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The floodlights in the parking lot hummed like distant hornet’s nests, but right now Tommy would take that over the grating techno music inside.
It was his birthday. Of course it was, why else would he be at a Chuck E. Cheese – he and his dad had kept the running joke long into his thirties, so something as trivial as the world almost ending wasn’t about to get in the way of that. It was still a good bit the 37 th time around, especially since he’d actually had friends show up this year.
That didn’t take away from how loud it always was. The entertainment center was never really a calm atmosphere, and sometimes the music was too loud and the lights were too much and Tommy needed to take a breather. His tolerance threshold was particularly low this year. Probably had something to do with spending the past week surrounded by gunfire and full-volume yelling.
He sat on the curb outside, breathing in the cool desert night. Things were quiet out here. Well, quieter. There still was the chirping of crickets and the soft roar of the distant highway. Somewhere, a solitary coyote yowled into the sky. It sounded lonely.
Tommy was just catching a moment by himself. He could return to the party in a few minutes, his social battery recharged enough from the break to handle the sensory input. It was something about himself that he monitored closely, and had done so for years. Even when he and his colleagues were crashing through the underbelly of Black Mesa, there were a couple moments Tommy had to blink out of there, grabbing time by the shirt collar and telling it, “Hold up. I need a minute.”
The door behind him opened and the pulsing bassline poured out. Tommy recognized the heavy tread that approached and didn’t even need to turn his head to know that Gordon Freeman had followed him outside. The door swung shut, muffling the music once more. Tommy exhaled quietly.
“Hey,” Gordon said, drawing up beside him on the curb but not sitting down. “You know the party’s in there, right?”
Tommy offered him a polite smile. “I know, Mr. Freeman,” he said. “I’m just taking a break.”
Gordon crossed his arms, filling out the sleeves of his uniform’s undershirt. The top half of his coveralls were tied around his waist in a charming way that made him look more like a mechanic than a physicist. He had shed the HEV suit’s armor as soon as he arrived, bemoaning not even being able to change after enduring the apocalypse.
Tommy himself wasn’t a fan of that detail, either - he’d ditched the tie and the lab coat as quickly as possible. Oh, and he’d gotten rid of the blood. Chuck E. Cheese was a family establishment. It would just be plain rude for them all to show up covered in gore and grime - think about the kids.
Gordon was still looking at him. “You good?” he asked.
Tommy nodded. “I’m fine,” he assured him. “You can go back inside. I’ll only be a couple more minutes.”
“I actually think I’m gonna stay out here, too, if that’s okay,” Gordon went on. “My head is killing me.”
He was teetering there, still awkwardly staring down at him, and Tommy belatedly realized Gordon was waiting for his permission. Tommy flicked him a cursory up-and-down look. He was fond of Gordon, he really was, but the guy did have a tendency to never know when to shut up.
God, he looked bone-deep exhausted, though. His eyes didn’t used to look like that, faraway and weary, with purple half moons underneath. He probably wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for 24 hours straight.
A little peace and quiet was the least Tommy could offer. He wordlessly patted the concrete next to him in invitation. Gordon picked up on the cue and gratefully eased himself down beside him. They were sitting close enough to touch, but they didn’t. The coyote howled again.
“So,” Gordon made it thirty seconds before breaking the silence. “Your dad is… Interesting.”
Tommy exhaled quickly out of his nose, almost a laugh. People said that about his dad a lot. “It’s okay, you can tell me he’s weird,” he allowed. “He’s been around for a while and he kind of forgets how to talk to people.”
A trait that Tommy had quickly learned he inherited. He said some pretty weird things, too. Well, weird to most people. Tommy always made perfect sense to Tommy, so Tommy was who Tommy usually talked to. The fact that Gordon so often sought out his company was still new to him.
“I mean, he did just spend like, ten minutes trying to tell me that Chuck E. Cheese’s wasn’t a restaurant,” Gordon said. His tone was bitter in a careful way, like he was trying not to offend for Tommy’s sake.
He only shook his head and gave Gordon a bemused smile. “It’s not a restaurant, though.”
“Oh - you - you, too, huh?” Gordon waved him off tiredly, his voice subdued and without its usual bite. “It serves food, okay? That makes it a restaurant.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy chuckled, astounded at this man’s ability to find the smallest possible hills to die on.
“Thanks, buddy,” he sighed, reaching out a hand to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
It was an unfamiliar gesture, if only due to the fact that not three hours ago Gordon had been missing that hand. Tommy’s father had bestowed him a new one - thank you for your service and all that - and while Tommy was used to a healthy amount of the surreal, this particular gesture stuck with him. Maybe it was because Tommy had been there when Gordon’s hand had been chopped off. Maybe it was because he’d seen what Gordon was like, on the edge of death from the injury. It made all the suffering he went through seem remote, like it hadn’t even happened.
Not that Tommy wanted Gordon to still be missing a hand. It was very good that he had it back. But the wound was invisible now, living only in both of their heads, not even a scar to show for the hell they survived. Tommy found himself staring at the conjured limb as Gordon returned it to his own lap. How had his father done that? Was it any different from his other hand? Had he just pulled a copy of it from the past and attached it to present Gordon? Did it hurt at all?
He wished he knew. He wished he could have fixed things for Gordon as soon as it happened. Would have saved him a lot of pain.
“Tommy,” Gordon prompted.
Tommy’s eyes flicked guiltily back to Gordon’s face. “Yeah?”
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem a little spaced out there.”
“Yeah,” he answered tonelessly. Tommy didn’t know how to explain that he was thinking this hard about Gordon’s hands. “Does your head still hurt?”
Gordon rolled his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I mean, yeah, but - heh - felt worse before, right?” he attempted to laugh, not quite succeeding.
Tommy was sure Gordon hadn’t meant for the comment to sting, but he winced anyway. It felt like far too soon to be joking about what just happened to them.
Gordon noticed. “Listen, Tommy, it’s really nothing,” he said. His voice was careful, soft, the edges sanded down in the absence of the past week’s adrenaline. “Just a little too much in there for me right now. I’ll get over it, okay?”
“You shouldn’t... have to, Mr. Freeman,” he replied. Tommy sighed and removed the silly propellor hat he was wearing, flicking the spinner distractedly. “If it hurts you, you should make it better.”
“What, you mean, like, take an ibuprofen or something?” Gordon asked.
Tommy stared at him, deadpan. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a headache in my life.”
The laugh that stumbled out of Gordon was pleasant to Tommy’s ears. It was genuine, mellow, not shrilled out from nervousness or anger like so many of his previous laughs had been. The sound pulled a smile from Tommy. He wanted to keep hearing it. He wanted to keep making it happen.
“If you need to get away,” he continued tentatively, “I know a place. It’s quiet.”
Gordon stopped laughing. Fixed Tommy with a curious look. “Right now?”
Tommy nodded despite the flush he felt creeping up his neck. “Mhm.” He’d been there many times. Alone, of course. It kind of defeated the purpose of going to a quiet place if you brought someone else with you. But Gordon was different. Gordon was okay.
“You want to just get up and leave your own birthday party?” Gordon asked, skeptical.
Tommy shrugged. “I can restart things. It’ll be here when we get back.”
The other man’s eyebrows furrowed with disbelief. “What do you mean, restart things?”
“Take us back; restart things.” He repeated, waving a hand vaguely. “Y’know, like, time? For a little.” He didn’t like to turn back the earth for more than an hour - things got weird if he did - but he didn’t imagine they’d need to be gone that long. Just long enough to make it better.
Gordon wasn’t entirely tracking. Tommy could see it on his face. But when he stood and offered his hand, Gordon took it without hesitation. Just like he had back at Black Mesa, when it was just the two of them against the cruel, cold world. Gordon had placed his unconditional trust in him, and Tommy had sworn to hold it close, keep it safe, never let it break.
He realized he was just standing there, staring at him. Hand in newly restored hand. Tommy blinked and pulled Gordon to his feet, the motion natural and reflexive after their week in hell together.
“Man, I still don’t know how you can just pick me up like that,” Gordon said as soon as he was upright. “You’ve gotta weigh what, a buck forty?”
“The soda gives me special energy,” Tommy replied dryly, just to make Gordon laugh, which he did.
He led him through the parking lot, patting the pockets of his slacks until he found his keys. As he pulled them out with a merry jingle, he and Gordon approached a truck on the far end of the lot. It was a Toyota Tacoma pickup, bright orange. Cheerful. Next to him, Gordon made a surprised noise.
“You can drive?”
Tommy gave him a curious look as he hit the unlock button on the key fob. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be able to?”
Gordon faltered, dark eyes thoughtful behind the lenses of his glasses. “I dunno, I guess I thought you grew up in Black Mesa or something,” he answered. “There weren’t a lot of cars there, right? Like, y’know how some people from New York never learn how to drive because of all the public transportation?”
Tommy just shrugged again, somewhat relieved Gordon wasn’t assuming he was too infantile to drive. It was a useful skill to have. Plus, he liked it. “I learned,” he said simply.
They climbed inside the vehicle, the ambient sound of the desert night muffled by the doors closing. Tommy started the car while Gordon put on his seatbelt.
“I didn’t really peg you as a truck person, either,” Gordon commented.
Tommy fastened his seatbelt as well, so the safety alarm wouldn’t sound off as soon as he hit the gas. A nice feature, he considered, if crashing and dying in a wreck was ever a concern to him. “It’s not always a truck, Mr. Freeman,” he explained.
Gordon snorted. “Of course it isn’t. Sure.” He gazed thoughtfully out the window at the parking lot while Tommy threw the Tacoma into gear. “You can just change your car into a different kind of car?”
He nodded.
“Is it always orange?”
“Usually,” Tommy answered, passing Gordon a fond smile. “I like orange.”
They drove. It didn’t take long to reach the highway, then to reach the access road off the highway, then to reach the little dirt track that snaked its way through the sand. The truck trundled past a barbed wire fence and Tommy rolled down the windows, letting the night air rush in to chill them. He didn’t play any music. It wasn’t the night for that.
“Where are we?” Gordon asked. “Where did your dad send us?”
“The Chuck E. Cheese is in Las Cruces,” Tommy replied as he cut the wheel. The Tacoma bucked and jostled them as they went off road.
“Las Cruces - so wait, we’re still in New Mexico?” Gordon tore his eyes away from the scenery to give Tommy an incredulous look. Well, as well as he could while he was bouncing around. “He just put us all back in the middle of fuckoff nowhere?”
“Yeah,” Tommy answered mildly. He thought it was pretty out here. “White Sands is just past those mountains.” He pulled the vehicle to a stop, put it in park, and pointed at the terrain in question.
To Tommy’s surprise, Gordon's eyes lit up. “The missile range?” he asked. “You know that’s where they tested the atomic bomb, right?”
Tommy was aware. He had fact-checked the Wikipedia article for WSMR several times during his employment at Black Mesa, and the topic was frequently touched on while he was getting his degree. But it was good to see Gordon excited about something, so he invited him to keep talking with an, “Oh, really?”
He listened to Gordon go on at length about the proving grounds and the Trinity detonation while he opened the door and let himself out. Gordon’s voice was animated and charming, and it brought a faint smile to Tommy’s face as it filled the desert night. In the backseat of the Tacoma was a tidy collection of pillows and blankets that Tommy piled into his arms. As he went to carry them to the bed of the truck, Gordon distractedly followed him.
“And then in the nineties they started hosting the Bataan Memorial Death March marathon there, and - oh, hey, d’you need a hand with that?” he asked as he clambered down from his seat.
“I’ve got it, Mr. Freeman,” he answered. “Thank you.”
Tommy tossed the blankets lightly into the bed and opened the tailgate. He climbed up, offering his hand once more to Gordon. The wind ruffled coolly through their hair as they paused. It wasn’t like the guy needed any help crawling into the bed of a truck - they both knew this - but Gordon gratefully took his hand anyway and let himself be pulled inside.
“Man, you’ve got this all figured out, huh?” Gordon commented as he took in the heap of blankets.
That he did. Tommy had come on many teeth-chattering night drives out to this spot over the years. Later on, when he’d come into his abilities, he would simply wink out of existence and end up here. The desert was peaceful, the mountain range enchanting. Tommy loved it. He kicked out the blankets and shuffled them into a more comfortable pile, trying to ignore the way his heart was starting to flutter.
He didn’t take people out here. This was his spot. But…Gordon was here. He’d put him in his truck and brought him here. And Tommy wanted him to be here. He really, really wanted him to be here.
“Whoa,” Gordon breathed as he settled back on one elbow to fully look at their surroundings. “This is… beautiful, Tommy.”
They were stretched out under the wheeling stars, the Milky Way tracing a smoky band across the velvet night. The southern Rockies bordered the desert like sentinels, guarding them and keeping them safe. Juniper and sagebrush cast the night in a heady scent, and somewhere faraway, a great horned owl hooted.
Tommy watched Gordon take it in. This was his place, and he desperately wanted Gordon to like it. His eyes were wide with wonder, the starry night reflected prettily in the lenses of his glasses. The tension that had built up in his shoulders was slowly soaking away in the quiet. He looked relaxed, for once. At ease.
The streaks of gray at his temples were likely new, brought on by the stress of recent events. Tommy fought the impulse to reach out and thread his fingers through his hair. He had done it in Black Mesa, when Gordon was half-conscious from blood loss, but now it was different. It would mean something else.
Gordon caught him looking. Raised his eyebrows in question. “What?”
Tommy blushed delicately and laid back to look at the stars. The stars didn’t look back. Usually. “Nothing,” he said.
They stargazed in silence, the desert sighing softly around them. It was a chilly night, and Tommy could sense Gordon subconsciously closing the gap between them for warmth. When they were close enough to be touching from shoulder to elbow, Tommy’s heart rate had worked up to a jog. It was bizarre; only yesterday personal space was out the window for the two of them, a cascading apocalypse forcing them to lean on one another to survive.
Now Tommy was keenly aware of the warmth radiating from the man beside him, and he found it incredibly unfair that the script had been flipped on him so suddenly.
“Hey, Tommy?” Gordon’s voice tugged him out of his thoughts.
Tommy turned his head slightly to indicate that he was listening.
“Did you…know? About like, everything that was happening?” He asked, his voice small. “The Resonance Cascade and the aliens and the - the weird shit with Benrey?”
“No, Mr. Freeman, I didn’t know about that.”
“Your dad just kind of let us take care of it without telling you anything?”
Tommy hesitated. “He didn’t… tell me anything, no.”
There were some clues he picked up on as they went along, but there was no way he would have been able to explain it to the science team at the time. Not in a way that made sense. He hoped Gordon didn’t think he was keeping anything from him while they were clawing their way through the halls of Black Mesa. The last thing he wanted to do was betray the man’s trust.
But all Gordon said was, “Pretty fucked up of him to leave you in the dark like that.”
“I...” Tommy faltered. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He had been dealing with his father’s tendency to play god all his life. The emotional detachment with which the man made decisions was prudent, but he often forgot how cold he really was. Yes, his father loved him. Tommy was aware of this. But loving someone and showing it were two different things.
At that realization, he turned his head to look at Gordon fully. The other man was already staring in his direction, the space between his eyebrows wrinkled in concern. It was sweet that he was worried. Gordon was the only member of their little ragtag team who had consistently asked after his wellbeing. Tommy reached out with a delicate hand and removed his glasses, folding the frames carefully and setting them aside. Gordon let him, watching expectantly.
God, his eyelashes were so long. It was a wonder they didn’t get all tangled up when he blinked.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Tommy told him.
“Okay,” Gordon answered immediately. “Is there something else you want to talk about instead?”
He smiled softly and shook his head. This was a quiet place. There was nothing left to say.
Tommy kissed him in the same way he did everything: with care and purpose. He thought about it first, decided it was right, and he did it. The brief, gentle press of Tommy’s mouth against Gordon’s was like a sheet of rain rolling over the desert, soaking them both with a muted calm. When he pulled away, his entire body felt weightless. Gordon was starry-eyed.
Tommy touched his fingertips to his own tingling lips, feeling his face go hot. He really just did that. “I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman,” he murmured. “I should have asked first.”
He didn’t regret it, though. He held Gordon’s gaze as the stars shifted silently overhead. Tommy realized he had done the impossible - he had rendered Gordon speechless.
Then his hand was on the back of Tommy’s neck and he was pulling him in again. Gordon kissed him in the same way he did everything: headfirst and with passion. It was blood roaring in his ears and fire burning in his stomach and as Tommy fisted a hand in Gordon’s hair, he thought he might never come up for air again.
They lay side by side in the bed of the truck, mouths meeting and parting and meeting again, slipping under each other’s skin. The trust they had built together bloomed into a lovely affection there in that desert night. And while they had to go back to the world eventually, Tommy was content to stay here for now, drinking in the quiet and the wonderful man in his arms.
The stars glittered brightly. The mountains stood tall and vast. Tommy would stop the world a hundred times over for this.