When Ben left the room, she muttered, "…someday I'm going to get fed up with him and let him know I'm not one of his videogame chicks," then mimicked strangling herself to end it all. Gordon chortled and said, "Except for the part where you'll give him a one-hit KO?"She chuckled and said, "Exactly."
She opened the bottle of peroxide and began dressing his wound. Gordon winced out loud as the stinging liquid bubbled on his skin. Alyx gently wafted air on it to ease the discomfort, then said, "You wuss,"at his reaction, while giving him her teasing smile. He breathed a soft laugh and then said, "Thanks for fending him off for me."
"Believe me,"Alyx said, "I don't mind putting him in his place. Sometimes I fantasize about taking that old Game-thing of his and hiding it in a headcrab nest. Is your arm still stinging?"On Gordon's nod, she added, "I'll rub the skin around it to draw the blood away when I'm done, that should help. Hold still, now."
"Seriously, though, it's good we took out those Hunters so close to the mine; if there are civilians in there, they might have been after them."
"Mm,"Gordon murmured, as was his wont, and Alyx kept talking as she bandaged him up. She was used to this by now: Gordon was generally a quiet person, but silence made Alyx uncomfortable, so she often talked just to fill the silence. She did it knowing she'd get little response out of Gordon and he didn't seem to mind it...although she got the feeling he wasn't always paying attention. It was kind of rude, but Alyx understood from the other survivors of Black Mesa that he hadn't always been like this. He had a lot to deal with now, and she guessed that that had something to do with it. She knew distraction was a sign of PTSD, and it made her worry about him. But there was no psychologist at this base since had been attacked by a headcrab zombie—an occupational hazard unique to practicing psychiatry for a rebel clientele—and in any case, Gordon was never in one place long enough for the long-term treatment Alyx was sure he needed.
She was learning to pick up on the difference between his normal lack of response and his not-paying-attention silences and knew that this was one of the latter, so she petered off and began humming to herself. She could see he was lost in thought, a troubled look on his face, and wasn't even sure he was aware of her.
Sometimes she wondered what went through that impressive brain of his...but sometimes she thought she'd rather not know. Gordon had some major guilt issues dealing with Black Mesa, and she knew he was a thinker at heart, not a fighter. Whenever they came across old bodies lying around from some fight or another, he always made a point of closing their eyes so the corpses weren't staring into space. The first time Alyx had seen him do it, it had surprised her—everyone else had learned to treat corpses as merely a warning of possible danger, but Gordon didn't seem desensitized to them yet. That had struck Alyx as odd; hadn't he been fighting for over 20 years?
But no, he seemed shocked at the harsh world around him, and often didn't know basic things about the current world that others took for granted. This, along with the fact that he seemed to not be a day over 27, and still made frequent reference to the pre-Combine world, made her think something had happened to...pause and restart time for him somehow, as bizarre as that sounded. She had heard the scientists left over from Black Mesa talking about it and they mostly suspected something to do with the Theory of Relativity; the last time anyone had seen him had been when he teleported off to Xen after the Resonance Cascade—when she had been five years old. The other theories ranged from memory loss due to extreme traumatic shock to ideas that he had been playing around with some sort of anti-aging technology, but Gordon himself never answered questions when asked about this. Her father had told Alyx that Gordon had always kept to himself and been laconic, but Alyx sensed that for some reason he really wanted to tell people the answers to these mysteries, but somehow couldn't.
It frustrated her. Alyx had taken it upon herself to watch out for the young scientist-turned-messiah, since he seemed to need it so badly and wasn't good at doing so himself, and she wanted to know what made him tick. She wanted to know everything there was to know about him...but he kept himself so closed-up. He was protecting himself, Alyx knew...but from what? She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring into space with a deeply troubled expression, but she knew that if she asked him about it, he'd just push his glasses up his face and say, "Nothing."She sighed in frustration, and went back to his wound, which was now fully bandaged. She stroked his still-exposed arm gently, thinking about how she was surely the closest person to him—apart from Barney, maybe—and he clearly trusted her more than almost anyone else...and yet he still had his guard up sometimes.
Alyx glared at his arm where her hand was. She had to admit, she was attracted to him—very attracted to him—and she wasn't sure about his feelings toward her. Sometimes he seemed so grateful to have her around, but he clearly guarded against reciprocating her overtures. And she was perfectly clear about her feelings—at least according to everyone who saw them together—so clearly it wasn't that he was oblivious. He was holding back. But if it was holding back because he wasn't interested, or holding-back despite himself...that was what bothered her. She sighed again.
She wanted to be with him, and badly.
He seemed to be able to do anything he tried, no matter how impossible, and even if he doubted himself, he'd try. He was one of the most determined people she'd ever met, and he never complained about the unenviable situation he was in, although she wouldn't have blamed him if he did. He never asked for a lot and was always looking out for others, just trying to get the job done.
And he was a genius—not just academically, although she'd heard the other scientists speak about his PhD dissertation in awe—but in practical matters as well. He came up with ways to get them out of tight fixes that no one else would have thought of, and no problem he approached held up against him for very long.
He was sweet, if a little shy. He didn't seem to open up easily, but he had done so for her—mostly. She knew he trusted her and felt she could trust him. He was modest, despite his numerous gifts of skill, and she had seen him show concern for people he didn't even know, even putting himself in physical danger to help people he'd just met. She had once seen him be sent flying and nearly blown up by a grenade while trying to provide cover for some civilians in City 17 to escape a no-man's land in the middle of a firefight between some rebels and a unit of Combine soldiers. When she had asked him why he'd done it, he'd looked surprised and said, "Somebody had to."
And he seemed grateful for her friendship. He laughed at her corny humor even when no one else did, and seemed to genuinely enjoy it. They worked well together as a team—like they had some kind of combat chemistry. He gave her respect as a fighter, but she had seen him go into an offensive overdrive if she took a hit. Then his eyes would darken and he'd grit and bare his teeth or grimace in what almost looked like an angry pout and pump lead into the air, sending their enemies flying. He radiated power at those times, and she saw the effect it had on his opponents; at times like that she was proud to have him on their side, and awed at his brute skill.
But after the fight, he'd go back to being the nerd who was surprised at what he was capable of. He'd wipe his brow and double over, catching his breath, ask her if she was okay, and then Alyx would crack a joke about how good a fighter he was, and he'd smile.
That smile was worth gold to Alyx. He normally only gave a small smile, a curving upwards of the corners of his mouth, when responding to most things that would normally evoke a smile, but when he smiled more broadly...he looked handsome. He appeared unassuming otherwise, but when he was smiling...Alyx always loved it when she could get one of those responses out of him. Her heart would flutter in her chest and she'd feel a surge of...being-alive-ness, for want of a better word. He gave those smiles most often when he was around her, and it made her feel good to know she could evoke that reaction she prized so much in him.
And his eyes. The women on the base seemed to lose interest in him fairly quickly after meeting him, since he was so quiet, but they all commented, nonetheless, on his eyes. Alyx had never seen anyone with irises so bright green, and although they were hidden behind his glasses and his eyelids tended to hang low over his eyes by default, giving him an always-sleepy expression, they were very expressive. They seemed to relay his thoughts directly rather than him having to tell his facial muscles to move, and they did so so eloquently that it didn't matter that he was so tight-lipped; she often knew his thoughts without him saying anything. Someday she'd love to just stare into them—not to steal stealthy, brief glances at them when he wasn't looking, but just gaze into them, drink them in all she wanted—and see what response they'd show to it. Would they smile at her, they way they often did seemingly without the help of his mouth? Would they look sad and wistful? Frustrated? Or would he revel in the connection like she would...?
The thought made her gloomy with unrequited longing, and it was maddening.
Maybe now was a good time to say something to him. But the thought made her stomach squirm in nervousness. Just tell him that, what you just thought, all of it, a voice in her brain urged her. Do it. Do it now. She gulped, and tried to plan how to say it—
—but then she realized she was staring at his arm while stroking it slowly, and that she had been feeling the muscles underneath his skin as she thought.
She froze.
And then realized that Gordon was frozen too.
She glanced at him and saw that he was looking at her, completely baffled, his eyebrows raised gently in a surprised expression.
Her mouth went dry and she yanked her hand away.
She averted her gaze from him, frantically tried to find something else to look at, fumbled with her hands, what should she do with them, should she—she ran one through her hair, gazed at her feet…
Oh God. What do I say? There was no way he didn't see my face, he knows just what I was thinking—quick, Alyx, think of something to say! Anything!
Her panicked brain fumbled desperately for something to vocalize, anything, even something stupid would be fine, as long as she didn't die of embarrassment right now…she felt the blood rising furiously in her face, and knew she was doomed, he could see it, there was no explaining her way out of it…
And then he said, haltingly, softly, sounding like he was struggling to get the words out as much as she was, "You…you could…keep doing that…if you wanted."
It took a second for her brain to pull meaning from the sounds, and then she looked up at him in surprise. His face was turned away from her, his eyes flicking back and forth between the tiles on the floor, his mouth open as if he were trying to find something to say. She realized he had tossed her a lifeline and she grabbed it. Looking at his arm, she determined not to think about it or else she'd lose her nerve, and reached out her hand, quivering with nerves, and gently brushed his arm again.
It was just a superficial stroke of the surface of his skin, but he let out his breath like the touch had broken some prohibition against it, and she realized both of them had been holding their breath. She let hers out slowly, trying to steady herself with it, and focused on his arm, since looking at his face—never mind saying something—seemed too much for her just this moment.
Okay, now what do I do? she thought. Should she say something? Gordon seemed to be just enjoying the touch…and she was beginning to see that there was no reason she shouldn't either. She let herself savor the contact, and tried not to think about meeting, or having, any expectations.
She stroked his upper arm gently. He was surprisingly muscular. Somehow she had never thought of him as having a nice body—except for his face, of course—but then again, Alyx reminded herself, she rarely saw this much of him. He tended to keep covered up, but whether it was for a reason, Alyx didn't know. Most of the time she was around him, he was in his HEV suit, which was hugely bulky and allowed no glimpse of his shape or of his skin anywhere lower than a turtleneck might show. When he wasn't in that, he was often in a long-sleeved lab coat or civvies, although Alyx had seen him a few times in what she supposed he normally wore when he wasn't working prior to Black Mesa. He tended to always wear long sleeved shirts that buttoned up at the front, often, but not always, with some kind of plaid design. To Alyx, it looked somehow very typical of a Seattle native, which he was. Or a nerdy scientist-lumberjack, she'd thought with a giggle.
She wanted to ask him about it, ask him about his life before he knew her, what he'd been like as a kid…
…and this is the perfect opportunity, some devious part of her brain told her. She looked at him for the first time since she'd put her hand back on his arm, surreptitiously. His eyes were closed, and his expression was blank.
What am I supposed to do, Alyx argued with herself, turn this into some baring-of-souls thing where I ask him his life story? I'm not some massage therapist!
Besides, she was still too nervous to say anything. She decided to just stay quiet and focused on his arm.
He was by no means buff—he had just enough muscle that she was surprised she hadn't noticed it—but now she realized that he was doing as much physical work as the other men on the base. Maybe even more. It occurred to her that swinging a crowbar all the time had to be good for these particular muscles. She stifled a laugh, in case Gordon took it the wrong way. She didn't feel like explaining that she was pondering how he'd gotten these arms.
His skin was surprisingly pale, she noticed, paler than it looked like it should be according to his face. He plainly didn't get enough exposure to the sun. Well, with the HEV suit and being indoors or covered up so often, it wasn't surprising he should be so pale, but it made him look…somehow vulnerable. She ran her fingers gently along his skin, as if it were fragile. His muscles were clenched somewhat, out of awkwardness or discomfort, but she could feel them slowly, slowly unclenching under her touch. Alyx realized with a thrill that he was allowing her, even if just physically, to see more of him than he'd been letting her do so until now; the realization was heady and made her determined to let him know it was okay, he could trust her.
Besides, she thought wryly, I'll probably never get to do this again. Best thing to do is savor it as much as I can.
Now she used more of her fingers than just the tips, as she had been, to caress his arm. There was a clenching feeling in her chest as she thought that this man, this man who she cared about so deeply and who, for whatever reason, had been disallowing himself from reciprocating her feelings, was finally letting his walls down enough to let her have this contact with him. She applied a gentle pressure from her fingers on his flesh; the thought made her want to hug him, but she knew this would have to suffice.
Her emotion finally overcame her awkwardness, and she glanced at his face. His eyes were shut tightly, but his eyebrows were slightly peaked upward and together. She wasn't sure what he was feeling, but the expression threw her; it was so...unguarded. She was used to his face being emotive, but she had thought it relied on his eyes, which were closed right now. Still, his face conveyed emotion with such strength so subtly—but the expression was a frustrating cipher. He was feeling something very strongly, but she wasn't sure what.
It occurred to her that she could ask him...she swallowed, steeling herself to do so...and then realized she might break the spell that seemed to have been cast between them. The current lack of speech between them, she realized, was what was enabling this...this momentary connection, whatever it was. It dawned on her that maybe she had been communicating with him all wrong all along. She liked to talk; he was sparse with his words. She had been trying to get him to talk to her about the things on his mind, as came so freely to her, but Gordon's style was different. She began to theorize now that he could put up barriers to people's spoken attempts to communicate with him, but the element of touch seemed to work on a more basic, universal level, one he was struggling to resist. And maybe, didn't want to.
She used both of her hands, now, to touch and caress him, and explored his arm more thoroughly. Her right hand was on the inside of his bicep, the vulnerable flesh softer than the outside of it, and her left hand on the firm muscle on the outside. The touch of warm male musculature under her hand made an instinctive part of her bubble to the surface, manifesting in a heat in her body that made it seem as if the air conditioning in the building had suddenly been cut off. She was aware of the instinct almost instantly and made a conscious effort to rein it in...but it was drawing her attention to his shoulder. His rounded, solid, clearly-defined shoulder that was exposed from the suit, but which connected to the end of his clavicle, which disappeared tauntingly under the rest of his armor. It was just enough to be mesmerizing—absolutely mesmerizing.
Alyx's favorite part of the male physique, uninterestingly enough, was the arms, shoulders and neck, and the places they connected, and nothing was so visually stimulating as a small glimpse of skin that was normally not seen and then only allowed to be visible in a small amount; when the rest was normally covered up, even a glimpse of parts of the body not normally considered erotic could be tantalizing, and let the imagination do the rest. Alyx found she was breathing more heavily now, but thank God, not loud enough or in a way that would give her away. She tried to dial back the feel of molten liquid churning in her core, and glanced again at Gordon, wondering, hoping he was having a similar reaction.
Instead, she was shocked to see he looked close to crying. It was enough of a buzzkill to be equivalent to having a bucket of cold water thrown on her, and she immediately lost the warm, slow, disintigrating-around-the-edges feeling that had been filling her physical being. It was replaced by a jolt of shame and mortification; here she was wanting to tear the rest of the HEV suit off of him and pull him on top of her, while he was clearly having some other, emotional reaction. She swallowed and breathed in steadying breaths of the cool medic bay air, with its smells of sharp chemicals, dampness and human blood, to return herself to her senses.
She studied his face more closely now. His eyes were crumpled shut, and he was breathing deliberately, but his back was still upright, although slumped slightly over himself. She delicately touched his arm right under the crook of his elbow in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture, and let it trail down his forearm further to his wrist before repeating the circuit. At this, he leaned his head back and upward, swallowing, as if the gesture had had just the effect she was hoping for. She turned her gaze back to his arm and ran both her hands up and down the length of it, slowly, letting him feel the gentleness of the caresses. He exhaled a small sigh and slumped his head slightly forward again, rotating his arm to show the sensitive inside of his arm. She used her right hand to trace the veins in his forearm and stroked the hairs of it with her left, gently seeking out each individual follicle as best she could in a move that was almost like grooming.
All the while, she could feel him still going ever more and more limp under her touch. She knew the gesture of rotating his arm to present her with the underside of it was an explicit acknowledgement—or as explicit as she had a feeling she'd get—that he was making himself vulnerable to her. The veins and more sensitive, vital parts of his arm were on the underside, and exposing them gave him the payoff of being able to feel her touch on the more tender nerve receptors there, she knew, but was also a show of physical vulnerability and trust. Knowing this, she paused the fingers of her left hand over the major artery in the crook of his elbow, gently feeling the pulse. It beat strongly at her, but sluggishly, indicating the state of ease his body derived from her tactile explorations. Touch therapy, she thought wryly, surprised that the side of her mind that cracked jokes was still responding, even now.
She had heard about "the healing power of touch", as people often put it, but while she knew that human beings, as a social species, biologically benefitted from physical contact with others, she had thought the phrase went a little too far and was flaky. But it seemed to be holding true in this case; she had no idea what was going through Gordon's head, but it was good for him, she was somehow sure of that.
She now let her fingertips draw slowly down to his wrist—what she knew to be a spot people protected if they were feeling emotionally unsafe—and was rewarded by his gesture of enjoyment, as he flexed his fingers wider open, ever so slightly, haltingly with the minuteness of the muscle work. He seemed to be holding his most recent inhalation, letting it out only partially with each exhalation that was followed by another small intake of breath, but never letting all the air in his lungs out at once. He was waiting, anticipating something.
A sudden idea took hold of Alyx, and her eyes fixed on his open palm. She had never taken the time to really notice his hands before, she now realized with surprise; when they weren't gloved, she often just wasn't paying attention to them. But now she noted the softness of his fingers, yet their masculine shape, and the shine of thin lines of sweat forming in the creases in his palms. He was a scientist by nature, not a soldier; she knew he had most often used his hands for minute, detailed work in a laboratory or for writing papers or filling out reports in his past life, and they lacked the calluses or griminess of the other men on the base who fought. The skin of the underside of his hand was pale but somewhat pinkish, and there were none of the ever-present cuts or scars the mechanics she often worked with had. She imagined his fingers twiddling a dial to adjust the magnification of a microscope, or scribbling with a pencil on a clipboard. He had worked in Anomalous Materials at Black Mesa, she knew, handling dangerous chemicals and substances, but always with heavy protection to his body. She marveled at how soft the flesh was and her mind began to wander to how those fingers and this hand might feel to her if the roles right now were reversed...
The idea she'd been trying to push away—because it seemed too daring, far too daring for the delicate balance of sensation and emotion they were treading right now, lightly as a dance—the idea had nevertheless persisted, and now that she had pondered it for several moments, seemed more and more possible.
She held her breath. Edging her fingertips slightly forward at a time, ever so slightly, down his palm, she inched them a millimeter at a time toward the center of his palm. Her object was to hold his hand, and it seemed wildly forthcoming for all their interactions thus far. But he was letting her do it, and he was surely aware of her intention.
Finally, the tips of the index, middle, and ring fingers of her right hand rested in the center of his palm. And now, slowly, jerkingly, his fingers were closing toward hers. They snuck closer, a tiny jerk of a muscle at a time, almost enveloping her fingers...
The sounds of brisk, heavy steps toward the door of their examination room and male voices talking confidently made Alyx jerk upright from the waist and Gordon sit up stiffly straight with a jolt. Pulling her hand away from Gordon's, Alyx busied herself with the mess of cut bandages and sterile wrappers on the table next to them. The next second, Mike and Soeren, two of the medical staff, came into the room, talking in voices that Alyx knew were a normal level, but seemed unnervingly loud for some reason.
"Oh hey, Alyx, ! I didn't realize you two were here. Everything okay?"Mike inquired, completely oblivious to the interaction he and his co-worker had just interrupted. There was a millisecond's pause where Gordon didn't answer and Alyx realized that she normally would do the talking in this situation.
"Yeah, everything's just fine. Gordon got a flechette in his armor, but it didn't do any significant damage. Rodney and Ben wanted me to patch him up, since it was just a basic job and they couldn't spare anyone at the moment."Alyx had made the speech with her back turned to the two men, but forced herself to turn to greet them as she finished. The ease with which she seemed to have given an impression of normality surprised her.
"Oh good, nothing major then?"Mike went on. Alyx shook her head brightly,"Nope!"
"We just needed some syringes, and Rodney said there were some extras in here...let me get over to that cabinet..."Soeren squeezed past her, and she snuck a glance at Gordon, whose head was turned to the far wall with an expression of what could be frustration on his face.
Frustration at exactly what, she wasn't sure. Frustration they had been interrupted? Frustration with himself that he had let his walls down? But in any case, a second later the walls were back up; his shoulders were back and his back straight, his face composed into his default neutral, somewhat sleepy-looking countenance as he regarded the men with a look that suggested preparation for them to ask something of him.
Alyx gritted her teeth as undetectably as she could. There went that whole interaction out the window. Would he be on his guard more strongly from now on, to prevent it from happening again? Would he pretend it had never happened? Almost assuredly, they were both in for a bout of awkwardness in their interactions with each other for some time now. She didn't even let the part of her that wanted to hope he would try to repeat it get its hopes up, quashing it down with bitter resignation as she kept up her front for the two doctors.
"Thanks Alyx...take care, ,"Soeren said, moving out of the room with the package of needles clutched in his hands as Mike closed the door behind them. Neither of them looked back at the man and woman in the room as they departed, the pair's interaction before they had entered not even crossing their minds as they rushed to get on with the business of healing the injured.
The two were left alone in the room together again, and now the unavoidable awkwardness seized its first opportunity to sink in. The two were silent for a few seconds, Alyx bustling with the bandages and ointment bottles. But she was determined to prevent the awkwardness from having its way, and breaking it, said,"Gordon, I can clean up in here...why don't you go check on your suit?"
Neither of them looked at each other while she was speaking, and when he timidly sought out her gaze in a kind of reconnaissance of the psychological terrain, she refused to meet it. She saw, through her peripheral vision, him redirect his gaze downward and say,"..., okay."
He slid to his feet off the examination table, and stood there, rubbing his arm as if in thought. She moved to the back of the small room and began stowing the bottles in their respective cabinets.
"Hey Alyx?"he said lightly, although it made her start nonetheless
"Yeah?"She reflexively looked toward him. Their gaze met and held for a brief moment; and then he dodged his head down and away, and said casually, "Thanks."
He said it as if it were just meant for the patching-up job she'd done, but she knew better; he didn't have to thank her for that, and he knew it. Her response, though, was likewise calculated in tone for casualty:"No problem."
She went back to the bandages and wrappers, trying to look innocently busy. He seemed to hesitate, before moving to the door. She heard it open, and then close, and she was alone in the room. She sighed, her shoulders sagging as her front fell away. She looked toward the door, but of course it had a privacy screen over it and she couldn't see a sign of him. She leaned her head against the cabinet door. Somehow, she needed to catch her breath. And the tangle of emotions she was feeling right now...
Could be feeling right now. She valiantly pushed them away, knowing that she'd deal with them in full later. She searched her mind for whatever she had been thinking about when they had come into the medic bay to fill their place...
...but just for a moment, she paused. She allowed herself to feel the full realization that she had just had the most intimate moment with Gordon, the closest thing to what she'd been longing for so desperately, that she'd yet had. It filled her up with a giddiness that made her want to giggle like a middle-schooler and dance around the room. She didn't, of course, but she allowed herself a smile.
Then, replacing it with her own default look of neutral chipperness, she went back to work.