Gordon Freeman felt like a wild animal.

For three days, they charged at the Combine, in one final push. He had never seen so much violence in one place in his life- bodies all over the ground, bullets and bombs flying non-stop, buildings falling, the place swarming with people and hunters and blood, and three days felt like a heartbeat and there wasn't a moment where his heart wasn't pumping and his mind wasn't flooded with pain and hate and fear.

And by the time he had done it, he didn't even know he did.

When the world felt silent, Gordon paced in circles, lost in an angry panic, shooting at anything that moved, nerves on high alert. It wasn't over. It couldn't be over. Not like that. Every rustle, an army. Every broken twig, a hunter. The loudest thing he could hear was the rushing of his blood and his heavy, tired breathing.

Something touched his arm.

Gordon whipped around and instinctively brought down his crowbar, throwing a punch with his other hand when it was caught, kicking and thrashing until he hit the ground with the weight on top of him, bucking and biting and spitting when he couldn't get to his weapons, not registering the alarmed shouts and cries of the people (since when were there people here?) around him. It didn't matter if he had done it; he wasn't done fighting.

Then, he heard more people, and felt more people, and before he knew it he was being pinned to the ground as he thrashed in his haze. He heard his name, he heard medics being called.

And the panic he had felt started to overwhelm him.

It was that hot, burning panic Gordon had felt before major exams at MIT, the kind that made you want to curl up and cry and hurt anyone that approached you at the same time. Oh, god, there were so many voices, no, please, go away, leave me alone-

And he saw a flicker of her hair.

Not that it registered all the way; that wouldn't sink in until later, much later, when he was awake and alert and sane again. But that was her, pinning him to the ground with nothing but the muscles in her arms, yelling for a medic in response to the obvious confusion and fear in his eyes as he pinned him to the ground.

A needle, stuck in the exposed skin of his upper neck.

"It's okay, Gordon." He fought the darkness enclosing in on him with deadly vigor, feeling his arms grow weak and the adrenaline that had been keeping him awake for the past god-knows-how-long fade away. "It's okay. I've got you. You're okay."

His body felt heavy.

Then, nothing.

Out of the blue, he felt rumbling beneath him, and the faint, flickering light of a lantern.

Safe?

Gordon Freeman hadn't felt safe in twenty years.

One of the oddest parts about coming to completely was that he had somehow managed to get to his feet, with some major support from the wall. That was good news. Bad news: He could barley think, couldn't see, had no HEV suit and no weapons.

Not a good situation.

Gordon squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his head against the rumbling wall, trying his best to take inventory of his condition. From what he could tell, there were bandages on his head, and bandages on his hands, and bandages…man, well that's why he hurt everywhere. Shit.

From outside of the fog came a faint voice he could barley hear.

"Alyx, your patient is escaping."

"Damn it, Gordon, not again."

He felt arms around him, steadying his shaky body, and suddenly, he was back on the floor, on the mat where he had been sleeping, with blankets pulled over him.

"You gotta stop gettin' away from me like that, big guy. You're gonna hurt yourself. We're on a train, you know. Not very steady."

She sounded like she was talking more to herself than to him, but that didn't matter. She was there, and he was safe, and everything was fine.

Well, at least close to fine.

Alyx sat down next to him on the mat, took out a dog-eared book, and flipped it open, reading by the light of flickering lamps. They weren't the only ones, either: all around them were mats and blankets, filling the small space, with people stepping carefully through the haphazard arrangement with care, whispering to one another, determined not to awake their fellow rebels. He tugged lightly on her sleeve, and she looked at him affectionately, maybe a bit with pity for his misery.

"Woah there, lumberjack. You gotta shave." Alyx put her book onto the floor next to her, and ran her hand across his cheek, brushing the unruly stubble with her palm. He smiled weakly in reply as she moved to his head. It really hadn't occurred to Gordon how much stronger she was than him; she was muscular and broad, he was thin and weak. The HEV suit usually made up the difference, but laying here in bed with her, for the first time, it was half-intimidating. He felt so damn small without it on. Exposed. Venerable.

But her being there next to him made him feel safe, in some dumb, idiotic way.

There, in the back of his mind, the word again. Perfect.

"Oh, and Gordon, I've got your glasses once you're feeling up to it, okay? Just try to get some rest for now." He shot her a look of confusion, although the drugged smile never left his face. Much of what had happened in the past couple days had been mushed together into a mess of fighting, blood, bodies, and pain.

"A doctor saw you. They said rest, and gave you some meds. You remember that?"

He shook her head no, and blinked slowly again as she continued to run her fingers through his hair. Just listening to her talk was amazing.

"Barney's leading groups to hunt a little bit whenever we stop for supplies. He doubts they'll be able to find anything to shoot at all, after what the Combine did, but hey, it's worth a go. We've got a ton of mouths to feed now that it's over, even a shitty deer is better then nothing."

She smelled like machine oil and dirt.

Another thing that brought him comfort.

"Once you're feeling better, I bet he would love it if you could grab your bow and tag along. And…uh, speaking of food…"

He felt her fingers running along his bandaged sides, feeling his exposed ribs and bones with mild concern.

"…We've gotta get something into your stomach, big guy." He wasn't the only one starving, of course- the resistance had been very low on food since the Combine had cut off their rations- but being on the move as they had been, meals were few and far between. In the fog of his mind, he dreamily hoped for soup, or something warm at all; the mat didn't help keep the cold of the hijacked Combine train's floor at bay, although Alyx's heat was more than welcome.

"…Hey!"

Gordon blinked sleepily, stupid, giddy smile never leaving his face, fog clouding his vision and his mind. Alyx was a blob of color without his glasses, but he knew by her touch and voice who she was, why she was there. No, they weren't officially dating. They had a sort of…mutual agreement. A partnership that was more than a partnership. A team, both for emotional, physical, and combat reasons.

And it was in this way that their relationship was so simplistic. They fought together, they ate together, they drove together, they camped, guarded, lurked and slept together, and there had come a time in the past couple of months where they had looked at each other and known, and no words had to be said at all.

Gordon needed her now. And so she was there, keeping him from the brink of another rampage, calming his nerves just enough to keep him sane through the rampant confusion, and… oh, she was talking to him, wasn't she?

"He-looo! Earth to Freeman?" Gordon let out a tiny, half-hearted grunt in reply, too sleepy and weak to sign formally. God, she was beautiful, even when he could barley see. "Man, they really drugged you up, didn't they? You look like shit."

Alyx ruffled his hair, and he drew himself closer in response, burying his face into her shirt like a child seeking comfort.

Mama bear.

Wrapped in Alyx's arms, the right man in the wrong place slept.