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Exiting the train into City 17 had been like rebirth. Gordon did not know how long it had been since he had existed, but the world had changed drastically while he had not changed one iota.
He had felt rather naked for the want of his HEV Suit, but this was soon remedied following a reunion with an old friend and a former colleague, and from that moment he had become certain that he would never again know peace— even being tasked with seeking it.
He had heard the whispers of a resistance on the cusp of revolution, praising him as a returning messiah. He had been shot at and spat at, and he had been pursued indefatigably by the Combine. He had a mission that no one else could take, and with every word and every bullet, it became driven home ever more.
To this end, he had hitched a ride on another train, this one an unmanned cargo transport. He'd known that he was headed for disaster well before it had crashed, but even still he could not help being surprised when he actually felt the collision and heard the scream of the wheels.
His blood is running hot in his veins and his hand grips his weapon tightly. What the hell is going on out there?
The transport wrecks to a stop, the car shaking and turning almost completely onto its side, tremors going through the whole length of the vehicle as each successive segment of it absorbed its fair share of the impact. There is nothing but silence outside of the train for a good long moment after it had finally fallen still, seconds which felt like minutes dragging out into hours.
Then there are the shouts of voices outside, the distant ruckus of at least a half dozen people. It is unclear what faction they were aligned with— with any amount of good fortune, these people would be among those humans who respect and idolize Gordon, and who would help him on his way.
But Gordon Freeman does not have a history of good fortune.
He is thrown harshly and landed unceremoniously on his back, unable to catch himself in the force of the terrific crash. Even knowing that it was coming hadn't done much to prepare him for the entire car half-flipping like that.
Still, thankfully he does not hit his head, and because of the protection of the HEV suit, he is quick to recover. He pushes himself back up and checks his gun before cautiously moving forward.
The voices are closer, but no better defined, especially to someone whose hearing is already not the best. The entrance of the car has been crushed, leaving only a tear in the roof as an exit. Nobody is approaching it, yet. To conceal himself might mean they would leave and he would remain unnoticed, but if he were to be caught in here, there would be no escape unless he could fight his way through.
He hurries to reach that hole, climbing on some loose cargo and keeping close to the wall just nearby. He changes his grip on his gun, ready now to fire if needed, his jaw clenched. The last thing he wants to do is surprise potential hostiles, and so he decides to try and assess the situation before he makes any moves.
Unfortunately, there is no way for him to know who or what was out there without being able to see, and so he is obliged to lean toward the hole in an effort to get just a glimpse of who or what might be out there.
There is nothing through the gap that he could see past the twisted metal, only the glimmer of a smog-shrouded sun on the other side. Whomever was out there, perhaps the hole was too high to be able to see them through. But as he leaned close to it, suddenly something lean and white and muscular crashed through the open space on all fours in a blur, hurling itself on his chest and slamming him down to the ground. An angry noise was rising from its fang filled mouth.
He doesn't stand a chance. He gasps sharply in horrible surprise as he suddenly finds himself falling, crashing loudly to the ground, momentarily dazed and looking up at a beast that is most certainly not terrestrial. His chest heaves, and he tries to pick his gun back up to shoot the thing despite the impressive hold it has on him.
With an intelligence that most of the feral aliens could not boast, the beast lunges for his weapon, sweeping the gun out of human range with a single motion of its unforgiving claw. It went for the live steel so singularly that it almost seems trained for it.
"What have you found in there, buddy?" The voice is probably female and definitely dangerous, coming from the open tear in the train car.
A curse catches in Gordon's throat, which tightens at the sound of the intruder. Combine, it has to be, if they've got control of a monster like this. He's helpless; if whoever's out there is armed— and he has no reason to think they wouldn't be— then he hasn't got a chance.
He considers striking the creature, but he isn't sure he has the range to hit it hard enough to stun in and get it off of him. He might need to try it anyway, he thinks; it's probably his only shot.
A shape appears, blocking the grey sunlight from filtering in, human and dark, difficult to make out with the light from behind and the awkward angle and the viscous white alien blocking Gordon's line of sight. The person whistles in surprise. "Whoa. Is that a person?"
Without waiting for an answer, she comes closer, to stand behind whatever is pinning down Gordon.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll tell me who you are and what you're doing here."
Telling her anything is really not going to happen. Doubly so, if she is Combine, which he still strongly suspects. It's true that he can't actually see her— or anything much besides the alien pinning him down— but he does realize that if her voice is that clear, she must not be wearing a Civil Protection helmet, and reasons that this could just mean she's higher on the food chain than they are.
He wonders if she'd risk shooting this thing that's got him. Maybe it's not worth it to try, with that mouth of needles it's sporting, but he's all out of options. If he stays down like this, he's too likely to get a taste of what those nasty-looking fangs are capable of— or worse, what its master and her overlords are capable of.
Abruptly, he knees it, hard, in an effort to stun it.
The woman yells something that it is not really possible for Gordon to make out, and the alien creature rears, swiping at him with huge, horrible claws. She has come to its side in a flash, and, far from shooting him, she kicks him in the side of the head.
That came on so much faster than he'd planned for, not affording him a second to try and flip the beast. Instead, he's seeing stars. A blow that harsh is enough to make him spit blood. The claws have certainly left a mark, too.
"Stay down, tough guy," the woman says, harsh and loud and deliberate— fortunately, because otherwise he definitely wouldn't be able to hear it. "One bite from my girl will kill you in seconds. You're just lucky she's such a good listener."
So it's venomous? That's great. Not only did his almost laughably desperate gambit fail catastrophically, it could have gotten him killed as easily as an insect under a shoe. If he still believed in miracles, he would call it one that he isn't dead right this second. 'Lucky' doesn't quite sound like the right word for it, either.
Naturally, he doesn't say anything to her. He's still too busy counting the stars that burst behind his eyes anyway. His response, instead, is to do as bid, and stay down.
"Good call," she says, folding her arms as she looks down at him. Her great white companion gives a threatening little rumble. "Now talk. I want your name and I want to know why you were on a vessel that was supposedly unmanned."
He wrinkles his nose and turns his head slightly, just enough to let him open his mouth. What comes out isn't an answer, but rather that blood from the kick, which he spits onto the floor. Defiant enough, but not to the point of being stupid and aiming it at her. Mostly, it's just out of necessity. It's bitter, and there's too much of it in his mouth, leaving no room for words.
Talking still feels very much out of the question regardless; but on the other hand, he's not sure he'd like to know more about this alien's venomous bite.
The woman watches him spit out a mouthful of blood, but she can't afford to be sympathetic to an unknown variable in a climate like this one. Her naturally compassionate heart has a shell around it for just this reason. "I'm giving you ten seconds, hot shot, and you'd better be singing. What's your name?"
He looks like Gordon Freeman, if she's honest.
He presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth and rubs it up against his teeth. He honestly wishes he could check himself over. He turns his head toward the woman again and realizes that his vision is blurry; damn it all, he should have known his glasses had been knocked off his face. At least he isn't witnessing the beginning of the universe anymore.
Well, he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. He might as well take the chance that he won't get executed on the spot and tell the woman his name. He gives an experimental cough, finds his voice to be rough and thin. It sounds like rust and wear as at last he manages to answer, "Freeman."
Her eyebrows go right up in surprise, and her eyes widen in disbelief. But then she scowls, bracing her foot on his shoulder in an unspoken threat to issue him another kick. Her pet alien has moved back just a little to give her room. "Don't get cute; what's your real name?"
He shakes his head, which issues an immediate protest. The last thing he needs is to be kicked a second time. He'll probably lose a damn tooth, if this woman doesn't crack his skull with her boot.
He raises a hand a little off the ground, fingers skyward in an effort to try and pacify his captor.
"Freeman!" he repeats, more forceful, if still very rusty. It sounds like an old car hitting sixty on the freeway; barely holding together, but driven by an engine that refuses to quit.
She gives him a look that is all the more harsh, scrutinizing for a long moment. It does not make her lower her guard one bit, nor does it tempt her to call off the alien, which is still looming over him. Her scowl has evolved into a full sneer. It's hard to say which of them is more threatening. "First name, then. And don't make me wait a second time."
Right then. His voice a little clearer still, gaining momentum, with flecks of blood he at once spits, "Gordon! Dr. Gordon Freeman!"
"Bullshit!" She cocks her pistol, her other hand steadying it in a way that says she very much knows how to use it, and is unafraid to do so. "I'd have been given a heads up. Now tell me your real name!"
Gordon pales despite himself. He knows he's about to die with a certainty he hasn't felt since waking up in a trash compactor in some other lifetime he's long since been detached from. He's avoided the alien venom to get shot in the head for saying the wrong name.
What the hell can he say? If he makes up a fake name, she'll demand to know why he didn't tell it to her first, and then he's probably going to be shot on suspicion. If he insists that it's the truth, he'll be shot for lying. He's effectively and immediately out of options.
"I don't have another name to give you!" he cries. "Look!" He slams his hand down under the Lambda symbol on his armor. The metallic taste of blood is back in his mouth.
His mind is racing, projecting. He realizes that he's got about a heartbeat to roll out of the way and try to disarm this woman before the alien can bite him and show him just how deadly its teeth are.
As she decides whether to believe him, the inside of the train compartment is silent. Outside, vague sounds can still be heard of the movements of whomever she is traveling with. What they are doing is still up in the air.
Clearly, she decides not to believe him In the end. In the span of a moment, she sweeps her hand back, and the alien leaps backward out of the way, and her gun is leveled on him again to fire. It would be too narrow a span of time for anyone else to act in. Gordon Freeman is not anyone else.
There's that heartbeat, and he executes the projection in his head. Roll to the side, grab her legs, sweep them out from under her, all speed and aggression, his every movement fluid, aided by the HEV suit. Then he's on top of her, just that quick, and snarling.
She's on her back in the same moment she had begun to squeeze the trigger, the breath knocked hard out of her lungs. She tries to lift her gun again, to level it at his head. Her heart is pounding in her chest like a drum, so hard and loud that it can almost be heard.
He snatches the gun at once, his other hand shoving down on her to keep her from sitting up. She hits the ground again as he shoves her, a huff escaping her lips, her hands both lifting slightly as if she could somehow prevent the rough treatment.
It can't be helped. Not only does he need to disarm her as quickly as possible, but he has to be ready for when that alien inevitably tries to free its master.
It's funny. Now that he's this close, able to see this woman somewhat clearly, she really doesn't look like what he'd been expecting. Maybe he figured she'd be something more like the Black Ops assassins, but this woman is nothing like that. He doesn't have the time to ponder what she is, though, because even having gotten the upper hand, he is still in no less danger.
The white alien lunges for him, going for the gun which he only just confiscated from its owner— it really is trained to disarm, a stunning revelation of a creature like this one. Its huge claws are outstretched, dangerous jaw wide. Could its fangs sink through his armor?
Gordon snatches the gun back, deeply surprised by this turn of events. Why teach it specifically to disarm? Why not have it kill hostiles? Regardless, it's to his benefit, and the only reason he decides to give this woman a chance to call her pet monster off instead of following his instincts and killing it on the spot.
"Call it off!" He snaps, trying to catch the alien under the chin with the gun and his hand to keep it from biting him. Whether it can bite through metal, he doesn't want to find out. Some of these otherworldly nightmares can do worse.
"Skitch!" She demands from beneath Gordon, addressing the alien with a voice that very much sounds like she's just been punched in the gut twice. However, she has not been motivated at all to give up so easily. "Kill him, Skitch!"
The creature changes its tactic, going directly for Gordon's chest with jaws wide.
Gordon has no choice but to relinquish his hostage to avoid getting skewered by the beast, lunging to get out of the way and leaving the woman to fend for herself. No doubt, the alien will fall short of its attack, or else prove fast enough to follow him anyway. In the instant he's moving, he really hopes it's the former, but again, he's never been much for luck.
It lands overtop of the woman with its first wild leap, and then takes another lunge to try and reach Gordon. She scrambles to her feet behind it, breathing hard as she watches the fight unfold before her.
The closed space makes avoiding the attack difficult, and as he leaps to get out of the way, he actually loses his footing and stumbles slightly. He knows he can't keep this up, the thing moves like a tiger and is at least ten times as dangerous, and he's locked up with it.
Good thing he has a gun, then.
It's pretty plain that a bullet into that thing's open mouth would kill it. She must have the same thought, for she cries out for it to "stand down!" and she lunges at Gordon, throwing her weight into his arm.
The alien snaps its mouth shut and grinds to a halt in surprise and apparent confusion. It would be a funny expression on that face, in another circumstance.
Gordon doesn't try to fight to keep the gun up. Fortunately for her, he isn't as unforgiving as most of this world. He doesn't want to punish the woman or her pet alien, he just wants answers and to leave without getting busted up any worse, and most of all to avoid any further danger from the venomous fangs that seconds ago had been coming for his chest.
He has a feeling, though, that if he doesn't keep his guard up, he might get none of what he wants. He stays very firm, almost rooted.
With the gun no longer pointing at herself or her alien, she stands firm in front of him, chest heaving with every breath, one hand still on his chest and the other braced against his wrist in case he decides to get aggressive again. She almost speaks but doesn't, waiting for him to go first.
The alien looms behind her, ready to lunge regardless of command if it seems like its master would be hurt.
"Who are you?" he demands, because his aching voice has gotten this much of a workout, and he doubts she's going to know signs. His hand is still wrapped firmly around the gun, finger on the trigger.
Of course, he's sure that wouldn't deter these two without the advantages of his size and armor, because they've both already shown themselves to be so reckless as to make him wonder if they have any sense of self-preservation at all.
She looks from his face to the gun, plainly considering her options. She looks and acts like the kind of person who probably thinks she could get it away from him, pull something really clever off. She doesn't make another reckless bid for the gun, but she also doesn't play along or take her hands off him or make the illusion of acting nice. Not looking to give him the satisfaction of being in charge of the situation, she lifts her chin defiantly. "I'm not telling you a thing until I know who you really are."
"Doctor. Gordon. Freeman." he repeats himself, which is something he really dislikes doing. He meets her eyes fiercely; his own are a green that burns like fire. His finger stays firmly on the trigger.
She meets his eyes fiercely, looking between them like she's trying to find the true answer between them. Her gaze drops to the symbol on his chest, drinking it in like water.
Perhaps she didn't care to look, when he'd tried to show it to her. He can't quite blame her. He isn't sure he would have, either, in her place. He'd been too brash about it anyway, thumping his chest, but he had been so sure in the moment that he was going to be shot that it was really the best course of action he'd had. And so here they are. And she's finally noticing.
After a long few moments of staring at it, she finally looks back up at his face, her expression carefully guarded. Like she wants to believe, but just isn't sure that she can. Finally, she says, "...can you prove it?"
Even so close up, lip-reading has been tricky without his glasses, but even with hearing aids, it's the better part of how he understands speech. It takes a moment for him to realize that he hasn't misunderstood, but how would he prove something like that?
"Where are my glasses?" he asks instead. "Get them for me. Slowly."
Her eyebrows go up in surprise. She doesn't want to obey, to have to take her hands off him and move out of arm's length, but she has no real choice— he is the one who has the gun now. Slowly as bid, she moves away from him, looking around on the floor until she spots the missing item, and she leans down to collect it.
After looking the glasses over, she cleans them on her shirt, and then she comes back, and she offers them to him with that same guarded expression.
He accepts them with his free hand, bringing the gun up to chest level as a warning against any funny business. He puts the glasses on and everything becomes much clearer. Thank goodness.
There's a quality about the woman that he finds startling, though. With his glasses on, that which he couldn't place before is made very apparent. The brilliant scientist is left feeling like a Neanderthal for even thinking it.
"Thank you," he says gruffly.
She presses her lips into a thin line, but she doesn't say you're welcome, or even nod in acknowledgement. She's busy focusing on him with the glasses on, perhaps comparing his face in reality to images she's seen of him. And there are so many images of him. It's apparent that she suspects he could possibly be a fake, not the real Gordon Freeman, lying for one reason or for another.
She's... quite beautiful, now that he has his glasses on.
It's pretty incredible. She is pretty incredible, actually.
Gordon wants to rub his throat to soothe the soreness that speaking has brought on, but even as captivating as she is, he knows he can't afford to show any sign of weakness while they're still in the middle of a confrontation like this. She is only really cooperating because has her at gunpoint, and he remains at a loss as to how to prove his identity to her when the fact of his being in possession of the HEV Mark V wasn't good enough.
He has no forms of identification, no special facts that he could relay to her. Hell, he doesn't even have pockets. He only has his word, the suit, and himself; all open to her dazzling, scrutinizing eyes.
He doesn't say anything else, either. He hasn't got anything to say, except to ask more questions that he won't get the answers to, and anyway, he can't stand using his voice even as much as he already has (not to mention that he still has an injured jaw).
Seems like she'd stand there staring at him as long as he will let her. Certainly, the way her eyes move around his body and over his face, it's as if there's an awful lot for her to look at, a lot for her to absorb and take in. Maybe she is starting to believe he's who he says he is. Her pet alien— seriously! That thing is her pet! Looks are not her only incredible feature, oh no —is pacing back and forth behind her, teeth parted slightly, perhaps taking in his scent. At length, she finally gestures to him, a single upward sweet of her hand focused mostly around the HEV suit itself.
"Where'd you get it?"
He narrows his eyes, torn as to whether or not to tell her. Naturally, he doesn't want to drop a name like that, but she obviously won't tell him anything if he doesn't give her something to work with. At length, he decides to go ahead and answer, as simply as anything he's said up to this point.
"Kleiner."
Oh. She doesn't actually say oh, but it registers on her face, forms on her lips. Like he'd given the correct answer. She is quick to mask the expression, giving him another appraising look. "Okay then— what kind of pet does he have?"
Something like yours, only way smaller and he's removed the fangs, he thinks. He gestures the basic shape with his free hand before giving it the name, "Headcrab," which conjures images of the things flinging themselves at him, and so makes him visibly tense.
"You did get the suit from him," she remarks, clearly taking a moment to reconcile this as reality. Her great big alien pet gives an irritated huff, still wanting very much to lunge. Finally, deciding on what to do, she puts a palm back, and the alien sits on the ground, a doglike version of standing down. "If you are who you say you are, I'm Alyx."
Alyx. The name sounds familiar, very much so, but he isn't sure where from. This feels important, and he wonders if he could get any clarification but he knows already that he needs to choose his questions carefully if he's going to get anywhere at all with this encounter.
Besides, he really doesn't want to waste words right about now.
So, he offers his free hand as a gesture of peace.
Alyx takes it at once, giving a single firm shake. She's looking at him hard for signs of recognition, but whether there are any to find or not, she seems to decide he's alright. Taking a step back, she gestures the big alien to her side. It gives Gordon a wary look, like it's no longer sure whether to attack, even as she mutters a hushed assurance to it.
"Sorry about that. You can't be too careful these days. This is Skitch," she adds, gesturing to the alien. "Don't worry, she won't attack unless I say so."
Gordon nods understanding. In her position, he would have done the same thing. He is not proud of this; of being quick to kill or, indeed, being able to do so in the first place.
He prefers to let the satisfying firmness of the shake take precedence over these thoughts, though, lest he run the risk of remembering. Everything about Alyx is enough to keep him firmly rooted in the presence, from the handshake to her face to that deeply impressive beast— Skitch— sitting obediently beside her.
With the greeting over, he raises his hand and gives it a quick half-wave. Hello, Skitch.
It lifts its head, curious about the wave, but doesn't move otherwise. She pats its head without looking away from Gordon, and does so confidently, assured that she won't be hurt by her faithful companion. Skitch snorts, an odd trilling sound.
"Check this out," she adds, and puts her hands on her brown leather jacket, holding it open so that he can get a good look at the grey hoodie that makes the layer underneath. It bears the Black Mesa logo. "If you are who you say you are, we're on the same side."
She wants a sign. She doesn't say so, maybe even doesn't realize it, but she does. She wants to believe him, but he still hasn't pushed her over that edge.
His eyes light up with recognition. It is so good to see that logo again, the circle and its silhouetted mesa like coming home. Already he had come to believe she wasn't affiliated with the Combine, nor even a genuine enemy, but this is like meeting an old friend after a very long time. They are on the same side.
"Oh," he whispers, and almost unthinking he touches two fingers to its counterpart on his own chest; not the same as that on her shirt, but of the same meaning. Where does he know her name from?
As his hand goes to his chest, she smiles. Her smile is warm like sunlight, and has a strangely familiar quality to it. Letting her jacket fall shut again, she moves towards the opening where the sun is coming through. "Come on, Dr. Freeman. I know somebody who will be able to tell me if you really are Gordon Freeman beyond a doubt."
That smile goes straight through him, the heat pooling in his cheeks and in his aching throat, filling up his mouth like cotton (like blood). He almost doesn't remember to follow her, but makes it up with quick strides once his legs are able to move again. Stupid of him. He glances towards Skitch, curious and wary, and only once he's almost reached the opening himself does he stop and realize he's got Alyx's gun, and his own is still on the floor somewhere.
It's apparent that unlike him, she has not forgotten. At the opening, she has paused to wait for him, on the outside facing in, and as he comes up beside her, she holds out her hand to him, palm up and expectant. Her expression is playfully shrewd. "I'll need that back, by the way."
Gordon quirks his lips. It isn't quite a smile, but it's as close as it gets. He isn't quite ready to arm her without any weapon of his own, despite their apparently both being on the same side. She's already shown herself to be far too dangerous for that, and besides that, she has Skitch to back her up.
He holds up a finger, wait, and turns back to retrieve his own discarded gun before he'll be willing to surrender the automatic pistol to her.
Hmm. She looks at him like she can understand that, but isn't totally happy about it. Nonetheless, she folds her arms over her chest and tilts her hips and watches him, not interfering. Skitch scurries out past both of them, disappearing outside to somewhere Gordon can't see it. Alyx seems to trust it not to wander.
He picks up his weapon and looks it over. Doesn't seem like Skitch messed it up, thank goodness. He holds it in one hand and Alyx's gun in the other as if he were some action movie hero (the idea leaves a bad taste in his mouth, which he turns away completely to spit out with a touch more blood so as not to be rude to Alyx), and then carries both over to her.
He hands over her gun, his expression not so much warm to her as just less hard than usual. This, too, is the best he can manage. He does want to be her compatriot, but he struggles to show it― or indeed, much of anything these days.
Alyx gives a little laugh as he holds up the guns. Maybe she is having a different idea, or maybe she's having the same idea in a different light. She accepts the gun with a word of thanks, and holsters it, hidden beneath her jacket. Then she turns away, gestures for him to follow. If his stoic countenance bothers her, she doesn't show it. "Come on, big guy. Let's catch up; I'm getting left behind."
Gordon nods and follows, relieved not to have to say anything else. He holds his gun pointed down, properly with both hands now, and walks behind Alyx with his jaw set and his muscles tense. He doesn't know what to expect. He just knows to follow this woman, and counts on his decision being the right one.
She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who has always moved, climbing over uneven terrain as if it is second nature to her. It must be; her body is lithe and muscular, and there are scars on the skin that is visible. It is a strange thought. He's been gone a long time. She's calling up ahead of them both for the attention of whomever she's traveling with.
Skitch must have already caught up, for a voice is greeting it, and it is giving a trilling sound of pleasure and greeting.
Gordon is a little surprised; Skitch seemed to him the sort of creature which only has any good will for one person and one person alone. He thinks that she must be even more incredible than he realized if she could not only train that creature to be completely obedient to her, in spite of its power, but also tolerant of her comrades, even friendly with them.
Alyx is also amazing in her ability to cross this difficult terrain. She is more agile even than Gordon, with an innate sense of how to climb seemingly anything. Her movements are practiced, to watch her is intoxicating.
She slides over a ridge with a gentle ease, and calls out ahead of herself. "Barney! Barney, get over here, I need you to look at something for me!"
"I'm on my way, Alyx!" Calls someone in return, approaching with Skitch at his side. The sun makes it difficult to see him clearly, but he moves with purposeful, slow steps. "What have you found?"
Gordon wonders, just for a moment, if the fact of the matter is not that Alyx has taught Skitch to know and cooperate with her compatriots, but rather that there is a man in particular who is just close enough with her that her pet responds to him the way it responds to Alyx. Oddly not a pleasant thought, but he doesn't have the time or the mind for that now. He follows Alyx curiously, squinting against the light.
Alyx comes to stand beside the man and the alien, leaning up to swat the former on the shoulder in friendly greeting. She points back at herself, at Gordon, then curls her finger in a gesture for him to come over. "Can you tell me if this man is who he says he is?"
"Depends on who he says he is!" The man says with a familiar laugh, and squints up at Gordon. "...Gordon Freeman? Is that you?"
Gordon is suddenly holding his breath. Now that he is able to see him, there can be no question as to who that man is and yet, it seems impossible, too good to be true. They are years and miles removed from Black Mesa, and he had never entertained the idea that this man might have survived.
He almost loses his balance hurrying down the rest of the way to the ground, to get a better look, to see for himself that it could possibly be true, that he could possibly be who Gordon thinks he is.
As soon as Gordon stumbles, the man gives a laugh, hurrying forward to meet him at the bottom of the slope. His voice and movements are familiar, larger than life, exuberant as he approaches the one free man. As soon as they have reached each other, he seizes Gordon in a hug that is almost bone crushing, despite the HEV suit. "Gordon! Doggone, it is you! Took you long enough, didn't it?"
If it weren't for the HEV suit, Gordon would definitely not be able to breathe right about now. It's still so abrupt as to make him drop his weapon, and pins him effectively in place. He doesn't care about that, though. He's feeling a rush of joy like he hasn't known in ages, lifting his hands what little he's able to try and return the hug because how can he possibly express how happy he is to know that, despite everything, Barney Calhoun is alive and well?
Barney pulls him back and forth with his enthusiasm, and then releases him just as abruptly, pushing him back to hold him by his shoulders at arm's length. "Look at you. Let me look at you! Are you a sight for sore eyes! When did you get here?"
Gordon feels like he could laugh, the feeling bubbling up in his chest and only just barely not coming out as a sob. He's overwhelmed. He shakes his head and shrugs, he hasn't been here longer than a day, and this specific place, where the train tracks roll on and on toward a very dark destination, he hasn't been for all of an hour.
"So... he is the real deal?" Alyx asks, as if that could possibly be necessary right now. Barney laughs warmly, shifting to sling his arm around Gordon's shoulders as he faces her. The little brother he never had.
"Real as they come. Gordon, you already met Alyx?" He confirms, boisterous and loud as he's ever been.
Gordon's eyes are cut to Barney, watching him talk although in this proximity, it really isn't necessary. He nods, he most certainly has.
"She tried to kill me," he informs Barney. It's worth using his voice for.
"That's my girl!" Barney says with another easy laugh. Good humor has been brought to him by Gordon's presence, leaving him beaming like the sun. Alyx sticks out her tongue and waves him off.
"I didn't know who you were," she says in her own defense, appealing more to him than to Barney.
At least she's come to believe him. She gave him such a run for his money back in that train car that he honestly isn't sure he'd be able to best her a second time, so to be assured that things aren't going to come to that takes a weight off Gordon's armored shoulders.
He nods assent, and gives a partial shrug. Fair enough. He's not holding a grudge, especially knowing now that she's important to his dear old friend.
"Don't worry; this man has never held a grudge in his life," Barney says, voicing Gordon's thoughts, and releasing his shoulders. "Couldn't say he's never had a grudge held against him, though. You know, you're still on the hook for a certain casserole."
Alyx doesn't question this right now, instead coming a little closer to Gordon with a smile. "Well... maybe we could start over, then."
Like a telepath, Gordon thinks gratefully. He doesn't even show any shame about the casserole (he honestly never would have, even when he was fresh and without scars).
His attention turns to Alyx as she approaches, though, and again he is washed over by that smile of hers that shines like a beacon against a dark sky. He swallows hard. Starting over doesn't sound half-bad.
His lips quirk, and he pretends to think about it for a moment when really, he's just getting his bearings again. He touches his bearded chin, then turns his hand down and offers a thumb up.
The lovely smile on her face brightens as he gives her the gesture, and she holds out her hand with her arm straight, the gesture a flourish in itself. Now that the danger between them has passed, a natural pleasant demeanor and friendliness has come to her.
"Good. It's nice to meet you; I'm Alyx Vance."
Vance? The name sparks recognition like a light in his eyes, which widen accordingly. He takes her hand and gives it a strong shake, far more feeling in the gesture this time, but there is still a look of tremendous surprise on his face.
"Vance," he echoes, a question and a statement. Surely she can't be that Vance.
Her handshake is a good, firm handshake. When she sees the expression that registers on his face, it's funny to her— he really didn't know who she was, all along. "I guess that means you don't remember me. I look a little different, huh?"
At this, he is taken aback. He could never have been faced with more tangible proof of his own removal from the flow of time than this, even more clear and undeniable than the decay and downfall of civilization itself. She is his same age, but she can be no one else, and her face strongly resembles her mother's.
At length, he finally manages to stop gaping and nod.
Alyx seems to find his surprise charming, even funny; her mouth quirks and she raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, just a little. Before she says anything, though, something nudges Gordon's hand. Looking down, Skitch the extremely dangerous alien is investigating him.
Its face bumps against him curiously. Alyx doesn't even seem to notice it.
"You okay in there?" She asks finally.
"I think you broke him, Alyx," Barney interjects teasingly.
Gordon offers his hand, holding it a little away from himself the one might do with an unfamiliar dog. It seems that Skitch isn't sure what to make of him now that Alyx doesn't find him to be a threat, and honestly Gordon can empathize. One bite is supposed to be able to kill, but there's no aggression in these movements, and Alyx has such complete control that it seems like there's nothing to fear unless she deems otherwise.
He glances from the alien to Barney and raises his eyebrows in response to his comment. Really?
Barney catches Gordon's expression and simply winks at him, totally unapologetic. Alyx turns away from them both with an affectionate eye roll, heading in the direction the rest of the group has gone. "Come on, you two; let's catch up."
Skitch parts her jaws, but it is not to bite. It almost seems to be getting a better scent, like a mammal. Or maybe it's a threat. Either way, it's standing partially in front of him at it examines him.
Gordon feels his cheeks grow hot and hopes it isn't outwardly visible. He turns his attention back to Skitch instead, checking out this stranger who has come to be welcomed by the pack (or however its kind sees their familial groups, if indeed they have them).
He gives the creature a little upward nod. Hey yourself.
The alien stops its investigation with a huff, as if nothing could be more surprising to it than a slight nod. It takes a step back with a soft snarl, then, finally, tosses its head.
It is imitating him.
Oh, that's interesting. He wonders if this has had anything to do with how Alyx trained the beast, and how she communicates with it. He relaxes his posture, to show that this was a positive gesture. Yes, that's right, we're friends here. He turns his hands over to show they're both empty, and slowly raises one to chest level toward her.
It watches his hand, but whether or not it is intelligent enough to understand what he is trying to communicate remains up in the air. Finally it seems to decide that he is not a threat, and it moves to follow Alyx rather than bother with him anymore.
If he could have laughed, he would have. As it is, he shrugs it off and follows suit, walking along with Skitch to go with Alyx. There is still a lot he doesn't know, answers he'd like to have, but he feels like he will get those if he only goes with the flow.
His throat is tight anyway, thanks to this unexpected double-reunion. Already he's been met with Isaac Kleiner and that odd pet he's taken up with. The hope Gordon has for the world at large seems much greater in the light of knowing that there are survivors from his own small piece of it, and that he can be among them once again.
He's eager to know more about Alyx, too, who has certainly left her mark with him— damn if his face doesn't hurt.