Chapter Text
Why couldn't Gordon just have one normal day at work?
Everything had seemed pretty alright at first. He'd strolled in, with his regular casual hand-wave, and a generous supply of greetings - "howdy", "hey", "how's it going" - for the nearby guards. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but as one guard moved to open the door for him, some movement at the corner of his eye caused him to turn.
Just around the corner behind him, a pair of eyes blinked at him like headlights, from an ashen face. They held a distinct trace of shock - if the person's helmet didn't cast such a huge shadow, Gordon felt sure he'd be able to see most of their features twisted with the emotion. Their mouth was open, like they'd been about to ask a question, then been stopped in the middle by some invasive thought.
Gordon felt an inexplicable sense of dread bearing down on him. Some forgotten emotion in the corner of his brain told him that this guard, this stranger, standing before him, was somebody to be feared, to be hated. There was a mingling mixture of something else in there too, some hint of trust that had long been shattered.
Gordon watched in slightly stunned silence as the stranger composed themself, seemingly readying themself to say something, something that seemed important.
"what the fuck bro why did you come back."
"I- what?"
Now, this was something he was completely unprepared for. The monotone voice, the strained guarding of whatever sort of mess of emotions that person was hiding under their helmet, the informal, almost casual tone. They slunk out from around the corner to face Gordon.
"oh yeah. forgot baby feetman has memory problems."
Gordon was starting to realise that maybe those hostile emotions the guard had stirred in him weren't so misplaced.
"What the fuck did you just call me?" he almost growled, but the beginnings of a confused rant were interrupted once again.
"whatever. can i...see your passport?"
They sounded almost disappointed, but now they were closer Gordon could see the (slightly forced) smugness in their grin, and any sympathy he'd had previously for the guard's state of shock had now been completely wiped away.
"My passport," Gordon echoed, feeling rage building up inside him, quicker than usual, spurred on by his unconscious bias. "What do you mean, a passport? Like, a company ID?"
The guard rolled their eyes slightly, as if they'd heard this a million times before. They turned to confer with one of the others, the one who'd graciously opened the door for Gordon.
"he doesn't have his passport."
What followed was one of the most excruciating arguments of Gordon's life.
They were impossible. Stubborn, emotionless, except for that smug lilt in their voice. Pulled out that 'feetman' nickname a couple more times too, as if by instinct. Teased him about the smallest things, things that Gordon could've sworn had never happened. The perfect recipe for an utter asshole - a creepy asshole, too. That explained the dread.
"no passport, can't let you in here, bbbbbbbb."
"Could you stop making that-"
"bbbbbbbb."
Occasionally the guard seemed to pause, as if they were expecting a witty comeback, or even...laughter? But Gordon had nothing except impatient anger.
The other guards standing around said nothing, as though the presence of the strange person berating Gordon was polarising, the centre of their world. They probably found the whole thing hilarious, and-
Gordon was distracted from his thoughts by utter confusion as the passport guard opened their mouth, a strange singing, whistling noise emerging, as well as blue spheres. Right in another guard's face.
"What the fu- what was that?" Gordon said, stumbling over his words slightly. The person looked at him.
"huh?" That was the guard pretending not to have heard him - one particular habit that was driving him insane. "oh. that's just how we calm each other down. that's...that's the black mesa sweet voice."
And that was when Gordon decided he'd had enough of their shit.
He strode through the open door, away from the stranger, away from the guards watching in silence, all the while trying to shake off that ominous feeling that refused to dissipate.
Maybe the test will take my mind off it.
And it did. Just not in a way anyone expected.
The person didn't follow him, which felt odd in some way, and only increased Gordon's sense of alarm.
They gave up. Thank god.
But even with the echoing of his heavy footfalls against the cold metal ground, he expected to hear lighter steps falling in place besides him. The air felt empty without comments about his passport. He didn't have much time to ponder this new evidence he was going insane, though - he was hoping to, y'know, get around to doing his actual job sometime soon. Something he was good at, a part of his regular routine, to distract him from those sharp eyes and that monotone drivel.
There were more passing conversations on his journey to the test chamber - some scientist named Tommy he'd never properly met asked him to read the billboards and told him he drank soda for lunch (what a freak), and Dr Coomer was by the lockers as usual, with a cheerful greeting - and some unhelpful tips and tricks - primed.
"Another day, another dollar!"
Even Dr Bubby's quick, formal greeting was nice by his standards.
These chats were pleasant enough, but it all felt...slightly odd, in some back-of-the-brain, déjà vu way. He put it down to the residual discomfort from the encounter with the passport guard. After all, anybody would feel a little displaced if a total stranger walked up to them and called them 'feetman'.
Still, the test chamber was waiting, so Gordon half-sprinted down the bland corridors of Black Mesa, occasionally nodding to nearby workers. He didn't offer friendly greetings like before, though; he'd been a little demotivated on that front. He hurried through his slightly out-of-breath apologies for his tardiness to the scientists at the door, then straightened up, preparing to walk right on in and do what had to be done.
And standing in front of him as the doors slid open, with the shittiest smirk plastered across their face, was the passport guard.
"How the FU- y'know what? Y'know what? Never mind. Just get out and stay out. I have a job to do, man," Gordon groaned, but the passport guard didn't budge, instead casually leaning against the doorway.
"calm down." they said, then opened their mouth, that 'Black Mesa Sweet Voice' stuff flying out and smacking Gordon in the face. Some of the blue substance went in his mouth, and he involuntarily swallowed. The effect was pretty instant; he felt his shoulders slumping slightly, some of the tension fading from his muscles, his rage blunter - but still very much burning.
Gordon was already frustrated at how this stranger was fucking with his emotions. This was a step too far.
"Don't use that shit on me," he snarled, very much not calm, and pushed hard on the passport guard's chest. They stumbled back, and Gordon barged past them. The scientists would see them out, and no sane person would want to stay of their own volition.
Then again, this guy seems pretty insane to me.
Gordon very deliberately oriented himself so that his back was to the doorway as he prepared to initiate the test, feeling slightly concerned that he wasn’t doing this all with a clear head. A noise interrupted his fragmented train of thought, and he turned with an insult ready on his lips.
The passport guard stood with their arms crossed, teal bubbles - that ‘Sweet Voice’ shit again - floating slowly out of their mouth. The sound they were making was...unnatural, an extension of what they'd done to the guard earlier, a sort of harmonic humming and whistling. Objectively, it was a beautiful sound, but Gordon couldn’t bring himself to appreciate it.
When they noticed Gordon was looking, they didn’t seem outwardly embarrassed, just shooting Gordon a critical look.
“don’t you have a job to do bro?”
“What are you doing?”
“you shoved me. wasn’t very epic of you.” Which didn’t answer Gordon’s questions.
They shut their mouth, and Gordon let out a sigh of relief - then they opened it again, continuing without pause, this time emanating green bubbles.
"Listen, I'm gonna need you to shut up, and leave-"
He was interrupted by the sounds of the scientists - Dr Coomer, Dr Bubby, and Tommy (who he couldn't bring himself to call a doctor).
“Hello?” The distinctive voice of Tommy echoed around the test chamber, and Gordon groaned again, slamming his hands against the wall.
“wow bro. you’re really violent. wall’s not even asking for your passport.”
Was that a hint of sourness in the passport guard’s voice? It didn’t matter. This new distraction meant no more Sweet Voice, which was fine by Gordon.
“Tommy, do you know this man?” That was Bubby, sounding pretty impatient.
Gordon and the passport guard craned their heads up, peering through the window and into the small room where the scientists observed the test chamber.
“TOMMY,” the passport guard hollered.
“Hi!” Tommy’s undoubtedly huge smile was audible in his voice. It was pretty endearing, but this was no time for a friendly reunion. The passport guard briefly blew some more of the Sweet Voice, this time in a quite pleasant shade of pink, towards Tommy, before turning away.
Gordon was getting so, so sick of the Sweet Voice.
The passport guard seemed oddly silent after that exchange. The scientists were mumbling amongst themselves, as well. This left Gordon alone to his own thoughts, thank god, and he was able to do his job about as well as usual.
He couldn't help a slightly curious glance at the passport guard's face as he walked around the room to initiate the final step. It was essentially unreadable, but...was that sadness in their eyes? And he thought he saw them move, almost as if they were about to stop him - but they didn't, letting their arms fall down limply by their sides.
"We're going to have a fucking death in the workplace," Gordon muttered. "Get in the airlock."
"i'm- i'm not human."
"What? Oh, fuck off." Gordon was at the end of his tether. He didn't want the guard dead, not at all, but they were clearly immovable. They'd probably slip out at the last second. He had to believe they'd be safe, because he had a job to do, and he was already late, so he brushed the tangled mass of emotions aside, and focused all of his energy onto one, single task. Pushing the test sample into the laser.
"...Gordon?" The fucking passport guard again. Their voice was...actually wavering, and Gordon found with surprise that he wasn't enraged. In fact, he was reminded of the first time they'd met. How shocked they'd been, despite their flat tone. Their nonsensical speech. Calling him 'bro'. Familiar, but disjointed...sad, in a way. Vulnerable. And something in him didn't want to just leave them be.
Not after their inexplicable actions.
Not when they'd used his real name.
He'd hear them out just this once.
"If I listen, will you get out of here?" Gordon grumbled.
"yep."
Gordon nodded, turning slightly to narrow his eyes at the stone-faced guard, the most tired, sick expression on his face, expecting more nonsense about passports.
"i know what's going to happen next. i know about the- the resonance cascade."
Gordon paused. His face went slack with surprise. For a moment, a sick feeling rose up in his stomach, seemingly in the same vein as the other déjà-vu-type feelings the guard inspired in him. A small part of him asked, 'what if they're right?'
Then he turned around, ignoring the guard completely.
"it's...fine, bro. knew you wouldn't believe me. you never do. little- little shitty feetman. shitman. doesn't know what's good for him. doesn't even have his passport."
"Shut up," Gordon growled, and gripped the handle of the trolley, pushing the sample right into the laser beam.
He should have listened.