A/N: so this is a little different to my other work, but I do like writing short stories and hey, there has to be a reason he's such a jerk, right? This takes place in the same situation as my other stories, but there are no key plot points or anything, so if you're not into slash or just not interested in the sex lives of video game characters (perish the thought!), then don't read and you won't be missing out.

Beneath the surface

I was feeling irritable before Freeman even got anywhere near my lab. I'd been forced to spend the morning clearing away all the data and equipment that anyone who hadn't signed an ND wasn't allowed to see. Of course, Vance and Kleiner came bursting in without so much as a by-your-leave, dragging their young ingénue with them. Kleiner in particular seemed delighted.

"Dr Magnusson, I'd like you to meet Dr Gordon Freeman. We're giving him the tour. Hopefully, he'll be joining us here at Black Mesa."

Dr? He looked young to hold a PhD, barely more than a boy. He was pale, with an unruly mop of auburn hair and old-fashioned glasses. His suit fit him well and looked expensive, but he wore it awkwardly. He lowered his eyes as he shook my hand, and swallowed audibly.

"Hi… pleased to meet you," he mumbled and turned away, his eyes darting around the room. He spotted one of the resonance modulators that I must have forgotten to stow away. His eyes lit up, and he moved over and took it in his hand as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Vance and Kleiner just smiled indulgently. They have a sort of artistic disdain for anyone who thinks too hard about the practical applications of what we're working on. My device could revolutionise battlefield logistics and commercial transport, but they want teleports and space exploration. I cleared my throat.

"Dr Freeman, I have to insist that you put that down for now." He fumbled with alarm and almost dropped it. Vance frowned and stepped over.

"Come on, Arne. Gordon will be joining us shortly, and this is his area of interest. A look won't hurt."

"He may be joining us, but for now, he hasn't signed an ND. And I hate to remind you, but there is still the matter of the Coliseum."

The Coliseum was a semi joke. Candidates for a research position at Black Mesa were treated to dinner in one of the rocket chambers, which was cleared and decorated for the occasion. After dinner, they had to stand at a podium and present their thesis or most recent paper to all the scientists of the facility. It was the final stage of the interview process, and for most candidates who made it that far, it was more or less a formality. But Freeman appeared to have difficulty stringing two words together, and I gleefully looked forward to seeing him crash and burn that evening.

The tables were cleared, and coffee was being served. Eli Vance stepped up to the podium, tapping his wineglass with a knife. He was wearing his lab coat, as was everyone in the room, another part of the stupid tradition. I wasn't wearing mine. He cleared his throat.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you have enjoyed your meal. Alexander's culinary science puts all of our endeavours in the shade." Sycophantic giggles greeted this lame witticism. "I would like to present to you, our latest candidate for a position in the Anomalous Materials department. We seem to have so many vacancies, I'm surprised no one has gotten suspicious by now!" More titters. People must be really drunk. "A graduate of MIT, and most recently of the Institute for Experimental Physics at Innsbruck… Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Dr Gordon Freeman."

There was applause as he made his way to the podium. He stood there squinting in the light. He opened his mouth, and for a moment, nothing came out. He looked paler than ever. People were beginning to look at one another. He cleared his throat and grit his teeth, and the words came out in one big rush:

"Observation of Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen Entanglement on Supraquantum Structures by Induction Through Nonlinear Transuranic Crystal of Extremely Long Wavelength Pulse from Mode-Locked Source Array…"

As he began to speak, his voice grew slower, deeper, more confident. He knew that the science he was presenting was quite frankly beautiful. As he reached the key section he raised his eyes and looked out across the audience. He grinned with delight as he saw them rapt. His eyes were a bright, vivid green, and his cheeks were very slightly flushed.

He was beautiful. I was rapt.

When he finished he descended from the podium and reached gratefully for his glass of wine. I waited until the crowd had moved on, and made my move.

"Dr Freeman! Congratulations." He shook hands much more willingly than before. "You were a big success up there tonight. I would say your prospects look very promising indeed." He grinned that charming shy grin again.

"Thanks… I can hardly believe it myself."

"Is this your first non-academic position?" He nodded. Bingo.

"You know, at a time like this, it's hard to overstate the importance of a mentor. Someone to guide your work, give you support… maybe even put in a good word for you now and again." His eyes widened endearingly, and he looked very solemn.

"I know, and I'm so grateful to Dr Kleiner. He taught me so much at MIT, and I'm so grateful to him for recommending me for this job. I'm gonna make it up to him, believe me." He was either tipsy from the wine, or he had absolutely no insight in social situations. (As I've got to know him better I've come to realize it was a combination of the two.) He nodded to me, then headed purposefully across the room, towards where Kleiner was carefully holding his drink up to the light, inspecting it as though he were a mass spectrometer.

Pah, Kleiner. With his stupid bowties and that irritating dachshund Dietrich, he certainly acts the part, but I've come to realise the man is utterly uninterested in such matters. He certainly wasn't about to take advantage of the fortunate position he was in.

Over the next few weeks I watched Freeman, and was regretfully forced to conclude he's as straight as they come. He formed an irritatingly close friendship with that security guard whose name I can never remember, which seemingly revolved around psyching themselves up to hit on women, being rejected, and then commiserating over beer. That's not to say that Freeman hasn't unwittingly spent a great deal of his time tied face down to my bed. Usually I am tender and gentle with him, pleasuring him to the brink of ecstasy before satisfying my own needs, but I do often find I have to discipline him really quite severely for lateness or other infractions he's committed during the day.

As terrible as the War was, it did improve my sex life, after the drought that was Black Mesa. The reproduction suppression field seemed to have less of a psychological effect on us queers than it did on the straights, maybe because we had nothing to lose to begin with. Coupling both hetero and homo took on more of a secretive and fleeting nature. Liaisons were treated with a forced casualness. No one wanted to risk a commitment, when you could be torn apart at a moment's notice. I imagine it's rather how it was for gays before legalization.

Kleiner was driving me crazy the day I saw Freeman again. He didn't seem to understand that I was the one who knew this rocket; I was the one who'd been stuck underground at White Forest from the start, while he'd been in City 17 messing about with his teleport. I heard the elevator doors open, and then strange, clanking footsteps.

My eyes are drawn immediately to Freeman. He's wearing his HEV suit. Part medieval armour, part football player, part Berlin club kid, it's ridiculously homoerotic. His eyes are tired but still vivid. He has a scar on his temple, just below the hair. His shoulders are broad; he's not a boy any more. My mouth is dry.

My heart rises and then sinks as he ignores me and heads straight for Kleiner. Vance and his daughter are right behind him. It's all hugs and smiles. I notice the way his eyes follow Alyx and hers follow him, the way they stand in relation to one another. I should be pleased about this, from a tactical point of view. One of the major concerns we had about bringing Freeman back after so long is that he would take one look at the brave new world around him and promptly blow his brains out. Anything that keeps him acting on instinct rather than stopping to think is to be welcomed (although personally I think Eli lays his encouragement on a little thick – what African American father really wants skinny red-haired grandkids?), but that doesn't change the way I suddenly feel inside.

The four of them form a happy little group, and I am left alone. I hate the way my mouth twists into a sneer, but I can't help it. I think any rational human being would rather feel anger than pain.