurriedly disconnecting his setup.

"What? Who's he?"

"My brother. I could recognize his voice anywhere. He's in Ravenholm, trapped, apparently. I'm gonna go help him."

"What? John, this is ridiculous. He was at Black Mesa. The place was nuked. No-one got out."

"Eli Vance did."

"But they've always been here. Ever since the war. It's been so many years, how could you even recognize Gordon's voice?"

"He's my brother. I could recognize him even if it had been a thousand years."

"Please don't go. Sleep on it. Make a proper decision. Right now, you don't seem very rational."

John stashed some cables in a drawer, then approached Marcia and put his hands on her arms.

"Imagine, if we bring Gordon to Vance. He'll see us more favourably. We'll be in his really good books."

Marcia looked down to hide her moistening eyes, and nodded.

"I can't talk you out of this, can I? I never seem to be able to."

"I'll be back in a jiffy, I promise."

—

John filled a backpack with a bottle of water and some dry food, and dunked his head in the water tank - better than coffee for a pick-me-up, in his opinion. He hadn't even removed his labcoat when he stepped into the elevator, dripping water everywhere. The roof of the lobby was at first-floor level, and flat. They'd built a shed there as a makeshift garage there, as the clinic did not have one. The only way to access it was by taking the elevator to the third floor roof, then climbing down the ladder to the first floor.

He had a motorcycle there. Another of his pet projects. A lot of his brother's love for physics had rubbed off on him, but tinkering with radios and motorcycles was as far as he'd go. He would always prefer "squishy, living Science", as John called it, as opposed to Gordon's cold, hard, grey, unfeeling, dead Science.

He was sure Gordon would disagree with his description.