A/N—So this is my attempt at the traditional Post-Ep2 Hurt/Comfort Fic. I kinda feel like it's done so often I had to throw my hat into the ring to be considered a contender.;-)Actually, it's kind of a response to other attempts at this. A few things always get to me when I read those: for one, they've developed their own set of conventions, like Gordon speaking for the first time and the whole mutual declaration of love thing. And it always bothers me that Alyx seems to bounce back so quickly from her father's death; that's not realistic to me. So I've created this as my answer to the things that have frustrated me in other fics of this type, although I hope none of the authors who have done this kind of thing before will feel offended by this note. I sort of feel like that's how a writing community works; people react to each other's interpretations of shared canon and feel challenged or spurred on to create their own work.:-)
Note that this fic is unbeta-ed, so any errors are mine, and please bug me about them so I can change them. Anyway, thanks as always to HedyLamarr for our conversations on the Half-Life universe, and especially to all the people who reacted so enthusiastically to my first fic and begged me for more; I really can't tell you how much your responses meant to me and how much of a confidence boost it was! Since so many people asked for more, please accept this as my humble offering in answer to that. Sorry it took so long! ;-)
The first thing Alyx was aware of when she woke up was hurt.
Not a physical pain, but something worse; a strong emotional ache that was palpable enough that she almost wasn't sure it wasn't, in fact, physical.
Then the weariness came on, a tiredness of such magnitude that she wanted to go back to sleep, but knew that, again, it wasn't a physical problem.
Her mind searched for why she felt this way and—oh yes. It came back very quickly, with no searching at all.
The hangar. The alien monsters. Her own sobbing, pleading, hysterical voice, although she couldn't remember anything specific she had said. D0g bursting in the save them all, but too late.
Her father.
Her father, talking to her and Gordon, smiling, reaching out to put a hand on a shoulder. Her father, climbing up from the floor he'd been knocked down to, struggling past the clumsiness of his prosthetic leg and his own body's age to protect them. Her father, fearlessly swinging a wrench, although he knew it would do little good, just to do anything to save them. Her father, clasped in a monster's tentacles, begging with her, pleading with her not to look, and telling her a final goodbye. Her father's head snapping back as it was burst open by the Advisor's probing tongue. Her father, motionless on the ground as she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing, begging him to come back, not to leave her.
Her father, who wasn't here anymore.
Alyx felt a crushing sensation and wanted to shrink into herself. She rested her forehead in her hand and felt fresh tears squeezing out of her eyes, although her eyes seemed to feel sore in some way that indicated she had exhausted them from the hot surge that had frantically poured out of them before she fell asleep. She sniffled. How had she gotten here? She cast her memory back and realized she had been so emotional that she had barely been aware of precisely what had happened after she had been cradling her father's body.
She thought.
She wasn't sure how long after she had started crying that it had happened, but a gentle hand had cautiously, as if she might break, reached out and touched her on the shoulder. She had barely noticed it and so let it stay there, until she was dimly aware of male voice saying her name.
"Alyx?"
It was soft, and devastated as well, but inquiring to her state. It hadn't seemed very important at the time, and she kept crying, her sobs growing slowly softer and softer, but her grip on her father's body never slackening.
The hand gently squeezed her shoulder, and then its partner joined it on her other arm, awkwardly stroking up and down. Then, cautiously, cautiously, he had pulled himself close to her, wrapping his arms around her. She was afraid he'd pull her away from the corpse and squeezed it tighter, not responding to the man's gentle embrace. But he didn't pull away or pull her toward him, away from her father, or tighten his grip. The pressure from his arms stayed consistent, and she continued to sob onto her dead father's chest. In a few moments, the man's arm began rubbing her back; still not pulling her away, not forcing her to end her grieving prematurely, not imposing his comfort on her when it was not yet wanted; just supportive, understanding that she needed to cling like a child to her father, as if she could keep him in this world by doing so. Soon she heard sniffling from behind her; not wet sobs like she was making, but a steady stream of sniffling noises that continued in a consistent rate. At one point, she felt the arm on her shoulder pull away, and the sound made by skin rubbing against skin, glasses frames jostling, and a stronger sniff—and then it returned to its position on her arm.
They stayed like that for an amount of time Alyx was in no condition to judge, and then they heard shouting and running footsteps. Alyx instinctively clung tighter to the body, somehow sensing without words that it would soon be taken from her.
Shouting. Men's voices, reacting in alarm, then greater shock, then lament, some giving orders while others fell silent or joined into a growing chorus of grief with their own tears. Footsteps running away and then returning with additional footsteps. A quiet voice, one that was hoarse with a lump in the throat, making it even softer than it normally was, explaining.
She was pretty sure she'd then heard Doctor Kleiner and Doctor Magnusson's voices, the former's grieving and the latter's in shock. Then she was aware of someone—Dr Kleiner, she now remembered—gently calling her name. A gentle touch by a hand soft from age joined Gordon's on her back, and she could hear the doctor clearing his throat repeatedly and adding watery sniffles to Gordon's, a mournful, "Oh God...". Then he was trying to address her, but she wasn't sure she wanted to listen. Then Magnusson joined in, his voice gentler than she'd ever heard it, but his message still masked by her unfocus. She was pretty sure she'd then heard Gordon's soft murmur telling them, "No, no, give her a minute."
There was silence for an indeterminate amount of time, and then Doctor Meers, the chief of the medical staff, was suddenly adding her voice to the mix. When had she joined them? All Alyx knew was that she was hurt and exhausted, more psychologically than physically, and her mind not really thinking in words right now. Doctor Meers gently cooed at her, and she felt the Doctor's hands inspecting her despite her resolute grasp on the corpse, and Meers's voice making inquiries of Gordon. Alyx was dimly aware that Meers was using the words "shock", and "needs rest", and connected them with being about herself without the words seeming relevant. But she could feel her sympathetic nervous system kicking in, making her fuzzy around the edges with her body's own self-soothing chemicals, and a small, fresh batch of tears seeped out of her quietly."Come on, Alyx, come here..."she heard, and the arms around her were pulling her to them, and now she finally allowed herself to be caught up in a protective embrace as the HEV suit's armor pressed cooly against her burning face. He stroked her hair and rocked her slightly, whispering hushing sounds but nothing else.
And that was the last Alyx remembered.
She didn't remember falling asleep, but she had plainly just woken up...and now she was able to think somewhat clearly again. It was a curse, an unwanted burden, an unfair imposition, that she should be able to think more clearly now, but with her emotions still so fresh. They were partially dulled by having been spent so intensely recently—how recently? How long had she been asleep?—but their aftereffects were still there, like a soreness in the muscles after one's legs have run a triathlon.
She rolled onto her back, out of the curled-up position she'd been in on her side, and recognized that she was in her own private room at White Forest. It wasn't big, maybe the size of the average college dorm room, with a bathroom off to the side that took up additional space, and it was all dark right now. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that darkness was coming in through the one window, although the blinds were drawn as well. How long had she slept? She didn't wear a watch but the bedside clock said it was 2:41am.
Okay. So she'd been out since about sunset, when the...attack had occurred. She'd slept for a few hours. She didn't feel rested, though. In fact, despite all the restless nights she'd spent waiting out bombing raids or sleeping lightly in places with only minimal shelter, this was one of the least refreshing sleeps she'd ever had. She wanted to go back to sleep, but her exhaustion seemed not to be physical, as her body was wide awake now.
She sat up in bed. What should she do now? She wasn't hungry enough to go to the kitchen and go through the effort of making herself something to eat. Should she shower? Probably, but she'd need to find clean clothes to change into first. And to be honest, this feeling of wondering what she should do next seemed unusually hard to answer. It was turning into a greater question, not of what she should do with herself in the immediate future, but of what she would do in the long run, now that she was...
...Alone.
Oh God. Alone.
She repeated the word in her head. She was, the description fit; she was alone. She'd lost her mother and now her father. She no longer had the support of her parents, her origins, to guide her through life from this point out. The thought was alarming—no, it was horrifyingly disorienting; how would she...live from this point on? The cruel irony was that, when she needed emotional guidance or counseling, her first go-to point was always her father, who'd been her confidante and advisor all her life...her dad. And she didn't have that anymore.
She felt a panicking sensation, and mentally reached out for a solution, only to find herself blocked off by the insurmountable finality of her father's absence. She had other friends and people she considered family, she thought to herself, and mentally went through the roster. Her next source of help when she couldn't go to her father was usually Barney or Dr. Kleiner. But Barney was...oh no, Barney was still...wherever he was. He hadn't been seen or heard from since they'd left City 17. Where was he? And more importantly, how could he not be here when she needed him so badly? They'd have to tell him when he got back, and he'd take the news hard—she would not want the job of being the one to tell him. But at the same time, it would have been nice to share their grief together; her dad always said, "A burden shared is a burden halved", and commiseration had gotten the Rebels through the past 20 years.
She felt a pang at the thought of the advice her father would have given her, and it underscored the lack she was feeling. Maybe Dr. Kleiner would help her deal with her grief. When Eli had lost his leg, Uncle Izzy, as she had called him at the time, had gently coaxed her morale through the surgery, when it had been uncertain whether Eli would survive, and then through Eli's recovery. She had done the same for him, both consciously and unconsciously; Kleiner had felt huge guilt at his frailty being the cause of Eli's injury and subsequent disability, and focusing on reassuring Alyx had helped him process his own feelings about it. Then, when young Alyx had eventually noticed Kleiner's self-implication in the incident, she'd firmly told him that her dad would have made the same sacrifice for him again, and that Eli would hate for Kleiner to feel guilty about it. Then she'd pointed out how useful he'd been in helping her through it and thanked him. Kleiner had been surprised and touched by the girl's reaction and it had cemented their relationship as surrogate family. Alyx knew she was the closest thing Kleiner would ever have to a daughter, since he had never married or had children of his own, and that he cherished his relationship with her. He sometimes inadvertently didn't understand exactly what she needed emotionally—his empathetic skill was slightly limited and could be clumsy—but usually he knew, from experience, just how to make her feel better. He was very much her "Uncle Izzy".
But it was three in the morning, and he would surely be asleep. Should she wake him up? She sat there, pondering what to do—would waking him up be selfish, or would he understand? Maybe he hadn't been able to sleep?—but then she heard a soft knock on her door. She started slightly—she had been so immersed in her internal thoughts that she'd lost awareness of the external world. She was so unexpecting the sudden reappearance of the outside world that she forgot how to answer when one's door was knocked on and said, "Hello?" The door creaked open softly and in popped the bespectacled head of Gordon Freeman.
"Hey," he said gently, "can I come in?" Alyx had to think about that for a second, and ended up giving him a nod crossed with a shrug. She wasn't sure what it meant herself, but he seemed to take it as assent and crossed over to her. She scooched over to make a place for him beside her on the bed and he took it. He was carrying a mug with steam rising out of it, and said, "I wanted to check in on you again before I went to bed. I figured the tea I'd left for you before had gotten cold, so I made you some more and was just going to leave it here for you." She now took note of the mug that was resting on the bedside table, which she'd obviously overlooked before. Sure enough, it was room temperature when she touched it.
"Thanks," she said, then, realizing she sounded just as out of it as she felt, she added, "That was sweet of you."
Gordon's eyebrows rose. "Wow, feeling that bad, huh?" He didn't seem to be making a joke and sighed, looking at her. He did nothing but examine her face for a few moments, and then said, "So obviously you feel horrible in a profound way, but which way specifically?"
Alyx sighed heavily. "I just...I need someone to talk to and...the funny thing is, I'd go to my dad first, but obviously...and Barney's not here...do you know if Dr. Kleiner's up? I don't want to bother him, but if he is..."
Gordon looked grim. "He's been in his room asking not to talk to anyone. Magnusson says he's done this before and I remember he did it once when he got denied a special research grant he was sure he'd get. He'll be okay, it's just his instinct to withdraw when something major happens. I had to explain that to Magnusson, because he was standing outside Kleiner's door trying to coax him out. Turns out he was only doing that because he needed someone to help him deal with it. Everybody's seriously off-kilter."
"Wow...how is he dealing with it?"
"I offered to let him talk to me, but you know him...I'm 'barely a PhD' and 'a boy' and a 'young hoodlum' and I blew up his casserole. Dr. Meers was talking with him last I heard."
Alyx remained silent, but her eyes went wide with surprise. She hadn't yet had time to think about how other people would be reacting to her father's death, and she was touched, in a bittersweet way, that Doctors Kleiner and Magnusson were reacting so strongly. They'd all grieve together, she knew, when the initial shock wore off, but right now it hadn't yet.
Alyx sighed, slumping forward. "Hey," Gordon said, and she looked up. He hesitated. "I can only really offer myself. You know very well I'm not so good with feelings and stuff, but..." he paused, searching for exactly the proper words, and finally finished, "is there anything I can do?"
Alyx knew he really wanted to do anything she needed of him, and she nodded gratefully...but she wasn't sure just what she wanted out of him. She sat there, thinking what exactly to ask of him, not realizing he was watching her and the miserable look on her face. After she struggled in vain for a few moments, he put his arm around her, encouraging her. A memory came back to her of his arms gingerly encircling her when she lay crying over her father's body, and how it had had a balm-like effect on her wounded emotions, soothing but not covering up or extinguishing her hurt. It made her throat lock up again painfully with the same after-ache that had been in her eyes and she leaned into his chest suddenly, unable to keep up what little strength she'd recovered, and wrapped her arms around him. Small, dry sobs began to shake her body, and she squeezed him. He seemed surprised at her sudden contact with him, but quickly responded, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into him, squeezing gently but firmly.
"What am I gonna do, Gordon?" she groaned. "I feel so...alone. I've never felt so alone before, like...like I've lost my grounding. I felt that way a little when my mom died, but I was a kid, so I wasn't...my emotions weren't as complex, you know? And I still had my dad. We just kind of clung to each other after that, me and him, in a way. You know how I mean?"
He nodded, so she went on.
"We fell back on each other, and Dr. Kleiner even told me, years later, that my dad almost, just...between the Resonance Cascade and losing my mom, he almost couldn't handle it. Dr. Kleiner says focusing on me was all that got Dad through it. And that was how we always dealt with things, whenever anything...like when he lost his leg, and I thought he was going to die. I was eight when that happened, and it scared me, that my dad could be so...that he was capable of dying, I guess. I hadn't realized Mom could before she did, I was five, I still thought my parents were indestructible and could handle anything…but after she died, it didn't occur to me Dad could too, because he was all I had to fall back on."
She paused to sniffle and catch her breath. She was rambling her stream of consciousness at him, but Gordon didn't seem to mind and it felt helpful right now. She wiped her eyes of the tears that were dribbling out of them—apparently she hadn't used them all up after all—and then Gordon stroked her hair, and she took that as encouragement to go on.
"And now I have no one, Gordon." Her voice broke as the tears came more strongly now. "I can't...I just feel so...I have nothing to return to, you know? I don't have my family, I don't have my home. I have other people I consider family, but not my parents. I'm on my own in the world for good now. I'm...like an orphan!"
She tried to go on, but the terrifying thought made her break down into tears too much to talk further. Gordon squeezed her, leaning his head against hers, and rocked gently back and forth as she cried. He stroked her hair some more and whispered shushing sounds to her, never slackening his grip on her. She was grateful, because she was afraid that if he did, she'd break into pieces or melt into a little puddle on the ground; it felt like his arms were all that was holding her in one piece, but within them, she could allow the assortment of odds and ends of Alyx loosen in their casings, as long as he was there to catch them. She knew he wouldn't let them fall.
She sobbed onto his chest for a little while, the tears allowing her body to medicate itself with its own mechanism for a surplus of emotion. She didn't need to think or find words; as long as she could let the tears fall and Gordon was wrapping her up in his protective embrace, she'd eventually get to where she needed to be to...take the next step in the grieving process. Oh God, that was a depressing thought. It seemed hopeless and she further sobbed her frustration onto Gordon's chest. He had changed from his HEV suit into a civilian uniform, and she eventually developed a vague awareness that she was getting her tears—and probably snot, too, she thought, as her nose ran—on his chest. She was too tired to care though, and—this was a weird thought, but nevertheless—she knew he was offering his shoulder to cry on because he didn't mind. She had been wondering if maybe he felt the same way for her as she did for him, but right now she didn't care. Having a crush was emotionally exhausting, a heightened state of being alive, and she couldn't spare the emotional energy or the life-force to accommodate it right now. A day ago, she'd have been absolutely giddy to be cuddled up to his chest like this, but right now it didn't matter to her, and she was just grateful that he was offering to prop her up, emotionally.
After a few moments of silence, Gordon spoke. "I remember feeling that way when my parents died." Alyx sniffled her tears, which had slowed, to a stop and looked up at him. "I haven't really mentioned that, have I?" he asked. "I don't really keep from talking about it, I just...I mean, you know, it's not the kind of thing you talk about unless it's brought up. People don't like talking about other people's major emotional events as conversation." She could hear the wry smile in his voice as he said this. It was true, it wasn't great conversation, but the theme was highly relevant to Alyx right now, and she asked, "When did it happen?"
He cleared his throat slightly, and said, "I was working on my Master's at MIT—I was 24 at the time—when my dad very suddenly had a massive heart attack, just out of the blue. No warning signs, nothing, he was just watching TV one night in bed—my mother had already fallen asleep, so she didn't know if he went in his sleep or not, but she woke up the next morning and he was still sitting upright with his eyes closed, and the TV was still on. She'd never seen him sleep upright like that, so she tapped his arm...and he was cold."
Alyx thought she felt a slight squirming from Gordon as he imagined the scene, coupling his mother's reaction with his own. "So I get the call the next day, they pulled me out of a class, and I talked to my mom, and...you know how it's always scary to hear your parents cry when you're a kid, because it's hard to see them feeling...weak?" Alyx closed her eyes and nodded. She knew that feeling well. "I had that feeling, and I remember thinking, 'That's stupid, Gordon, you're a grown man now, you know your mom cries, you've seen her do it before.' But something about this crying was different, and then she told me my dad was dead and she'd spent all morning with the EMTs at our house and then filing paperwork. And then she said some other stuff, but I've never really been able to remember what because I was in shock." Alyx nodded, knowing that particular feeling well too.
"I mean, it was out of the blue," he went on, "no sign of it. He'd had a yearly physical a few months before, and they hadn't mentioned his cholesterol or any warning signs or anything to be concerned about, nothing. It was just a random thing. Actually, when they'd examined him and checked his history with my mom, they found out that one of his brothers and his father had gone in similar ways. Turns out Freeman men have a tendency toward their hearts giving out in their fifties." He said this dryly, and Alyx appreciated the irony he was presenting to her; if only he didn't have to worry about the Combine, or all the things he'd been exposed to working in Anomalous Materials, or the Xenian wildlife, or the myriad of ways people died prematurely now, he could still look forward to dying suddenly in his sleep at fifty. She fervently hoped he'd be the statistical outlier.
He went on, "I came home for the funeral, and I could see how much it had affected my mom. When it was time to go back to Cambridge, I asked her if she wanted me to stay, and she said, 'No, no, Gordon, go back to school, you need to finish your education.' I wanted to help her, but she wouldn't budge, so I went back and tried to distract myself with my schoolwork.
"But when I talked to her on the phone, she didn't seem to be doing any better. I kept asking her if she wanted me to take a break from school for a year or two and come back and live with her, because it sounded like she just wasn't caring enough to take care of herself anymore—not that she was being self-destructive, she just didn't really care. She was depressed with my dad gone, and it wasn't like she was doing anything to...you know, speed her end or anything...she was just kind of wasting away. It's funny," he mused, "I never really thought of my parents as having a particularly great marriage, like it was anything special or anything, but I knew they loved each other. They weren't very demonstrative—I get my, uh, quietness from them," he chuckled, "but I always knew they loved each other. And I guess with my dad gone, my mom just sort of...didn't know what to do, you know?"
"She'd lost her grounding?" Alyx put in.
Gordon paused, turning that statement over in his mind, and then said softly, "Exactly." He hesitated, then went on, "And I told her, 'No, Mom, let me come home and stay with you for a while', but she and my dad had worked hard to put me in MIT and she didn't want me to take a break from my education. They were very serious about my education, that was something we'd all set our sights on from when I was very young. So I asked her to come live in Cambridge with me, but she didn't want to leave the house she and my dad had raised me in. So she just kind of...wasted away, until one day..." He paused, then said, "…she didn't wake up either. It wasn't the same thing that killed my dad, but depression wears the body down like that. And then I was all alone."
He was silent for a few moments after telling her the story, and she sensed he was feeling some sort of emotion strongly. She squeezed him, and he squeezed her back, as if she had something to do with that last statement.
"Don't you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked, feeling negligent realizing that she didn't know and hadn't asked before. She felt his head shake from side to side.
"Nope. I'm an only child of only children. No cousins, even. And my grandparents all died when I was young. It used to bother me, but lately I've been thinking that at least the Combine can't hunt down my family or anything."
Alyx felt a pang of pity for him. He really was all alone. Although, she realized now, in the same position as her. An orphan. She hugged him close and snuggled into him, grateful for his solace and company. He hugged back, laying his head on hers and beginning to rock gently back and forth again. Now she rubbed his back too, returning the comfort he was so eager to give, since they were in the same boat.
The same boat. Hunted and alone. The realization hit her that with her father gone, she might be expected to pick up his mantle. She would be, to the Resistance, and possibly the citizens, the tragic mourning figure, the little John Kennedy Junior in a blue suit saluting his father's corpse as it rolled by in a motorcade; maybe even a rallying point. They'd all give her condolences, and pity her for her loss—she could hear imaginary citizens murmuring sadly, "First her mother, now her father! Tsk tsk!" She hated people's pity, and she knew it would eventually subside, but then she'd have to pick up where he left off. She could never have the way with people her father did, or his wisdom in making decisions, and she knew she'd have to earn their respect...but she knew, deep down, Kleiner and Magnusson and the other upper-level colleagues of her father very well might decide that, as her father's daughter, she was the best symbol to lead them onward that they had.
And she couldn't handle it, didn't want to. She'd seen what it had done to her father, the years it had added to his face and the weight the responsibility had pressed down on him. She knew he frequently slept poorly, haunted by having made a decision that resulted in the deaths of dozens of people, and how he had been for weeks unable to look Barney in the face after asking him to join the CP for them as a spy. She knew, too, that she only knew half of it, because while she was one of her dad's primary confidantes, as his daughter, he had worked to protect her from some of the things he had done or was feeling, hidden secrets she was grateful she didn't know. She wondered what she might learn in the upcoming days, and felt her interior fortitude, which had once again started to build up over the past few minutes, start to crumble yet another time—would it ever be able hold up again? Would she ever be able to have the strength to continue fighting? Would she have to be, as her father had been, apart from all others around him, even in a crowded room, the cruel spotlight of Destiny shining its loathsome isolation on its unfortunate selection for the role?
She suddenly clung to Gordon and started crying anew.
"Okay, okay...shh...shh, Alyx, what's wrong? What are you thinking?" he responded, knowing something had brought on her fresh wave of emotion.
"Gordon, I can't..." she broke off, sobbing, then tried again. "Without my dad...Gordon, how can I do what I have to? He had me to back him up, but now I'm...I'm still all alone!" She cried some more onto Gordon's shoulder and he rubbed her back, silent for a few moments. He left the rhetorical question unanswered, and instead just did what he could to soothe the fear from lack of knowing. He moved his hand to stroke her cheek, wiped a tear away, held her to him, but said nothing.
Then, hesitatingly, speaking as if the words were fragile things to be handled with care, he said, "I'll help you."
She slowed her crying to a halt, trying to breathe as steadily as one can after crying. Had she heard him right? She turned her face to his. He looked scared, but not of anything his offer might entail. He looked nervous about how she would respond, and met her eyes timidly, as if seeking her approval.
Gordon support her? The thought was a pleasant one, and she began to see a thin ray of hope struggling determinedly to establish itself in her mind. She did need someone. Her father had had her, and now...she could trust Gordon, she knew, trust him with her life and the lives of people she loved. And if right now were any indication, he was good at offering her just the support she needed, when she needed it.
And maybe...maybe it could develop into something. She knew there was a possibility she could be with him romantically even if she said no, but if she allowed his request, it could bring a whole new level to their relationship, one that was appealing to her mind that was eagerly looking for a foothold, someone to connect to. Even if it didn't happen that way, and he was merely a confidante to her...
Normally, if a guy who knew she liked him had offered to sweep her up off the floor like this, she'd have wondered if he was taking advantage of the situation to get on her good side; but she trusted Gordon on a fundamental level, one that never doubted, or even thought of doubting, that he'd do anything to help her or look out for her interests. She had wondered why he'd charged into the Citadel to save her and her dad, and eventually come to the conclusion that his priority had been Eli. But after she'd awoken in the mines after her run-in with the Hunter, he'd immediately hugged her so tightly she'd almost passed out again in her fragile state, the way she had hugged him when D0g had dug him out of the rubble of the Citadel. Then he had asked her, in what seemed like a frenzy of concern, how she felt, too many times, and been incredibly eager to make sure she could stand okay, that no antlions got anywhere near her, that she was getting enough water and didn't feel dizzy or lightheaded. She'd eventually had to give him a "give me a break" look and tell him she was fine, stop worrying, and then reassure him that he didn't have to cling so closely to her that she kept bumping into him when she turned around.
Then, later on in their journey, she'd suggested they split up and he had frantically blurted, "No!" Her eyebrows had shot up, and he'd looked sheepish, but unapologetic. She'd remembered that he'd tended to have bad luck whenever they were separated, and guiltily made a joke about him being afraid to be on his own, to which he'd nodded quickly and with a smile, in a strange, too-eager-to-please way. She had later wondered grumpily if he were afraid to leave her on her own for her sake...but now she wondered if he was irrationally afraid of losing her company after almost having done so permanently in the mines.
Alyx knew from her own first-hand experience that people clung to their loved ones more closely after they had almost lost them, as she and her father had after Azian Vance's death. But his charging into the Citadel...she now began to wonder if there was something more to his fear of losing her company and fierce willingness to protect her than she'd thought. Was he...more intensely involved with her than she was with him? She hadn't allowed herself to see him as more than a crush, although she had been diligently ignoring that this crush felt very different from others she'd had. But now her chest throbbed with a glowing warmth, a watery gratitude toward him, and she wondered whether her..."intense crush" was in fact turning into something more.
Even if it wasn't, even if she was just a stupid dope with a schoolgirl-like fascination with a guy who wasn't really into her, she'd happily take his offer.
But...
She sighed. "Gordon, I'd love so much to take you up on that, but I can't let you do that, as much as I'd like to."
"What? Why?" he asked, confused, and his expression looked hurt.
"Gordon, don't take this the wrong way, what I mean is...you've got way too much on your shoulders already. You showed up last week and everybody's got these impossible expectations of you, but you haven't once argued against them. People just keep asking more and more of you, and you always take it on and never complain, but you don't look out for yourself enough either because of it. People expect you to save the damn world, Gordon, that's too much for any one person! And no offense, but I noticed, right from when I met you, that you do what you do for others at the expense of yourself." She traced a wrinkle in his sleeve with his finger, but didn't look him in the eye.
"I watch you, Gordon. I know when you're hurt or when you're angry or overwhelmed or when you feel embarrassed because people are fawning over you. You run yourself thin trying to take care of everybody else—you've literally got the weight of the world on your shoulders—and you don't take care of yourself. That's why I make sure to do it for you," she added, squeezing his arm with her hand affectionately to show she meant the best towards him.
She felt his chuckle mirthlessly. "You're right, I don't." He paused for a second and then added, "and I know you do." Her wrapped her up closely in his arms and went on, "That's why I want to do the same for you. I know I take on too much, I know I shouldn't worry about everybody and everything and that I probably shouldn't see so much as being my responsibility." He sighed, and removed his hand to massage the bridge of his nose again. "And I'm...freaking glad someone else thinks it's unreasonable and I'm not crazy, and that even if I won't say it you will." She laughed a little at his finally being pushed to candor about it.
"But Alyx," he said, "...those responsibilities, all those things...those are all things other people have put on me, or that I can't escape. This is a responsibility I want." She felt her chest grow warm and a fluttery sensation in it, and a few tears of a different kind spilled out after their morose predecessors. He kept going, sounding like he needed to convince her. "Like I said, I can only offer myself. And if you're already doing the same for me...that's reciprocity, right?" His met her gaze and his green eyes smiled with warmth at the joke, and she gratefully laughed a little into his chest.
"I promise," he went on, "I'll do a good job. I won't ask anything in return, and you can know you've got someone who's always got your back. Just like you've got mine."
The words were needless. "I know you will, Gordon. I'm completely sure of that." He seemed to be waiting after her last words for a reply, so, her unwanted fortifications of oppressive self-reliance gratefully folding, she told him, "Okay."
She heard him sigh, smiling, and he squeezed her to him once more. She curled her head into his chest, grateful for him. "Thank you, Alyx," he said. Then he chuckled and added, "I'll be your blue canary."
She looked up at him, smiling quizzically, and asked, "What?"
"You know, the blue canary in the outlet by the light switch? You don't know that song?" She shook her head. Then, to her amazement—wonders never ceased—Gordon Freeman, nerd savior of humanity, began to sing.
"Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch...who watches over you...make a little birdhouse in your soul..." He went on, and although she could tell he didn't usually sing, and although the song was unfamiliar, the lyrics made no sense and the melody seemed to follow no logic, she loved it. She tried not to giggle and instead just reveled in his singing to her.
Eventually, he petered off, self-conscious, and she jumped in to reassure him, wanting him to know she appreciated it. "That was nice. It was really pretty, but...what does it mean?"
Gordon paused for a second, and then said, "It's actually about a nightlight." On her silence he said, "I'm serious! It's this weird song about a nightlight shaped like a blue canary, and it watches over the room where this person is sleeping. It's taking care of the person it's singing to. And then when it says 'Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet', it's saying it knows it's annoying and hoping it's the only thing that's bothering the person. I actually..." he chortled, "I actually had to have a friend explain to me what it meant, because it made no sense to me either, the first twenty or so times I heard it."
"So then 'building a birdhouse in your soul' means taking care of the things that look out for you, right?" Alyx put in. He was silent, seemingly surprised.
"Huh," he said, "I hadn't thought about that. I guess so."
They were silent for a few minutes then, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Gordon's hand traced circles on Alyx's back and they both stared ahead into nothingness. Eventually, though, Alyx sighed, and Gordon asked, "What's up?"
She replied, "We'll have to get going soon. The Borealis..."
He answered with his own sigh and, "Yeah...I know. I've been trying not to think about it."
"You just want some time to recuperate too?" she asked, guessing his thoughts mirrored her own. He nodded wearily.
"It's not just...y'know...what just happened. I haven't been able to rest since..."—there was a brief pause—"I don't know how long," he concluded, sighing again heavily. "I only just got out of this suit a few hours ago for the first time since I put it on in City 17. And Kleiner and Magnusson didn't want me to bother, they wanted to have me ship out as soon as possible."
"Really?" Alyx was shocked. Then, as she thought, it began to make more sense. They couldn't really afford to take time to grieve right now. "Why didn't you? I mean, I know it's been a blow to you too, but you always seem to throw yourself into whatever needs to be done when something bothers you," she said, astutely having noticed this trait in him.
"I know but..." He thought for a moment, gathering his words. "Alyx, I've been running nonstop for far too long. For over a week now I've been looking for a chance to rest and just have a day where I'm not running around killing people and being shot at, maybe have a full meal or two, sleep a full night, take a shower...just basic stuff you need to do to survive. And every time I've thought I'll get a chance now, I'm finally in a safe place and can take my boots off, so to speak, maybe even get into a labcoat and do what I was meant to again, anytime I'm finally, finally around people who...who care about me and it feels like home, and I feel...safe...something blows up or the Combine attack and I have to start fighting and then be on the run again." He massaged the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "I hate that it's taken this for me to get a break, you know I do, but...I've been past my breaking point for far too long now, Alyx. You've said so yourself. I want to...I want revenge, honestly, and I know you do too, but..."
He fell silent for several moments. Then he added, as if feeling the need for justification, "And, y'know...I didn't want to go to the Borealis without..." he hesitated, then amended, "I didn't want to go alone."
"Are you worried?" Alyx asked in surprise. Anybody else might reasonably be considered to doubt their ability to pull something like Alyx and Gordon would now need to off by themselves, but Gordon had done far more on his own already.
"Well, I...I mean, I just sort of wanted back-up, you know? It's kind of a big job."
"You could round up a squad of people here,"Alyx suggested.
"Yeah..." he said vaguely, clearly not satisfied with that suggestion. An idea was creeping up on Alyx, but it didn't seem likely. But then he confirmed it by saying, "I mean, we work well as a team together, right? I mean, like, fighting and stuff. You've always got my back and...with, like, the sniper rifle, I mean, and the computer hacking, and..." He seemed to feel very awkward and struggling to go on at this point.
Alyx could take the hint—and she knew it was all she would get anyway, but that was all it took. She felt touched and, despite her heavy veil of melancholy, felt a little smile inside of herself. She squeezed him for a few seconds and said,"Yeah, I know what you mean. I'd miss you too. We do work well together."
"I mean, yeah, that too," he said hurriedly, and with unspoken relief, "but I mean, you're a good fighter and you're smart about stuff like this...and smart in general, I know that...and I guess you know that too, it's not like I need to tell—or, I mean, not like you're so aware of it and need to tell everybody and—um..."
She laughed despite herself. "I get it. We work well together."
"Yeah," Gordon said, audibly relieved, and she could feel the breath he'd been holding leave his lungs as his chest sunk with it.
"You watch out for me, I'll watch out for you," she said.
There was a brief pause, as neither one of them seemed to know what to do now with that sentence hanging in the air between them. Then Gordon squeezed her shoulders and said simply, "Yup." She thought she could hear him smiling. "Two blue canaries."
Alyx smiled, and, incredibly, felt a small amount of joy temporarily replace her sadness as she agreed. "Two blue canaries."
A/N: So, there's my contribution to the shared pot of stories of this type. The song Gordon's using is called Birdhouse In Your Soul, and it's by They Might Be Giants. I only discovered it recently and started thinking it could tie into this fic nicely. Whenever I'm trying to figure out a character, my own or somebody else's, I find it useful to try to decide what kind of music they'd listen to. And you just know Gordon would have listened to TMBG, even if only when he was younger. ;-)
Anyway, thanks for your time! You know the drill; review it if you'd like to, and I'd really appreciate having pointed out to me what could make it better, or my writing in general better, in the future. Thanks a bunch in advance! ;-)
UPDATE 4/21/12—So apparently, the thing where Gordon's mom just kind of wasted away and died of, essentially, depression due to losing his dad has a medical precedent. I read this article saying that a person's likelihood of heart attack goes through the roof for at least a month after they lose a significant loved one. Have a quote.
"Bereavement and grief are associated with increased feelings of depression, anxiety and anger, and those have been shown to be associated with increases in heart rate and blood pressure and changes in the blood that make it more likely to clot –– all of which can lead to a heart attack," says lead author Elizabeth Mostofsky, a post-doctoral fellow in the cardiovascular epidemiological unit at BIDMC.
"Some people would say a 'broken heart' related to the grief response is what leads to these physiologic changes," says senior author Dr. Murray Mittleman, a physician in the Cardiovascular Institute at BIDMC. "So that emotional sense of the broken heart may actually lead to damage leading to a heart attack and a physical broken heart, of a sort." (Scheible, np)
And because you should cite things you quote, and FFN won't let me include links, and I prefer MLA but my stupid professors are making me use APA, here's the citation so you can find the study if you want IN MLA FORMAT:
Mostofsky, Elizabeth, Jane B Sherwood, and Murray A Mittleman. "Risk of Acute Myocardial Infarction After the Death of a Significant Person in One's Life." Circulation 125 (2012): 491- 496. Web. April 21 2012.
That's the actual study; if you don't speak medical-ese (lol, I don't), here's the article ABOUT the study I read it in.
Scheible, Sue. "'Broken heart' syndrome after loss of loved one." Somerville Journal Jan 11 2012. Wicked Local Somerville. Web. April 16 2012.
I use MLA because I'm a rebel.