Falling into place

As Gordon gradually came to, he realised with something approaching a sense of wonder that he'd been sleeping. Not unconscious, and not trapped in some nightmarish suspended animation. Sleeping in a real bed, with a pillow and a blanket. And if he was in a real bed, then it was highly unlikely that anyone was about to, say, dump him in a trash compactor. He felt warm, comfortable and safe, which was such an unusual sensation that he decided to try and make it last as long as possible. Gordon had never really had a problem with time keeping. He just loved sleeping too much.

When he opened his eyes, he realised that his glasses were gone. His memories came rushing back to him, and he sat upright with a cry of alarm. He was groping frantically for his glasses when the curtain around his bed was drawn back, and he was greeted by the unedifying sight of Arne Magnusson.

"Ah, Dr. Freeman. Feeling refreshed?" Gordon ignored him and continued his search. "Oh for heaven's sake Freeman, here they are." He passed Gordon his glasses, which had been resting on a locker. "Did you really think someone was going to steal them? Although it's hardly unlikely considering the cult of personality that seems to have sprung up; I'm surprised people weren't up here trying to steal a lock of your hair... Good morning, Dr. O'Donnell." Magnusson's voice dripped with the contempt he reserved for people who claimed the title of doctor without holding a PhD.

"Morning Arne." Dr O'Donnell pronounced it Arnie, which Gordon knew drove Dr Magnusson crazy. He thought he might like this doctor. "Gordon, my name's Jane O'Donnell, how are ya?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly felt overwhelmed. He remembered the Striders, the feeling of sweat and grit caking his body as he ran, the terror as the base alarms began to sound. Then the Advisors, D0g, Eli… He could remember further back, fighting in the streets of City 17 with Alyx by his side. And before that, Black Mesa. But in between the two, there was no information.

Everyone he had met while fighting the Combine seemed to assume he knew exactly what was going on, and there had never been an appropriate time to explain otherwise. Nearly every conversation revolved around objects, places or events that were entirely outside his frame of reference, so he was unable to join in, and had spent his time listening furiously instead, trying to work out what was going on. He felt isolated, even when he was surrounded by a roomful of people.

Gordon couldn't even begin to put into words the way he was feeling, so he simply sat there with his mouth half open, earning himself a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head from Dr Magnusson. Dr O'Donnell just tutted reassuringly.

"Still feeling a little woozy? Don't worry about it, I'll just give you the once over, then you can go back to your quarters to rest. Normally I'd keep you in here longer, but as you can imagine, we're pretty busy." She took his temperature, shone a light into his eyes, asked him to move his head and to wiggle his fingers and toes. Then she unhooked him from her equipment, and finally listened to his chest and abdomen. Embarrassingly, his stomach rumbled just as she placed her stethoscope. She chuckled.

"Well, that sounds normal. You must be hungry. I'll have a medic show you to your quarters, then you can go down and get something to eat." Gordon eased himself out of bed, and made his way on slightly unsteady legs towards the door. Dr O'Donnell noticed him trying to adjust his medical gown. "Don't worry, I'll have them send you some clothes along as well."

"Oh and Freeman?" Dr Magnusson called after him, "Take a shower. You do stink."

The living quarters were not far from the sickbay. They passed several doors opening onto rooms with bunks and couches, where rebels were sleeping or else talking quietly. No one seemed to notice them, for which Gordon was profoundly grateful. He didn't want to have to be the One Free Man while there was a danger of his gown springing open, revealing the one free ass. They soon arrived at a closed red door. The sprightly young rebel unlocked it, and handed Gordon the key.

"Here's your room, Dr Freeman. The showers are just across the hall. I'll have someone bring your clothes. Well, enjoy!" She left, and Gordon opened the door. The room was small compared to the ones he'd seen, and there was only one bed, along with a locker and a desk. Officer's quarters. So he was an officer now; he couldn't think of anything he wanted less. He decided to take a shower. Magnusson was right, he could even smell himself. He closed the door behind him, but didn't lock it. It was absurd; he must have fewer possessions than anyone else in the world at this point, let alone on the base.

The bathroom was a huge tiled space, divided down the middle. To one side was a row of stalls, opposite a long stainless steel sink and a mirror. The other side was nothing but showers. There was a huge window at the opposite end, looking out at the sun rising across the tops of the pine trees. It kind of reminded him of the shower area he had seen at Nova Prospekt, but it was clean, and there was no sign of the Big Daddy antlions. All in all, a nice place to take a shower. He pulled off his medical gown and examined himself in the long mirror. It was weird, he thought, how despite the fact he seemed to spend a lot of his time fighting in bathrooms, he never seemed to see his reflection.

He hissed through his teeth when he saw himself. Maybe the lack of mirrors was a good thing. His hair stuck up, thick with grease and dirt, his beard was overgrown, and two of his teeth were chipped. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, which he knew would heal much more slowly now that he was out of his HEV suit. Thank goodness all of his bones had been in one piece when he took it off. He noticed the small red mark on the inside of his elbow, where the suit drove its needle into his vein. The night before, it had been huge and red, and he had kept trying to scratch it, until a cool hand had restrained him.

It was quite alarming how much damge he seemed to take in the course of his "adventures". He'd always felt that, while orange was a very practical colour for the HEV suit when he got stuck somewhere in the Black Mesa assault course and the retrieval team had to find him in time to get back to his dorm to watch the Doctor Who marathon with Barney, it was less suited to environments where he was a brightly coloured moving target.

He had ended up paying for it last night. His body had felt like it was on fire. He had been at the very end of his reserves, his many injuries all claiming their toll after he had removed the suit. The Vorts had helped him the way they had helped Alyx, somehow weaving him back together. Without them, he knew, the fever would have killed him. In his delirium, he thought they had spoken to him, and for the first time ever he had understood everything they said, but none of it had remained in his memory. Now he felt better, but still delicate, and also deeply weary. This was his life, now and for the foreseeable future. At least at Black Mesa, he had been able to cling on to the hope that his life would go back to normal, but here?