Just One Question

(It's a silly question but...Come on! You've thought about it, haven't you? Haven't you? My first Half-Life fic. I don't own anything having to do with Half-Life or Valve, am just doing this for the hell of it!)

"Come on! You gotta ask him."

"You ask him."

"No, you ask him."

"Why me?"

"Cause you're the squirt, Squirt!"

"That's not fair!"

"Are you chicken?"

"Nah, uh."

"Uh huh. You're just chicken!"

A chorus of clucking echoed down the hall.

Gordon's eyes snapped open. At lightning speed, he sat up on the couch, grasping the crowbar with two hands.

"Chicken! Chicken!"

"I'm NOT chicken!"

"Then go ask him!"

Kids. They're not headcrabs...just kids. He slumped back onto the ancient sofa, dropping the crowbar onto the floor. Just kids. It seemed like just a minute ago that he'd closed his eyes for the first decent shut eye in...what was it...twenty years? He took off his glasses for the moment, placing them on his lap, and rubbed his eyes. He'd forgotten what it was like to be around children...The city seemed devoid of everything except monsters, rubble, and gun-toting combine soldiers, and yet, here they were. He sighed, sliding his thick glasses back on. He heard a knock on the door.

"Uh, Dr. Freeman."

As his eyes refocused, he saw a small, sandy-haired boy in a blue jumper, probably no older than eight, slip tentatively through the partly opened door. "Can I come in?"

Gordon merely shrugged and nodded his head slightly. The boy, emboldened a little by the gesture, approached a little closer, until he stood about five feet away.

"Um, me and the guys out there were wondering..." The Squirt, hesitated for a moment, thrusting his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet. "Um...Uh... how, uh, do you go to the bathroom in that suit?"

Gordon Freeman, M.I.T. graduate, the Hero of Black Mesa, Defender of the Resistance of City 17, sat there for a moment, blinking, his sleep-deprived mind unable to process the question. Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted from the cot other side of the room.

"That's a good question kid! I don't think anybody has the answer to that."

Gordon turned his head in Barney's direction, mustering just enough gumption to glare at him. Undeterred, his comrade continued, laughter unabated.

"You see, Gordon's a man of mystery. Keeps to himself a lot. Hell, I've known him for twenty years and I'm still not sure if he goes to the bathroom at all–" Barney began to choke on his own laughter.

Gordon turned his gaze back to his pint-sized ambassador. Leaning forward, he crooked his right index finger, gesturing the boy to come closer until stood at eye level with him.He then said, in a soft, slow voice, "I hold it for a long...long time."

Barney lost it, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, slapping his thigh. "Oh, God, Gordon...aren't you...glad I never...bought you...that...buh...buh...buh...beer!"

At that moment, a small, matronly woman stepped room. "Nicky! What are you doing? Asking Dr. Freeman such a ridiculous question! Get downstairs! Now!" As the boy shot out of the room, she stuck her head into the hallway. "And that goes for the lot of you! Shoo!" A symphony of stomping feet and laughter faded away. She turned her attention back to her guest. "I'm sorry, Dr. Freeman. I'll make sure they won't bother you again. I'll bring up some food later on." She gazed sympathetically into his eyes. "And, by the way, in case you're interested, the closest working toilet's one floor down, second door on the left."

After she left, Gordon sat there for a moment, then, drawing on as much willpower as he could, he stood up. As he slowly strode out of the room, he mumbled, "This is going to take a while."

He could hear the thud of Barney falling out of his cot.