The water of the showerhead brought Gordon Freeman back to life.
Well…He had been alive. He had been alive since Alyx wrestled him to the ground and he had awoken from the haze of painkillers and medication and tranquilizers, but hadn't been present. He had gone through night after night after night on a cold, damp train floor with Alyx next to him and people around him, with doctors shining lights into his eyes that were too bright and asking him questions he couldn't quite understand.
He was alive, but not alive. And it was something people could see, too; it felt like he was looking through a closed window, with people knocking on the glass. Like he couldn't open it to respond.
Like something was wrong. Like a dream. Like sleepwalking.
The blood and dirt and dust washed out of his hair, and auburn that he had had such a long time ago peeked through, dark orange as ever, slicked cleanly to his scalp and neck as he scrubbed it out. Gordon swallowed and eased himself awake, the water cold on his back and the tile harsh white and broken.
No more train.
He…sort of remembered leaving the train. The ride back to White Forest with the others celebrating, too loud, too bright. Too much for him, in a way; so he slept with his head on Alyx's shoulder, knowing she wouldn't wake him into the world, knowing she would keep people away, so long as he was ill. Talking was too much. People were too much. All of this was too much, and what he remembered about taking down the combine was too much. Too much.
And like a cold snap on the metal of a train, everything came flooding back, and he was stunned.
Gordon knelt down in the tub and threw up, trembling. It didn't take long for what little he had in his stomach to trickle down into bile that burned when he brought it up, and he continued to heave long after he had stopped actually being sick; then stood, bracing himself on the side of the shower, and shaved. Washed the rest of the blood and sweat and dirt off of himself. Put on his glasses. Cleaned and dressed his wounds. Got dressed into the clothes that he only sort of remembered putting out for himself.
Woke up. Slowly, shakily. Reminding himself to breathe.
You can handle this, followed shortly by God, that light is bright.
He might have been sick again, or maybe it was just his dreaming. Might have pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose afterwards. Might have held out his hands in front of him and moved his fingers in and out, slowly bringing himself back to the present, reminding himself of his vocabulary of signs and movements, checking to make sure he remembered what he knew to be real and what he knew to be false. Pressed his hands to the cement floor. Pulled them back. Traced the imprints the tiny rocks and ridges left on the palms of his hands.
This was real.
He was okay.
No, he wasn't.
He wasn't okay, this wasn't okay. Gordon stood still and watched himself shake.
I'm not okay, am I?
Was he okay? It depended on one's definition of 'okay'/'healthy', which he had to admit, had changed greatly in the past couple of months. And then, there was a wave of questions: Was Alyx okay? Was Barney okay? Kleiner? El-
Eli.
Oh, poor Eli. Not Eli. He wasn't sure if he would be able to take it if something were to happen-
But something did happen, don't you remember?
Gordon gagged and shoved that thought out of his head. No. Not .
Never Dr. Vance.
'I couldn't be prouder if you were my own son.'
He drug his fingers down his face, rubbing his eyes, his beard, pushing them through his hair, forcing himself to be okay, damn it, you have to be okay, you must be okay.
But in the end, he still felt sick. Sat on the floor. Put his head against the wall. Stared at door.
Wanted to go back to sleepwalking.
"Gordon?"
His head hurt.
"Gordon."
Everything hurt. Go back behind the window.
"Hey."
You should have died instead of him.
The smell of dirt and machine oil.
How can you face her like that?
She sat down next to him, and he looked the other way, towards the shower.
You could have done something.
"Look at me. You need help."
Is this how you repay Eli? After all he did for you?
"Are you listening? You need to see a doctor, Freeman. You're sick."
I didn't mean to hurt Eli. I didn't mean it, I'm so, so sorry…
"Gordon."
She took his hand.
He pulled it away.
A lot of people died because of you.
She stood, and sat in front of him, putting her hands around his.
If Gina or Colette had completed the experiment, this wouldn't have happened.
"Gordon, please." She was begging now. He never thought he would hear her beg.
He took his hands from hers, and spoke.
"I'm sorry."
"Gordon. I'm used to combat. This kind of thing happens all the time, and it's even trickier because no one here is really…used to that kind of deal, you know? It's just…I'm worried, okay? I'm scared for you. Barney's scared for you. Kleiner's scared for you. We're all scared for you. You've been sick like this for weeks. We're just tired of seeing you miserable."
…Weeks?
"And it's not just physically, it's mentally, too. You barley talk, big guy. You just stare. And I know that's not you, I can tell something's up, just…"
He looked at the ground, then looked back up to her, meeting her eyes for the first time since the tranquilizers wore away. Awake. Alive.
"I don't want to lose you, okay?"
He nodded.
"Promise me I won't have to worry about that anymore. And that means not doing anything god-damn stupid, either, I mean…god, Gordon, you're an absolute fucking idiot. And I mean that. No piece of paper from MIT will erase that. I don't know how you survived to the age of twelve. That's called natural selection, there, buddy. That's what happens to people who don't talk to anyone for two weeks."
That made him smile. And him smiling made her smile.
She had such a nice smile.
"Promise."
"…Okay. I promise."
"Pinkie promise."
"I am not pinkie promising that I'll become any smarter in the field of not being a fucking idiot. You'll just have to live with me. And I'll have to live with you, little miss run into the literal combine headquarters."
"Suck my dick, Freeman."
"You know what? Fuck you. I make my own rules."
All at once, she put her arms under his armpits and pulled him up to his feet, giving his badly damaged body time to find his balance before letting go.
"So, nerd, what do you say? Doctor Visit sound good?"
"I'm not sick."
"I heard you hurl."
"I'm only moderately sick."
"You've been in an HEV suit for six weeks straight."
"I am mildly severely sick. But only mildly."
"Ah, I see, so that's what they're calling HEV fatigue now, huh. I wasn't sure of the technical term."
He buried his face into her shoulder, and she put her arms around his trembling body in turn, partly for comfort, partly because he felt lightheaded and sick.
"Don't puke on me, fucktard."
He pulled away, still struggling to remain upright and conscious.
"Rude."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Don't puke on me doctor fucktard, PhD."
Gordon looked at her through feverish, glassy eyes, and kept his trembling hands on her shoulders. She was okay. And if she was okay, everything would be okay.
"Aw, man, you really are sick, aren't you?"
"Or so I've been told. What gave it away?"
"Well…" She started, pushing a palm against his forehead, "Damn it, Gordon, you're still burning up."
"My most recent research has shown that living in a metal shell that pumps pain killers into oneself for six weeks is not very good for you."
"At least you're back to sassing me. And here I was worried you would never be a little bitch again."
Wow, she was pretty.
Alyx stepped back and looked at him, tilting her head with a concerned look. "…Hey, do you need some water or something? You look really pale."
"Not feeling too hot. But I'm okay."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He signed.
"Whatever you say, Freeman. But you do have to eat before you go back to bed."
"Hey, I'm worried about you, too. You gotta eat more than I have to eat."
And then, something amazing happened.
It was cooler than any equation Gordon had ever solved or written, and he had seen some pretty cool equations, not to brag. And this was coming from the guy who really fucking loved math.
She kissed him.
Right on the cheek.
"I love you, nerd."
He had felt it coming, of course. They had done so much together that it made sense, but…
Hearing her say it meant more then made sense.
"I love you too."
With the cold water of a showerhead and a kiss on the cheek, Gordon Freeman was brought back to life.