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“I knew you’d come sooner or later,” Gordon said good-naturedly as a greeting.
In the dark window crevices and on the roofs of the dilapidated buildings of the Quarantine Zone, Barney spotted the strong, lithe bodies and glowing eyes of the watching Vortigaunts. He hadn't expected them to let him near their abode after their previous skirmish. That had happened about a year ago, but the one-eyed ones have long memories...
"I brought you a sandwich," Calhoun began, feeling like an idiot. "A big one. True, it's meatless, and you can't find any cheese these days, the cows are all dead… well, you know that perfectly well. But it has fresh bread and vegetables — our greenhouse has produced a good harvest…"
"Thanks, Barney," Gordon accepted the package, and some of the weight fell from the man's shoulders. "Would you like to sit down?"
Barney shook his head. Even though his knee, a result of a war injury, ached and bent poorly, he chose to stand. It was all because of the damned goosebumps crawling up his spine. He couldn't get used to the fact that Gordon, despite the autumn chill, was completely naked. His gaunt body was covered in patterns of phosphorescent paint made from the spores of the Xen plants that had taken a liking to the local apartments.
Freeman sat down on the battered mat and dipped his sandwich into the murky concoction. It would have looked quite edible if not for the pair of glowing eyes floating on its greenish surface. The man's soft, striped and dotted penis disappeared behind the bowl, and Barney felt some relief. However, the words still struggled to get through his throat:
"We're rebuilding City Seventeen, would you like to come back? It's become quite bearable there. Alyx misses you..."
"Me too. I miss you so much," remained unspoken.
"I'm happy here, Barney," Freeman said simply, and began to eat. He should have looked silly: naked, with those childish drawings on his skin depicting hundreds and hundreds of eyes, and a trickle of soup running down his beard. But he was so open and free that Calhoun even felt envious.
"Well, glad to see you're doing okay," Barney scratched his head, taking another look around the minimally furnished wooden shack, which didn't have a single electronic device in sight.
He was deeply confused, unable to imagine how to maintain a conversation with a man SO changed. "He doesn't give a damn about my apology," Calhoun thought with a hint of despair. "He's not even human anymore. At least not on the inside."
Barney's heart was screaming like a Combine siren. He couldn't have imagined it — sparks, as bright green as his eyes, were pouring from Gordon's fingers.
"What did the Vortigaunts do to you, Gordon?" he croaked, dreading the answer.
"They helped me — right here," Freeman said, pointing to a spot just above and to the left of his right ear. Hair was missing from it.
"Like... like Combine?" Calhoun asked in a hoarse voice, taking a step forward.
Barney didn't remember landing the first blow. Blood from Gordon's nose smeared the white swirls on his skin, staining the teeth bared in his smile. A blissful smile. A fool's smile. Calhoun caught himself in a rage so animalistic and helpless that it frightened him.
However, the lack of response from Freeman was even more terrifying.
Calhoun seriously, if only for a moment, wanted to kill him for what he'd done to himself. For trusting those damn aliens instead of him or Alyx. And he hated himself for losing Gordon.
Barney froze, staring alternately at Freeman and his bloodied fist. At that moment, the ground gave way beneath him, and he sank knee-deep into a burrow dug by a viciously screeching antlion. Its mandibles snapped an inch from his face, after which the insect soared into the air and clung devotedly to Gordon's legs as he clutched the pheropod. Somewhere above them, the Vortigaunts chattered in their low voices.
"Go away," Barney finally caught something in his tone other than the serene enjoyment of existence. An oil slick on the flawless clarity of the stream.
And Calhoun took an unhealthy satisfaction from it.
As if hearing his thoughts, Freeman looked up from his meal; Barney shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze. He no longer felt he had the moral right to demand anything from him. Gordon had already given himself completely to humanity. The Combine had mutilated his body, his mind, his life. Perhaps more than anyone else on Earth, he craved peace and healing. Barney sincerely regretted that he hadn't been able to ease Gordon's pain through more... traditional means.
“Forgive me,” he muttered.
"I forgave you a long time ago," Gordon replied blithely. "Would you like some nettle soup with snark?"
Barney waved him off and slowly, leaning on his cane, trudged toward him. After feeding the remains of his sandwich to a large, coffee-table-sized larva, Gordon rose to greet him — natural, self-contained, and graceful as a willow leaf.
Calhoun carefully reached forward, touching the frame of his cracked glasses, his cheekbone, his cheek. As if checking to see if he was a ghost. Gordon looked calmly into his eyes. Barney thought he saw swamp lights flickering in the man's pupils.
“You still love me,” Gordon said quietly, without justifying or condemning.
Barney pulled his hand away.
“But... how?!”
“There is no distance between us.”
Freeman's face, serene and impassive, swam before Barney's eyes. He quickly brushed the moisture from his eyelashes and confessed:
“I miss you. Very, very much.”
Gordon smiled softly and spread his arms, as if embracing the entire world. The air around Barney vibrated with the distant, solemn chanting of the Vortigaunts, and a terribly vivid pain pierced his half-dried heart.
“My fellows and I are not against your company.”
Barney thought of lonely evenings over a bottle of beer and, increasingly, vodka. Of pregnant Alyx, who had given up waiting for a miracle and settled into a life without Gordon. Of the hard, mindless daily work and the former brothers-in-arms who had fled from his gone-bad character. He was no longer the life of the party, no longer able to squeeze out a single joke or witty remark. Strangely, he felt happier under the Combine than he did now. People needed him. Gordon needed him. Now the strong, reliable Barney Calhoun, who had survived the Incident and twenty years of Combine oppression, was a crippled, grumpy old man, drinking himself to death just to avoid dreams.
How Barney raged when Gordon abandoned his position as Earth Administrator in favor of seclusion! How he fumed when all his selfish hopes that Freeman would show him a new path were dashed, leaving a bitter taste of ashes in his mouth!
Gordon stared, and Calhoun relaxed inwardly, allowing himself to be read like an open book. Barney knew he would come here again and again, seeking solace, until…
“I’ll look for a second sleeping bag,” Gordon nodded.
…he stayed here forever.