Work Text:
This shouldn’t have been so difficult to ask.
Bubby was created to be the perfect lifeform in all literal terms. Hundreds of prototypes behind him making up a man with the knowledge of seven doctorates and the pyrokinetic powers to ignite flames in an instant. (Sometimes not always to his command. Once he got really upset at losing a bet and set their pants on fire. He did not apologize.) It took decades to gain a level of trust with scientists to keep him outside of his tube and actually do some work with them. Everything kept moving and going, even after the Resonance Cascade. Any good scientist can deduct a constant in their tests though. Bubby liked to reflect on the test that was his life and pinpoint what made a basis for it to thrive.
Doctor Harold P. Coomer. He worked at Black Mesa for a while before Bubby was successfully made. He was much younger back then, still shorter than Bubby but he made that up in muscle. Some things never change though, like his sweet smile that crinkled his face or that mustache and hair he still keeps so tidy. Throughout everything, he was there for Bubby and seemed to be the only scientist who didn’t see him as ‘replaceable’. They’ve talked and joked and all those little actions festered something in Bubby. Something that shattered when Coomer got married and broke more when he was divorced. Even after the failed lab experiment, it seemed the two were inseparable.
Bubby contemplated all of this hunched over on a very neat couch, tapping his foot to the ticking of some distant clock. So. If all of this was true, and it was, he knew that, why couldn’t he do it? Just ask Coomer to dance, just once? It was an embarrassing thing to catch himself thinking about, and even more so when the words couldn’t form, only small flames did. They had decided after escaping Black Mesa that Bubby would stay with Dr. Coomer, as he had a house made to hold more than one person that wasn’t already occupied. Since then, it was so much more difficult to strafe away from odd heartaches and the familiar heat in his cheeks. “This is stupid,” he declared in his own mind,” All of this is so dumb.” At some point tapping his foot wasn’t enough stimulation and he had leaned over to the table to grab a stray pencil. It danced around his fingers as he sat and contemplated. Stuck in his own thoughts Bubby didn’t hear the (particularly loud) footsteps of Dr. Coomer coming back upstairs.
He was removing some boxing gloves from his hands, a towel around his neck, and an ever-persistent happy smile on his face. The boxing gloves were hung up next to the basement door and he walked into the living room. Coomer hesitated for a second at seeing him so lost in thought, he almost didn’t say anything. Almost. Maybe he needed some help with something. “Hello, Bubby!” he called out in a familiar cheery tone. Bubby slightly jumped and the pencil went flying somewhere close on the ground.
“...oh. Hello, Doctor Coomer,” he grumbled. Great. He tried to be upset about his friend showing up, interrupting his thinking time, but instead, he began to calm down.
“You seemed stressed, Professor! Can I help you with anything?”
“Doctor.”
“Professor.”
“Doctor. And it’s nothing,” Bubby said, straightening up his posture, trying to convince himself of that sentence. The shorter man looked over from across the room and- oh. Clear green eyes gazed at him, full of worry and concern. Accompanied by that small curve to his smile. He felt his heart rate elevate immediately in response to seeing Coomer, even if he had seen the same sight a thousand times. It almost hurt to just sit there and not do anything. Bubby stood up from where he was and walked over to him, keeping time with the clock again against his leg. For a second it just felt like them. It was just five simple words, how difficult could it be? “Will you dance with me?” Or just once simple movement, only a few inches, to lean down and close the distance between them.
“Well, Bubby, I’m hungry,” Coomer split the silence, still looking at him. “Would you like something as well?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Sandwiches?”
“Sure, I’ll have one, thank you.” Bubby flashed a toothy smile at him as he walked away and into the kitchen, humming an acknowledgment towards the other scientist. Bubby didn’t hesitate to power walk away from the door and make it over to where he dropped the pencil, pacing around to find a spot for it. Something to take his mind off of whatever was going on, to try and regain his composure. His head debated with himself. Out of everything he could have classified himself as, powerful, perfect, Doctor, Bubby was not a quitter. Not for experiments, not for escaping a goddamn Resonance Cascade, and definitely not for asking his best friend (or maybe something more, he didn’t know) to dance. It wasn’t even that awkward of a thing, Bubby’s seen his other friends dance together and smile while doing it. This isn't difficult.
He fitted the pencil into a small tin of other pens and such on a workbench. There were a few around the house to keep ideas written down, this one under a large household calendar. Then, something new entered the atmosphere to join the ticking of that clock. Softly, some sort of gentle music began to play. Bubby snapped his head around and knew exactly where it was coming from. The kitchen. Music was a wonderful medium for both of them while working, though they had very different perspectives of ‘work music’. and didn't tend to mix tastes often. Coomer liked the type he was playing, the lyrics talking about love, and some cheesy stuff he didn’t read much. This one was interesting though. The old clock matched in tempo, this weird mix of familiar and new. He took a long breath in to enjoy the smell of the newly cleaned carpet, of home (he was finally home), then Bubby began walking towards the kitchen.
The atmosphere always tended to hold a sort of caring feeling when Coomer was in the moment, he always observed this. Even from back in their days working for Black Mesa. He was nodding his head along to the strangely recognized tune and using his Extendo-Arms to reach the kitchen for different ingredients. Bubby remembers that his hair used to be darker and his face was free of lines, but nothing ever stopped him from humming to some good music while working. He strode into the kitchen, trying desperately to figure out the name of the song.
“Ah, hello, Bubby!” Coomer called out again. He didn’t spare much eye contact though, turning back towards the snack he was preparing.
“Hello. What’s playing right now?”
“Oh, I’m playing some sweet jazz music!” He had begun to take a deep breath and Bubby could see the focus in his eyes. Coomer began to recite,” Jazz is a music genre that originated in the African-American communities of New Orleans, Louisiana, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, with its roots in blues and ragtime. Since the 1920s Jazz Age, it has been recognized as a major form of musical expression in traditional and popular music.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” The other man interrupted, rolling his hand in an ‘on and on’ motion. “What’s the song playing though?”
“‘Embraceable You’! A very good song, if I do say so myself.” Bubby chuckled at his small comment as he reached for some stray item. The lyrics sang on as he observed. He was right there, the man he’d known his whole life and spent most of it trailed by this stupid fickle feeling in his heart. But fuck the apprehension it gave him, now was the time. No weird feeling in his goddamn chest was going to hold him back forever. He took a few steps forward to be side-by-side with the other man. Looking down at him always felt like the first time. He felt that sudden hesitation again before reaching a finger towards Coomer’s to loop around. Despite them being made of metal it radiated a small bit of warmth. “Is something wrong?” He questioned, stopping what he was doing to face Bubby. There was almost a small tint on his cheeks.
“It’s a nice song,” Bubby grumbled. His other hand was keeping tempo, more with the tune of the song now. “I don’t get to listen to them with you often, that’s all.” The shorter man adorned a big grin at that statement, radiating as much energy as the Sun. That metal hand snaked its way around Bubby’s palm.
“Well, I sure do love music. Maybe I could show you more later, Bubby.” He had begun stepping away from the counter and pulling Bubby with him into the more open area. The music still sang out in the distance, carrying the both of them along. Coomer put his other hand around the taller man’s waist and looked at him a bit differently. Still with the same joy he always upheld, but with some glance of affection. He swore it was something he saw back when he was married. Bubby was brought back to the moment when his arm was moved manually to Dr. Coomer’s shoulder and suddenly they began to sway. He hadn’t realized it until only that moment but they were dancing. He didn’t have a lot of experience in this situation so he mostly let his dance partner take the lead, gliding them around the kitchen. At some point, they extended outwards and Bubby was twisted in, slightly stumbling but fitting into Coomer’s arms. They kept floating around and he couldn’t think of anything other than how handsome he was as he moved around.
Eventually, the music began to come to a still and so did they. Bubby was utterly flustered and a bit overwhelmed. At some point he hit Coomer’s metal legs and let out a large groan of pain, but other than that it was exhilarating. Their hands were still interlocked and a hand still laid on his waist.
“That…we must be the two best dancers on the fucking planet. We should show that off more,” Bubby boasted outwards. A metallic thumb began swiping over the back of his.
“Excellent thought, Professor! But maybe for now we can stay here.”
“Hey, doctor.” He began to argue. Another retort was quickly silenced by the slightly extended arm leaving his hip to cup one of his burning cheeks.
“Whatever you say, Professor Bubby!” Coomer replied, smiling. He tilted his head up, slowly in case of any misreadings. By the fact that when their lips finally connected, soft and gentle, almost immediately Bubby leaned into it, and there were no fears anymore. (Maybe the fire they both swear they heard being lit somewhere in the distance was an issue. But not for now.) Once they parted, that same exchanged look of affection was there, understood now and reciprocated. It wasn’t long though until those metal arms snaked around Bubby and clamped him into a tight hug, removing all of his air from his lungs.
“Harold!” He shouted out, a small tone of laughter in his voice mainly masked by anger. “Harold, put me down!”
Maybe it didn’t need to have been asked. Only shown and heard, they both put together, as they giggled and the radio kept thrumming along with them.