Chapter Text
Gordon Freeman doesn't know how, but he's standing on the stage with his graduating class, diploma in hand. Staring out into the crowd, he spots his parents, waving and no doubt beside themselves - at only 26 years old, he's a theoretical physicist, top of his class. He's on a career path that will pay him nicely, has the possibility to contribute groundbreaking discoveries in the name of science, and can secure a lovely house for both himself and his parents once they're too old to continue working. Not that that'll happen anytime soon, though. He's inherited an impressive, if not exhausting, work ethic from his mother. They're both going to work well into their eighties, or until someone stops them. His father might try, Gordon recalls the soft but concerned conversations over the phone, a gentle reminder to live a little, your twenties only happen once, after all.
Though he'd initially dismissed it, focusing on his studies and throwing himself head first into every work related opportunity that came his way, his father had been right. The last few months of his schooling had been filled with late nights, hunched over his desk doing homework, going to get coffee with his friends when they could convince him to take a break, and writing e-mails. Or, it should have been.
The last thing he remembers, he'd been studying for their final exam, barely able to keep his eyes open from lack of sleep. If his diploma is in hand, he must have passed, though uncertainty sits heavy in his stomach.
He's vaguely aware he's being addressed by the principal, and tunes into the conversation at the very end.
" ...Freeman, you're on to big things, I just know it. Make us proud."
"I will," he replied, giving the man a firm handshake and then walking briskly to take his seat among the other graduates. His parents are the last ones to stop clapping.
Navigating the sea of people in a hurry to exit the stuffy room is a chore, but upon finding his parents, his mother wraps his arms around his shoulders while his father stands politely to the side.
"We're proud of you," they say, walking out into the warm summer evening together. He knows they'll take him out to dinner to celebrate, just like they did when he announced he'd gotten into his first college of choice. And when he graduated high school. And his birthdays. They'll stubbornly refuse to take no for an answer, ushering him into the car. Apparently, his younger brother couldn't make it to the ceremony, working a late shift, but could find time to make it to dinner.
Johnathan Freeman is twenty four, and working full time. He didn't go to college, much to his parent's dismay. Gordon takes note of every time his mother smiles brightly, mentioning how proud she is of him, sending not so subtle hints John's way. At this point, his brother is good at deflecting and pretending like he doesn't pick up on it. They sit together, John is pointing at things on the menu, purposefully mispronouncing fancy words to try and get a rise out of him. Gordon elbows his brother lightly with a smile. That isn't how you say escargot, idiot.
The night goes on, and Gordon is pleasantly drunk. His quiet laughter has turned into something louder and less reserved, and his face is warm. At some point, his father offers to drive him back home.
Gordon clumsily hugs Johnathan goodbye. His brother makes an offhanded comment about Gordon being a drunk, countered almost immediately by their mother. Despite this, though, Gordon isn't upset. In fact, the entire conversation nearly sends him into hysterics. Before they go their separate ways, Johnathan lingers with the car door open to glance back inside and make Gordon promise to call once in awhile.
At 11 pm, his head hits the pillow, and he almost immediately falls asleep.
At 8:07 am, he startles awake. His alarm clock has been going off for the last twenty-two minutes, as he pulls himself into a sitting position to turn it off.
He's late for work.
It's happened again, but he doesn't have any time to dwell on the subject, as he all but jumps to his feet to stuff limbs into work clothes and hurry out the door. Today is an important day, possibly the most important of his entire career, and he'd almost slept through it!
The tram feels as though it's going at a snails pace towards Black Mesa. Stationed at Class-3 clearance, he's closer than some of the poor souls who rely on transportation to get to work, but still too far to justify trying to navigate the building's winding halls. While he waits, staring at the scientists that go by and swallowing the fear that this could lead to an early dismissal from the company, he pulls out a little notebook.
May 16th,
Time loss.
His pen taps several times on the paper, but he can't recall the last date he remembers clearly, which isn't good news. With a sigh, he closes the notebook again and slides it into his pocket. It's time to face the music, as the tram comes to a stop outside his destination.