Are we still friends? ( GORDON x BENREY )

Are we still friends?

"Joshie!" Gordon exclaimed, running up to his young son. His feet hurt, and his muscles cried for rest against the heavy weight of the HEV suit, but he continued on to wrap his arms tightly around his son's body. Gordon cried loudly—louder than he ever had in his life—as he held Joshua tightly. He was still gentle enough not to crush his small body under the ridgid weight of the suit. A few feet away stood Penelope and Brian, Gordon's ex-wife and her new husband. Their relationship was strained after the divorce, but civil for Joshua's sake. Brian was a good man, Gordon liked him even if he could never truly befriend him for taking the love of his life.

"Gordon..." Tears were streaming down her face, ruining the mascara she had gingerly applied that morning. Gordon looked up at her, smiling. "You're okay." She slowly stepped forward, falling to her knees to wrap her arms around him and their son. "You're okay." Her voice was shaking, along with the rest of her. Brian didn't approach nor speak, he knew that this was between them right now. "What happened?" Penelope exclaimed after a moment, pulling away from the hug. Joshua came with her, being cradled in her spindly arms. "You disappeared, we thought you..." She broke down in cries again. Gordon placed his gloved hands on her shoulder. The metal of his right hand rested uncomfortably on her shoulder.

"Lets go inside. I'll explain everything there, I promise. Please just let me shower first."

"You're covered in blood!"

"Pen, please." Gordon begged, exasperated. She sniffled, but nodded. She picked Joshua up, whispering sweet nothings to him to help dry his tears and quiet his whimpers. Gordon stood, following behind the three into his home. Penelope still had a key. She and Brian had stayed in his house while he was missing, trying to keep Joshua in a place where he was most comfortable.

Catatonic, Gordon trudged up to his bathroom. He pried the HEV suit off, tearing the tight undersuit from his bruised, scarred skin with his good hand. He showered, the blood crusted on his body and hair swirling down his shower drain in an orangey-red haze. He changed into more comfortable clothes and began making his way downstairs before his brain even comprehended that he was back inside of his home. Back with his son. With his family—what little family he had left. He walked down the stairs. In the living room sat Penelope. She was holding a mug of coffee, one on the table for Gordon. Wordlessly, he sat next to her.

What could he say? Where did he start? The whole thing had been covered up, Tommy's dad made sure of it, and he had no real proof to back up his wild claims other than his missing hand and the bloodied HEV suit discarded upstairs. Would she think he was crazy; take Josh away from him because he had obviously lost his mind? He had dealt with real, living aliens for fucks sake! One of which tried to kill him. Tommy and his father were both aliens, too, just significantly less deadly than Benrey (or, at the very least, weren't actively trying to kill him). Bubby was a test tube baby with feral "prototypes" who had fire powers, and Coomer was, well... Coomer. Gordon couldn't even begin to fathom what descriptors he could give the odd entity that helped him.

How long had he been trapped in the monotonous walls of Black Mesa? Fighting for his life against creatures, while simultaneously having to look out for four other people? How many times was his entire perception of life itself shattered into jagged pieces of glass on the concrete floors of that building as things beyond perception wormed their way into his mind and soul? How many nights had he been laying on the floor, the HEV suit digging uncomfortably into his flesh as Tommy allowed him to use him as a pillow, in some pseudo-sense of the word. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. The days blurred into nights back into days.

Too long. It was far, far too long.

Penelope stared at him, a weary look shining in her dull eyes. Gordon wrung his hands, opening his mouth with nothing to say. She frowned, the expression boring deep into her features, bringing out the gradual aging of her face. "Gordon." She began, but it was obvious she, too, couldn't find the words to say. It was always like this between them. Neither knowing what to say, but somehow saying everything they needed to anyways. It was torture, for Gordon at least. He knew every thought going through her head, every word left unsaid, but at the same time they were about as comprehensible as his own garbled thoughts. She pressed her lips into a thin line.