Chapter Text
Black Mesa was an interesting place to work. It was a steady stream of employees. Many would quit from the stress of testing, and more would leave for Aperture.
But this week, the laboratories seemed more abuzz than usual about a new scientist among them. It was strange to be excited for this kind of thing, a certain couple doctors would think.
It was a Thursday tradition for Gordon Freeman and Dr. Harold P. Coomer to get coffee together in the break room after work. Of course, there was a new hot topic for the both of them; a new employee. Gordon stood leaning against the wall holding a styrofoam cup of the absolute worst fucking coffee he’d ever had in his life. Coomer sat in a chair pulled from a table next to him, his cane balancing against said table. He had his own cup, but Gordon wasn’t entirely sure what was in it. It was possible Coomer didn’t even know what was in it.
“Have you met our new coworker yet, Gordon?” Coomer asked.
Gordon shook his head. “Nah, man, I haven’t met them yet.”
He sipped from his chain-cafe mocha, hand tensing slightly as he very clearly was trying not to react to the coffee being blisteringly hot. Coomer knew it was too hot. Gordon knew it was too hot. Neither of them addressed this.
“I must admit, neither have I!” Coomer chimed, “I’m excited to meet them, myself!”
“Ready to mingle again, huh?” Gordon joked with a soft smile, “Heard they’re your age anyways.”
“Gordon, I can’t go back to Christian Mingle after The Incident!”
“What-Mingle’s just a word. It’s not-You’re not even Christian!”
Of course, two years prior had been Coomer’s latest divorce. His blasted ex-wife was well out of his life. Perhaps he was ready to mingle, but definitely not with Christians.
“What incident?” Gordon gestured with the hand holding his coffee, spilling some.
“Do you know the new person’s name?” Coomer very pointedly did not answer Gordon’s question.
“...Huh. No clue. You should ask tomorrow, they should-they’ll probably start by then.”
“I believe I will, Gordon!”
The two continued to chat about recent work events, drifting from the topic of this new coworker.
Coomer had no idea what he’d just gotten himself into.
The very next day, Coomer found himself in the lab as usual. Today’s experiment involved several vials of colorful liquids, and beakers everywhere. He wasn’t actually sure what he was doing; he wasn’t really paying attention. All he knew was that he probably shouldn’t drink any of it, no matter how thirsty he was. Really wanted to, though.
Coomer stared down the beaker he was holding. Bubbly, blue, and letting off an ambiguous smoke. Man, he really wanted to drink it. He really wanted to drink it.
Maybe he should. A little a chemical poisoning, as a treat.
Before he lifted the beaker, a small tap on the shoulder happened.
As he turned his head, he saw Gordon once again, smirking. Gordon silently pointed across the room to a man Coomer had never seen before.
That new coworker.
The man was balding like a motherfucker, scrawny, and Coomer made a generous estimation of 70 years old. His glasses were square and very opaque. Must’ve been a very strong prescription, because his eyes were almost entirely obscured. The lab coat they’d given him was too small for his beanpole self, being a bit short and his sleeves were a bit too low on his upper arms.
He was unremarkable in every way, a perfectly normal man.
Exactly Coomer’s type.
“Can you get out of my god-damn way?” The new coworker papped a distracted security guard on the shoulder.
The guard blocking his path turned with a slightly delayed reaction, “wuh?”
“I said, I need to bring these reports to what’s-his-nuts. You’re in my way.”
“you don’t have to be mean,” the guard blinked, “i’m just uuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-floor. there’s ants down here.”
“I don’t care about ants.” The scientist scoffed, “Move.”
Finally, the path was cleared, and he rushed out of the lab to whoever ‘what’s-his-nuts’ was.
He was old, rude, and he hated insects.
It was apparent that Coomer was fucked.
Love at first sight was all fine and dandy for Coomer. But the hard part was here; saying hi. There was almost no reason to be intimidated by that man.But while Coomer was built like a brick wall in mass, he was also like a wall in social skills. It was a miracle he’d ever been married. Perhaps there was a science team studying the probability of Coomer finding the only woman in the entire world who would marry a man that called puddles on the sidewalk ‘Sweet Floor Juice’.
What was the best way to approach him? Coomer was contemplating this, standing at his employee locker. Maybe he could go punch him in the neck. This wouldn’t accomplish anything but alleviating Coomer’s built in Violence Meter. There would be no reason to punch him.
“Why is everyone in my way today?”
Coomer turned, and there he was. The new guy.
“Your locker door’s blocking mine.” The man pointed out, far less irritated than he was with the security guard.
“Ah!” Was all Coomer said, making way for him.
The new guy quietly thanked him, and opened his locker. He took off his lab coat, hanging it up inside. Coomer twiddled his thumbs, looking over to him with only one thing on his mind;
“What’s your name?”
“Huh? Hm. Bubby. I think.” He replied, “If memory’s on my side.”
“I thought that was the Security Chief’s name!” Coomer raised an eyebrow.
“The one that was eating ants?”
“He was eating ants?”
“I saw him eating them off the floor.”
Coomer’s face fell a bit, “But that’s my job!”
Bubby immediately broke into laughter, slapping his knee as he did. It continued for a few moments until he noticed Coomer wasn’t laughing with him.
“Can you please laugh? You’re scaring me. Please laugh.”
“At what?”
“Oh my god. At your joke.”
Coomer paused.
“I didn’t make a joke, Bubby!”
“Oh come on, I wasn’t born yesterday.” Bubby scoffed, smirking while adjusting his glasses.
A silence long enough to measure the planet Earth fell on the two.
“...I was. It’s a joke. I’m making a joke too.”
The silence continued.
Bubby cleared his throat awkwardly, “I think we both might suck at making jokes. So, uh...”
“I am Harold Pontiff Coomer, PHD!” Coomer answered before Bubby could ask.
“Pontiff? Are you Catholic?”
“Not allowed to be after The Incident!”
“What incident?”
“I’ll tell you for 1 Play Coin!”
Bubby stared, then exhaled dramatically as he dug in his coat pocket for his Black Mesa Mandated 3DS System.
“Fucker, got me curious.” He mumbled, tapping on the device to transfer the Coin.
A ’ding’ came from nowhere in particular, and Coomer grinned.
“I gave the Pope a Christmas present! A box full of PS3 games!” Coomer chimed, “And now I can’t be Catholic anymore!”
“That’s bad? Is the Pope an Xbox guy?” Bubby scoffed.
“Well, that’s where we reach our problem! I tried to get this man every PS3 game ever made into one box, and I did manage to fit them all!” Coomer explained.
“Then what?”
“He wasn’t quite happy I gave him an empty box!”
Bubby’s brows furrowed. There was a long pause as he got up, dragged a chair from the corner over to where Coomer stood, turned it around, and sat in it backwards as he faced the other doctor.
“I think you are the hottest fucking thing in the universe right now.”
As the weeks went on, Bubby had slowly wormed his way into Coomer’s daily schedule. Coffee breaks together, going to Bubby’s company-provided dorm room for movies, and even get-togethers outside of work.
Coomer figured it was finally time to ask Bubby out. It had been long enough for it to be acceptable, after all.
In the locker room, the two exchanged banter about the definition of “mollycoddled ”. Bubby insisted it had to do with spoiled milk. Coomer would retort that it obviously was a word for when a nurse committed malpractice.
“So, Bubby?” Coomer finally got his courage together, “Would you care for a… date sometime?
Bubby was clearly surprised, eyebrows shooting up in bewilderment, “Uh, where?”
“We can go out for drinks!” Coomer suggested, “There should be a nice bar somewhere.”
Bubby laughed, “We don’t need a bar!”
“We don’t?”
“Well, I have a shitton of booze in my locker!” Bubby suggests while pointing in the direction of the staff room, “Might take the edge off.”
“Oh, I do love to make my throat burn in agony!” Coomer clapped his hands together in glee.
The two went to Bubby’s locker.
“What’s your poison?” Bubby elbowed Coomer in the arm playfully. Coomer reflexively punched him, sending him back about three feet before falling over a bench.
“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, Bubby!” Coomer ran over, helping him up, “I’m afraid my muscles are just too hugelarge fuck-huge-...big, for most to handle!”
“Yeah, I noticed .” He groaned back, “How many words do you need to say you’re ripped?”
“I have big strong arms!”
“Yeah, I… noticed.” This time around Bubby sounded more bashful, turning his head slightly to cough awkwardly.
Bubby was silent for a moment, opening his locker. Sure enough, there were alcohol bottles inside. After he selected a bottle, he stepped aside to let Coomer peruse his various drinks. He made a ‘ladies first’-like motion to tell Coomer he could help himself.
“You strike me as a vodka man, Harold. It’s in the back to the left.”
“I’ve never had vodka, Bubby! What does it taste like?” Coomer grabs the bottle.
“You ever eaten a Sharpie?” Bubby answers with another question.
“No!”
“You should try it sometime. It’s a great summer snack.”
“What does a Sharpie taste like?”
“Vodka.”
“Well, what does vodka taste like?”
“It tastes like a Sh-” Bubby began, but cut himself off as Coomer chugged the vodka as if it was soda,”Shhh-IT?! DR. COOMER?”
Coomer finished, and handed the bottle back as he used his sleeve to wipe his mouth. Somewhere around 60% of the alcohol was remaining in the bottle. He beamed at Bubby.
“I left you some!”
Bubby hesitated before swiping the bottle and taking a big honking swig of it. He wasn’t about to let Coomer outdrink him, apparently. He downed another good portion of it until he had to practically throw the bottle to the floor as he gagged and coughed.
“What is WRONG WITH YOU?” Bubby hacked, “How did you do that?”
“The Cybernetics department replaced my tongue and throat! I can now withstand consuming any known substance! Even lava!”
“Oh, you lucky motherfucker.” Bubby closed his locker, leaving the vodka bottle on the ground.
The night would continue as the two men drank and started shooting the piss. Things got a tad touchy. Coomer wrapped an arm around Bubby, snickering all the while. Bubby would laugh too, causing Coomer’s heart to skip a beat. A laugh that amazing could destroy him. It was actually a very ugly laugh, but Coomer didn’t care.
“Buh-Bubby, I want to give you something.” Coomer gestured to his own locker.
“What? You-You. You.”
“Me!”
“But come-c’mere.” Coomer hobbled over to it with his cane barely supporting him. Bubby followed clumsily, stumbling to catch up with Coomer.
Coomer rustled in his locker, swaying slightly in his movements. He searched until he found something small that he immediately concealed in his hand. His tipsy smile grew wider when he shuffled towards Bubby, holding out a fist that held whatever the small treasure was.
Bubby watched as he opened his palm.
A ring, small and silver. It looked like a wedding band.
“I held onto this after the divorce!” Coomer giggled, “I think it’d suit you.”
“What, you wanna get hitched already?” Bubby gave a sleazy smirk, holding Coomer’s shoulder to keep himself balanced, clearly on the verge of laughter himself.
As Bubby’s joke processed, Coomer turned redder than he already had been from intoxication. The swaying doctor before him began blushing as well. Bubby took the ring and slowly slipped it onto his finger.
It was a joke.
Just a little snarky comment.
They stared at each other.
Two guys shooting the shit.
Bubby inched his face closer to Coomer’s.
It wasn’t serious.
They were both leaning in.
Bubby and Coomer were just work friends hanging out.
In a flash, they were kissing.
7 billion people on Earth, and each and 6,999,999,998 could go fuck themselves in that moment. They were the only people in the world as far as the two doctors were concerned.
Until Coomer felt Bubby twitch, tensing up.
Bubby suddenly lurched back, away from the kiss. He slowly held trembling hands up to his scalp, seemingly trying to feel his own pulse. Sweat began to drip down his forehead.
“Bubby?” Coomer gasped, reaching a hand towards Bubby.
“That isn’t right.” Bubby let out a breathless chuckle, “This isn’t right at all!”
“What? What is it?”
“I suddenly feel… I’m not sure.” Bubby’s eyebrows were furrowed, expression unreadable past his thick glasses. Even without eye contact, Coomer could feel a cold gaze linger on him.
“Doctor, I don’t know if I’m ready for-” Coomer put up both hands, worried about Bubby’s next words.
“...Hungry…?” Bubby’s voice was weak, wavering and laced with fear.
“Do you have a blood sugar issue, Bubby? You’re shaking.”
“Harold…”
Bubby tried to laugh nervously, but what came out was a breathy, exhaling and strangled giggle. He stared directly at Coomer, before backing away slowly towards the door of the locker room. Something was very, very wrong.
“Is it blood sugar, Bubby? We can go get a Snack or a Soda!” Coomer took a step forward. Bubby took a step back.
They continued; Bubby stepping back, Coomer stepping towards him. Bubby had gone pale, sweat dripping off his brow. The shakes got more and more twitchy until Bubby finally spoke.
“Stay away from me!” He stammered, “I don’t want-!”
Coomer tried to approach again, and that’s when Bubby turned around and slammed his body against the door to open it. He stumbled, then ran the fastest he could down the hallway, turning a corner.
Coomer bolted out of the room, only to hear a piercing scream from down the hall. He ran towards the source, only to stop dead in his tracks.
The other doctor was crouching over a security guard; a dead one at that. Strange wet sounds hit Coomer’s ears, watching Bubby scoop pieces of the guard out, splashing crimson on the floor.
“Bubby!” Coomer went running towards Bubby once more, but maintaining at least 10 feet from him.
Bubby’s glasses clattered to the floor as he looked up, turning his head in a jerky motion with viscera drenched on his face.
It’s then that Coomer sees Bubby’s eyes.
No.
His lack of eyes. Behind those solid glasses, there was nothing.
Gore was splattered everywhere, staining Bubby’s coat, hair, and face. Bubby got to his feet, twitching all the while. He opened his mouth, with some meat falling out and onto the ground with a grotesque plap . But all that came out was a strained wheeze; “Hhhhh-”
“Now, Bubby, I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to do!” Coomer’s tone was informative and neutral as ever, but fear was showing in his eyes.
An alarm sounded. Coomer heard boots hitting the tiled floor in the distance, and the next thing he knew it, Bubby was shambling towards him.
“H aa -..a aaa-r rrr-” Bubby gurgled.
Coomer barely saw the guard that ran around the corner even draw his gun. A shot was fired.
“-Oo OOo-ll d-!”
No blood emerged from Bubby as the bullet hit him.
Another shot. Then three, five, ten… On and on, until the fire ceased, and Bubby crumpled to the floor unceremoniously.
“That was a close one, Dr. Coomer.” The guard lowered his gun slowly, “I’ll report another failed prototype.”
“Another what?” Coomer’s voice cracked. But no elaboration came.
The usual were deployed, running to their aid. Guards, first aid, and the supervisors in charge of the project. With the medics searching him for any injury, Coomer was seated on a stretcher. The sounds of walkie-talkies buzzing mingled with the idle chatter of the guards and supervisors. From the stretcher, Coomer’s eyes were locked on the body limp on the ground.
Ten minutes ago the man laying on the ground, viscera still dripping down his face, had been a man after his own heart. How quickly that statement became literal was still making his pulse spike. The daydreams of a life together lingered in his mind; still looking in horror at Bubby’s lifeless body.
‘Prototype’.
How many ‘Bubby’s had there been?
How many more will there be?
One word echoed in Coomer’s mind as medics took him to treat the shock.
Why?
The moon rose over Black Mesa, glimmers of light lining an absolute void above them.
That was how Coomer met Bubby for the first time of many.
And every subsequent time, it was how Coomer fell in love with Bubby. Again, and again, and again.