Chapter Text
Now, this was quite a predicament.
One moment, Gordon had carefully been participating in the experiment of the day, trying to keep Benrey out of his way. Then, a green, pulsating light engulfed Black Mesa. An explosion of fire, killing so many in one instant.
A Resonance Cascade.
It had really happened. Surely and truly, the worst case scenario. In the rubble around the chamber, only five had survived, huddled together in a hallway outside.
“Ok, head count.” Gordon shakes his hand as if wafting off an imaginary smoke, “Who’s still got theirs? Their heads. Who’s still-who’s alive.”
“1… 2… 3…” Tommy counts out loud, pointing to himself, then Benrey, then Gordon, then Coomer.
“Didn’t you have two heads at some point, Bubby?” Coomer chirped, smiling over at him.
“...No?” Bubby answered.
“I thought you did!”
“He-He only seems to have one.” Tommy said.
“Oh!” Coomer clapped his hands together, avoiding eye contact; “I must be confused, then!”
“I think you always are, man.” Gordon sighed, “You’re always-You never know what the fuck’s goin’ on. You could meet Jesus and you’d ask for his phone number, or something.”
“Gordon, I am not Catholic!”
“That’s...great, Dr. Coomer! I didn’t ask! Never! At no point have I asked you this!”
“Why are you-you, implying Dr. Coomer would be attracted to-” Tommy began to object.
“SHIT, I DON’T KNOW!” Throwing his arms in the air, Gordon’s exasperation was palpable. “I don’t know what I’m saying! I never know what I’m saying! It’s a fucking miracle I graduated with a PHD!”
“Alright, smartass.” Bubby quirked an eyebrow and motioned behind Gordon, “If you’re so fucking smart, then what’s that? ”
“Did you hear literally anything I just said? I just said I DON’T know shit from f-Wait, what’s what?”
He turned his head, but it was too late. Before Gordon could even process the alien lifeform sprinting at full speed towards the team, it had already barrelled straight into Benrey. The guard plummeted to the floor as the green, 4 legged thing began tearing into him.
“ SHIT-! BENREY!” Gordon grabs his crowbar and dives to begin bashing the creature.
“ow.” Benrey said.
“Look, Gordon! A Peeper Puppy!” Coomer, helpful as ever, observed.
“ouch- hey.” Benrey complained.
“Dr. Coomer, SHOOT! ” Gordon shouted.
A gunshot fired.
“OW.”
“The-THE HOUNDEYE , NOT BENREY!”
“Oh!”
Finally, the beast crumpled to the ground as Tommy fired no less than 5 rounds into the thing. Grotesque lime-green blood painted the floor, as well as Benrey’s face. Gordon struggles to flip the Houndeye over to free Benrey. After a couple attempts to push it, Tommy steps up and shoves it aside with minimal effort.
Gordon squatted down and waved his hand in front of Benrey’s face for a moment, making an effort to wiggle his fingers as he did. His eyes nervously flew from Benrey’s face to his side, then back to his face.
“Hey. Hey. Benny. Whatever. You good?”
“...what?”
“...Are you okay.”
“are you okay, man?”
“I’m-You’re the one who just got attacked-Oh for the love of fuck. Just look at your arm.”
Benrey blinks away the green blood and glances to his right arm. It is sheerly mangled , more like tissue paper than flesh. Blood is pooling beneath him, and it’s pooling fast.
“...looks fine to me.” Benrey looked back up at Gordon.
Gordon groaned, and ran his fingers through his hair and hummed as he paced. He was clearly combining as many nervous tics as he could so he could think with his whole head. The gurgling of a nearby headcrab barely even phased him.
“...OH SHIT, I know. I know what to do.”
Finally, he whips back around to the Science team.
“We need to find Kleiner’s desk. I think there’s a medkit in there-Or morphine. It could also be morphine.” Gordon sighed.
“That’ll be-uh, a treat!” Tommy smiled, also unphased by the noises behind them in the hall.
“No. No it won’t. It’s morphine. ”
“what do you have against hard drugs? are you sure you’re supposed to be in here?” Benrey scoffs.
“The most I trust you guys with is ibuprofen. Even THEN-” Gordon was cut off by a crash as Bubby chucked the headcrab as hard as he could against an empty tube. Bubby looked back over silently, pushing his glasses back up.
“Why,” was all Gordon had to say.
“It looked at me funny!”
“Bubby.”
“What.”
“ Why .”
“I’m the alpha male, I need them to know that!”
Gordon threw his hands up in defeat, walking briskly into a corner in a manner that his coworkers affectionately called, ‘Gordon got grounded, grounded, grounded’ . He laid his head against the wall, breathing deeply. With a sharp inhale through his nose, Gordon spun back around to the team.
“I need you two to do me a solid.” Gordon points at Bubby and Coomer.
“I can do you a liquid!” Bubby quips.
“Oh, I am quite thirsty!” Coomer smiles towards Bubby.
“Sometimes I wonder if you guys-are you doing this on purpose? Is it Antagonize Gordon Day? Is the goal to make me listen to your offer to drink another man’s piss? Are you fucking happy with yourself?” As Gordon’s hands gripped his own hair once more, he groaned. “Nevermind. Just-Can you go find the keys to Kleiner’s office?”
“Sure can, Gordon!” Coomer gives a thumbs up.
“Whatever.” Bubby gives a hand gesture as well, albeit not quite as positive as Coomer’s.
Going alone into Black Mesa wasn’t the best idea, at least in its current state. It’s a deep complex, with many halls, turns, and rooms going further and further down. One could almost wonder, ‘Hey, what smartass thought this design up’?
One could certainly wonder that.
One could also happen to be a balding, scientific experiment of a man; a man that shuffled through file cabinets that had been thrown into the hallway.
“What smartass thought this design up?” And like that, Bubby vocalizes that very question.
“Only the smartest of asses!” Coomer answered.
“That was rhetorical. Nobody knows.”
The two searched around the hallway, figuring that the keys could have been dropped in a panic. Bubby picked a nearby lab to search
“GOT ‘EM!” Bubby exclaims, poking his head out and holding the keys up triumphantly, “Stand aside, lemme get these in the door.”
“Weren’t we supposed to bring the keys back to Gordon, Bubby?” Coomer follows behind, seeming to tread very softly and carefully.
“He wants all the credit for finding the medkit. I’ll bring it back, so maybe somebody will recognize how fucking lost the team would be without me!”
Coomer said nothing, looking at the taller doctor blankly.
“...And without you, I guess.” Bubby added hastily.
Coomer’s eyes lit up immediately. His smile was greatly exaggerated by his mustache, and it seemed strange to Bubby that he’d never noticed that yet. Eye contact was broken as Bubby turned back to the door while fumbling with the keys.
The moment spent staring back at Coomer lingered in his mind. He had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Probably just a company photo he glanced at once or twice, right? Was something slipping his mind?
Coomer watched Bubby walk towards the door. Bubby made a discontented noise as he got the keys jammed in the door.
“Well.” He announced, “I believe someone who got here before us fucked this up!”
“I just watched you fuck it up, Bubby!”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Step aside, Bubby! Oh, and hold my cane for a moment?” Coomer gently hands off his cane to Bubby, motioning him to back up.
The second Coomer confirms that he has ample space, his fist has already blown the door into infinitely small and dangerous metal shards. Bubby barely had time to breathe before he saw the entryway be obliterated.
“ ...Sheesh. ” Seemed to be all Bubby could muster, raising a hand to cover his mouth.
Coomer turned to beam at Bubby, but saw him shift his head to the side to avoid eye contact.
Well, eye to glasses contact.
Coomer knew already.
They stumbled into the office, immediately rushing to random areas of the room to tear apart like wild fucking animals, as scientists do. As they foraged, papers were balled up and tossed aside; Kleiner’s desk thoroughly snooped around in as well. Coomer would continue to sneak glances as Bubby while they both rummaged.
The tickle of a memory rises up, and Coomer can’t resist the urge to speak up.
“Now, this reminds me of the time we robbed a birdseed warehouse!” Coomer grins over at Bubby.
Oh.
Wait.
“...We’ve never done that.” Bubby said.
There it was.
“Ah! I must have… Must have been thinking of someone else!”
“I don’t believe we’ve ever hung out.”
The tickle of a memory turned to words that prickled in Coomer’s chest like frostbite. Which Bubby had that been, again? The fifth one, he believed. They’d been on so many excursions in the short two years they had together. Nights spent together , countless exchanges of a very special set of three words. And they were here, reunited, but Bubby had no idea. He had never heard those words from Coomer, and Coomer had never heard those words from him.
What was this? A tragedy, perhaps. When Coomer slept, he found himself in his bed once again, looking at the sleeping face of the other doctor.
His glasses would still be on his face.
Hiding nothing.
Hiding absolutely nothing.
What felt like tens of minutes of contemplation was actually a mere moment, because Coomer snapped out of his trance hearing Bubby rustling and yelling “AHA!” triumphantly.
“I found it! I’m so god- damn cool!” He laughed.
“The medkit?”
“The DRUGS !”
“Did we come here for drugs, Bubby?”
“Well, now we have!”
The two walk in silence all the way back. Turn after turn, corridor after corridor, not one word more is spoken. As they almost walk straight past the hallway the rest of the Team were camping in, they hear Gordon do a wolf whistle. Both Bubby and Coomer turn their heads, and walk down in the correct direction.
“HEY! Hey, you guys-Hey, c’mere. C’mere.” Gordon seems slightly calmer, motioning the doctors to crowd around Benrey.
Gordon and Tommy sat around the crumpled figure of Benrey, who was… drawing…?
“we’re playing tic tac toe.” Benrey ran a finger across his mangled arm to wet it, then used it to strike three O’s in a row on the concrete. There were already quite a few completed games, all finger painted in red with Benrey’s very own blood.
“It’s incredible. He’s been bleeding the whole time you guys were gone, and he hasn’t even-look at him, he hasn’t even fucking passed out!” Gordon laughs, apparently genuinely amazed, “Is he regenerating or something? Is he Jesus? Benrey, are you-”
“Gordon, I am not Catholic!” Coomer interrupts, right on time.
“If I stop bringing up the concept of that religion as a whole, will you stop fucking reminding me you aren’t Catholic?”
“did you get my shit?” Benrey speaks up, weakly lifting his functional arm.
“ DID we!” Bubby exclaims, slamming the small bin he had recovered onto the ground.
“...Did we?” Coomer looks at Bubby.
“We did.”
“Did we?”
“We d-
“uh i’m literally fucking dying down here.” Benrey slaps at Bubby’s leg to get his attention.
Gordon sighed in relief while he grabbed the plastic bin. He inspected it briefly, then he began to lower it. Suddenly, he does a double take, looking the container over with a critical eye before setting back onto the ground.
“Bubby, I asked you to go find a medkit for Benrey.” Gordon said flatly.
“Yes.” Bubby nodded.
“And what you have here, is a bunch of fucking… What IS this?”
“His desk was just full of drugs!”
Gordon blinked, “Kleiner? Kleiner’s desk? Kleiner? ”
“See?” Bubby reached into the plastic bin filled with boxes, pulling out an object with an orange adorned cap, hiding a needle inside.
“Bubby.”
“What?”
“That is an Epipen.”
He rummaged through the bin again, and pulled out another item, the orange cap nowhere to be seen. Only a sharp needle was clear to see.
“ SEE? ”
“Bubby. That is an empty Epipen.”
“What would he even be allergic to, Gordon?”
“I sure hope he isn’t allergic to bullshit, or he’ll be needing one of these when he meets us.” Gordon grabbed one of them and tossed it to Tommy, “You have pockets, just-hold onto this. You’re the least likely to drop it in-I dunno, what were we jumping over? Fucking ACID?”
“Soda!”
“Yeah, soda.”
Gordon has to take another moment to pace back and forth to think. Finally, he sighs, and begins walking towards a stairwell.
“Here, if we keep going, we can reach my office to sleep this off. It’s on the next floor down.” Gordon waves to everyone in a ‘follow me’ motion.
“...Your office?” Bubby sneers.
“...Yes?”
“They gave you an office?”
“And they put you on the Science Team? Good lord, just- Come on! Follow me.”
It was a long, long trek deeper into Black Mesa.
Everyone followed Gordon, who was carrying the injured Benrey. Gordon’s office was tucked away in an obscure corner of the facility, perfect for hiding from both the military and the monsters among them. The Team piled into the room, and Gordon grabbed his key from his desk to lock the door behind them. The lock activated with a click , and Gordon turned back to his group.
Before he turned around, Benrey had already passed out.
“Ugh. Okay, I have some gauze in here. Tommy, can you fix up his arm?” Gordon sighed, taking gauze from a drawer on his desk and tossing it to Tommy.
“You got it!” Tommy smiled and kneeled down to begin treating Benrey.
Bubby had already chosen Gordon’s office chair as his spot to sleep.
“Oh, you dick-I was gonna sleep there. It’s MY office.” Gordon shakes Bubby’s shoulder, but the older doctor has quickly fallen asleep. “Motherfucker…”
Tommy finished wrapping the gauze around Benrey’s arm. He yawned, laying down to use Benrey as a pillow. Gordon was about to comment on this, but decided to bite his tongue. Sure, use that guy as a pillow. Why not? He had this coming for all the trouble he’s caused. Coomer sat off in a corner, placing his cane on the ground. He seemed zoned out, staring into space.
“...Maybe there is more gauze in there.” Gordon muttered to himself, eyeing the tub retrieved from Kleiner’s office.
He started rummaging through it, careful with the unsheathed Epipens. Why wouldn’t he throw these out? Isn’t that a biohazard? Kleiner of all people should know that. What was he even this allergic to? What is-
“...Hm?”
Gordon felt the rustle of a paper at the bottom of the tub. He pulled it out, and gave it a once over. Notes from Kleiner. Curious, Gordon read it more carefully.
Prototype notes.
FOR BIOLOGICAL RESEARCH TEAM ONLY.
Bubby-3.
Lifespan : Eight weeks.
Attacked a guard and consumed his flesh. Potentially about to attack Dr. Harold P. Coomer. Shot dead by the Security Team.
Bubby-4.
Lifespan: Five days.
Shot himself in the presence of Dr. Harold P. Coomer. Dr. Coomer claims he did so to avoid hurting anyone.
Bubby-5.
Lifespan: 2 years.
Passed in his sleep in Dr. Harold P. Coomer’s quarters. Dr. Coomer was temporarily suspended until Biological Research could confirm he had nothing to do with it.
Bubby-6.
Lifespan: 8 months.
“Exploded”. Unknown cause. Dr. Harold P. Coomer was found covered in his remains.
Bubby-7.
Lifespan…
[The paper continued, until Gordon’s eyes reached the final note.]
Bubby-12.
Lifespan: Ongoing.
Biological Research is confident that this will be the final product of the experiment. Currently on the Science Team.
Final notes:
Dr. Harold P. Coomer seems to be a constant in the lifespans of the Bubby prototypes. Biological Research has tried to dissuade him from approaching prototypes, but he does not listen. He has noted that none of the prototypes so far have had eyes or blood.
The prototypes seem fond of Dr. Coomer in return. It’s nearly impossible to keep them apart. On an unprofessional note, I think it’s safe to say my opinion on why this happens: love is a hungry beast.
-Signed by Dr. Isaac Kleiner
~
The paper is set back down into the bin.
“ ...Shit. ”
He glanced at Coomer, sighing.
Gordon’s HEV suit clanged while he walked over to Coomer, despite his efforts to stay quiet among the sleeping teammates around them. As gingerly as he could, Gordon lowered to the ground and sat beside the other doctor. Coomer perked up when Gordon sat down, smiling over at him.
“Ah, hello Gordon!”
A long pause surrounded the two.
“I uh..” Gordon began, “I saw Dr. Kleiner’s notes. On Bubby. They were in the Epipen bin. The sorta, y’know, the log of all the ‘Bubby’s. Maybe he’s allergic to doppelgangers.”
Coomer said nothing.
“...Yeah, I don’t know where I’m going with this.” He sighed, “I was gonna say something comforting. Give it a good ol’ Gordon try, but I got nothing.”
Again, no reply.
“Honestly, I was just kinda going through his desk after Bubby gave me the keys. He keeps candies on his desk. I thought maybe-Ok, so, I thought maybe if I took some of those and threw a handful down a hall, you all would run in the correct direction for once-well, where I threw ‘em.”
Silence.
“Like, I don’t know how old you are. Or Bubby. Or-Tommy’s a fucking enigma, and I have no idea if Barney is real or if I’m having a delirious nightmare. But you seem old enough to enjoy those fuckin’-grandpa candies he has, so maybe if I threw them…”
Coomer finally looked at Gordon.
“They’re pretty small, right? He didn’t have any, but it’s-it’s-he has these little fucking strawberry things or like, like Werther’s Originals? I don’t fucking know, but… Actually, who are those even for? Are they for him? He doesn’t have kids. Are they little-Are they Kleiner treats? Is he hoarding them like a hamster? He doesn’t-Wait, Wait, no. Eli has a kid. Shit, that’s right.”
“Gordon…?”
“How old is she now? He’s got that drawing by his desk. Is she old enough for grandpa candy? Does she have teeth? ...I don’t think you’re supposed to-I think maybe you just fucking suck on those, anyways. I’ve always crunched them. Maybe that’s why I’m gonna die young. ...Oh, right, so I was gonna get a handful of those and just chuck them so-”
“ Gordon .” Coomer said more forcefully, with a strange reverb.
“JESUS-”
“...Ah! Sorry.” Sighing, the older scientist leaned into Gordon, “I do appreciate the thought, but that’s quite a sensitive topic!”
“Ah-Right, right.” Gordon reached around Coomer to lay a hand on his shoulder.
All went quiet, the distant screeches of loose creatures being the only noise between them. Almost a song. A soundtrack for the awkward comfort Gordon tried to extend.
“I’ll be alright, Gordon.”
“Are y’sure? Cuz I can-I don’t mind, dude. I can stay here.”
Once again, Coomer went silent.
Moments passed, with the cacophony of creatures hissing and screeching, and Coomer looked away from his friend. He sighed almost inaudibly. Coomer ran his fingers up and down his cane; a nervous tic of sorts.
“...I care about ya, man.” Gordon broke the silence, “I’ll say it a million times.”
Coomer suddenly perked up, a shine in his eye.
“Gordon! I care you!” He grinned wider than usual.
“You’re missing a word-OH. Yeah, the, the fuckin’ monkey image. Always the monkeys.” Gordon gave a shaky, laugh-exhale.
“You can go to sleep now, Gordon.” Coomer said.
“Ya sure? I can stay longer if you need me to.”
“I’ll be okay, Gordon.” Coomer had a faint smile.
“Alright, don’t be a stranger, Dr. Coomer. Wake me up if you, uh, need me.”
Gordon gave Coomer one last shoulder pat, before he shuffled off to join the rest of the team in their respective places on the floor, cold and unwelcoming, though they all slept just fine.
Coomer continued to sit where he was. Minutes turned to hours as he sat silently. Time passed while he pondered the situation to himself. He felt utterly alone, just like those days he spent between Bubby prototypes. Between the spaces where he could see him again, hoping that this would be the man he could safely love.
His eyes wandered and landed on Bubby, fast asleep in the chair, slightly leaned back. A moment of weakness struck. Coomer got up, ignoring his cane. He had to half-limp without it, with the discomfort of walking over.
He couldn’t do anything but stand there, watching Bubby sleep soundly. Coomer slowly lifted his hand, moving to touch him.
Coomer’s hand hovered over Bubby’s sleeping form, trembling. Like each before him, this Bubby was, to an outsider, a perfectly normal man. Same opaque glasses, same wrinkles and liver spots in the same place they’d always been. Same slightly ruffled balding, silver hair.
The same man Coomer knew so many times.
The same man Coomer loved so many times.
His hand pulled away. He couldn’t touch him.
Was he scared of Bubby?
That wasn’t something the doctor wanted to think about.
Coomer kept staring at Bubby, watching him breathe steadily in his sleep. Waiting for something to happen. Not that he knew what the fuck could possibly happen; he could breathe out and never breathe back in? Become a monster? Explode? Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.
He couldn’t bring himself to even caress Bubby’s hair like he’d done so many times. Coomer’s composure remained, though he trembled.
After he’s laid down, Coomer finally falls asleep mere feet from Bubby.
Coomer doesn’t dream that night.
Coomer hasn’t dreamt in many, many years.
But something undeniable happens; he feels something, and hears something.
Every nerve, molecule, inch of Coomer is struck with an agonizing pain.
One sentence repeats in his mind softly like a mantra;
“I can’t do this again.”