Author's Note: The ending of Half-Life 2: Episode Two gave me lots of feelings, so like with the ending of Portal 2, I cope with it by writing fanfic.

It gets sort of NSFW (though nothing very graphic) in the second part, which I didn't intend. The story took its own direction, though. A lot of it did.

I hope you enjoy my little offering to the Half-Life fanfic section.

The heavy scent of aviation fuel hung in the air, and long fingers of sunlight stretched through the shattered windows, illuminating the dust motes floating mid-air. Outside, the sky was just beginning to darken; crickets began to stir somewhere in the distance, and small gusts of wind rustled through the building. It would have been almost a picturesque scene under other circumstances.

Dog lumbered over to the window and paced in front of it, at guard. His single optic scanned the area for any sign of danger; however was mostly an exercise in futility. The Advisors had already fled, and he had failed.

His vision still blurred and head still pounding from the Advisors' psychic attacks, Gordon Freeman-M.I.T. graduate, former employee of the Black Mesa Research Facility, and now Anticitizen One-lay on the floor, taking long, deep breaths, in some attempt to resist the waves of nausea rolling over him. Every muscle protesting with the effort, he propped himself up on his elbows, painfully dragging himself across the floor as the exhaustion of the last few days finally overtook the sense of urgency that had kept him alert.

Somewhere in the hangar, a door clattered open, and it was as though a switch had turned in his brain. Gordon snapped to attention, rolling himself over to a half-seated position, holding his shotgun at ready, eyes straining to search every dark corner of the hangar for enemy movement. Dog had also heard it; the robot had clambered to the top of the waiting helicopter, his optic widening and scanner flaps flaring out as he spotted something.

Footsteps approached. Gordon cocked the shotgun, shuffling over several inches in what was probably a pointless attempt to conceal Alyx, his heart pounding and breaths coming in shallow, painful gasps. After a moment, he lowered the gun, allowing himself to relax a bit as Uriah, Dr. Magnusson's vortigaunt assistant, appeared.

"The Gordon Freeman?" Uriah's voice, while at a hushed volume, echoed against the walls. "What tragedy has befallen?"

Gordon looked up at the vortigaunt, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. He moved aside, attempting to swallow the dry lump in his throat, and turning his attention toward Alyx. Her slim figure shuddered with quiet, breathless sobs as she clutched her father's body; her grief was almost palpable, and Gordon could actually feel it. Her sorrow washed over him, a very real, physical pain that nearly blinded him.

Over the din of the blood rushing through his head, Gordon could hear Uriah's voice. "The Alyx Vance must move aside."

Gordon's vision cleared after a few furious blinks, and he saw Alyx, still holding onto her father's still form. On his hands and knees, he moved over to her, slipping his arms around her torso. After a few long seconds of uncontrollable shivering, Alyx let him pull her away, her voice choking as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "Gordon..."

For a brief moment, Gordon wished he could say something that would make it all better for her. The thought quickly faded from his mind; even if he could speak, there were no words that could ease the pain of losing someone so close, so violently, so suddenly. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of: wrap his arms around her in a warm embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head, swaying her back and forth, in a wordless attempt to comfort her.

The curve of Alyx's body fit easily against his, even with the bulk of the HEV suit in the way, and his arms were loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. But she didn't, and after several moments she leaned heavily against him, craving his physical contact. Gordon's fingertips rubbed small circles against her shoulder, and as the initial panic and disbelief of her father's death wore off, her brain put up barriers that sent into state of shock, a state which allowed her to easily doze off.

Gordon continued to sit there, holding Alyx, and silently watching Uriah. The vortigaunt was crouched over Eli's still body, green energy emanating from his hand in a desperate last attempt to save him. After a moment or two, he looked up at Gordon. "The Eli Vance was our first collaborator, and this one had the great honour of working alongside him. It is with despair that his cord has been cut." He got to his feet. "We shall fetch the Magnusson at once. The Freeman would do wise to remove the Alyx Vance from this tragic scene."

His physical exhaustion becoming negligible in his concern for Alyx, Gordon gently nudged her shoulder. She mumbled incoherently as he pulled her onto her feet, leaning heavily against him, allowing him to guide her back into White Forest Base.

The base was oddly quiet; the normal chatter and gossip that filled it had given way to hushed whispers as the news and rumours of Eli Vance's sudden death spread amongst the staff. Gordon Freeman waited in the satellite control room, sitting on a tiny folding chair, constantly looking away from the door to the displays on the small CRT monitor. The superportal was closed; the Universal Union had been cut off from earth. He should take a moment to relax.

He couldn't, though. Over and over, Gordon fidgeted, making sure his weapons were loaded; it had been well over a half-hour since he had been called down, and Magnusson, himself something of a stickler for promptness, hadn't shown yet.

"Ah, Freeman, there you are." Gordon jumped, heart pounding at the sudden sound of Magnusson's voice, and it was all he could do not to leap up and run out of the room as quickly as he could. "Now, as I understand, Dr. Vance was the victim of an Advisor attack." As he began to nod, Dr. Magnusson interrupted. "For God's sake, Freeman, speak up! I do not know how I'm expected to understand what you mean if you're not going to say anything."

Gordon froze in place, clinging to the gravity gun, shaking uncontrollably at just the idea of being made to say something, being forced to put his thoughts into words-

"I do not mean disrespect to the Magnusson," said Uriah, quietly slipping into the room, "but this one would like to remind him that the Freeman is afflicted with the inability to vocalize under times of severe duress."

Dr. Magnusson let out a stiff cough. "Ah, that is correct. Right, Freeman. Now, I do realize you are quite popular amongst the staff here, but you are also a theoretical physicist, and likely unaccustomed to this type of constant combat. I have been discussing with Kleiner-of course, I have to get his approval on any sort of plans-and it seems to be of best interest that your departure for that ship is put off for a bit."

Gordon let out a small sigh of relief-it was a chance to stop for a bit, get out of his hazard suit, and get some actual sleep. Not the quick, five-minute catnaps he had taken, wedged into tight spaces, afraid of some HECU grunt or alien or Combine cyborg finding him, or being suspended in stasis for who-knows-how-many years, but real sleep.

The rest of Dr. Magnusson's words became a low drone; Gordon had to force himself to stay awake long enough to slowly pull himself from the chair, plod his way to his assigned quarters, wrestle his HEV suit off, and collapse onto the small cot. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

For hours, Gordon drifted in and out of sleep, his memories interwoven with his dreams, mostly about the life he had left behind: friends and co-workers lost to time. The remnants of his family, too: his little brother, John, who had looked up to him; John's wife, a smiling, broad-shouldered woman who towered over Gordon's head; and John's son Henry, a nephew whom Gordon had never gotten the chance to meet. Twenty years had passed in one fell swoop. He had lost so much, so quickly, because he had been the one to push the crystal into the Anti-Mass Spectrometer.

Over and over he had tried to justify it to himself: It was his job. If he hadn't pushed the crystal in, somebody else would have and he likely would have been fired. The scientists should have made sure that the Anti-Mass Spectrometer was running at safer levels. There was no way to predict that the Resonance Cascade would happen.

But justifications didn't matter, in the end. Dr. Gordon Freeman had pushed Sample GG-3883 into the Anti-Mass Spectrometer, tearing apart the dimensions to cause a Resonance Cascade, and the world would never be the same.

Gordon slowly got out of the cot, shivering when his bare feet touched the cold floor. Even though the air in the old missile base was cold and dank, his skin was clammy with a new layer of sweat, and the denim jumpsuit he had been wearing for the last few days under his hazard suit tugged against his skin. After fumbling for his glasses, he felt along the wall until he found a light switch, and then squinted against the glare of the fluorescent lights.

Out in the brightly-lit corridors, Gordon nearly tripped over a large hunk of metal taking up nearly the entire width of the hallway. Dog looked up apologetically, his optic flaps retracting backwards, before flattening himself against the wall, providing just enough room for Gordon to squeeze by.

In the washroom, the caustic scent of bleach was enough to make Gordon's eyes water. The air against his bare skin was just a few degrees under what he could normally tolerate. In the shower, tepid water only trickled from the shower head, and the soap was rough and abrasive against the chafed parts of his skin. A quick look at himself in the mirror confirmed his suspicions: since that fateful day, he had lost weight, and even with the suit's protection, he was a mess. With bruises of various colours and progressions, cuts and abrasions all over him, and one particularly nasty-looking but nearly painless gash down his side, he looked like he had been to hell and back.

A thick towel wrapped tightly around his shoulders against the chill, he hurried back to his room. While he had been asleep, somebody had exchanged his HEV suit for some clean clothes. The shirt and pants were almost baggy against his now-lean frame, and the provided lab coat hung loosely on his shoulders, but he was so relieved to be out of the hazard suit and back into fresh, clean clothes that he didn't really mind.

He was far too awake now to get back to sleep, and he got to his feet, glancing over at the door, swallowing down his nervousness. He stepped out into the corridor, exchanged a glance with Dog, and then knocked on Alyx's door.

There was no answer at first, so Gordon paused, shifting his weight back and forth, and then pressed his ear against the door. He tried to tell himself that she was probably sleeping off the trauma, but there was something telling him otherwise-something he couldn't explain, just a vague feeling of discomfort, so strong that it was corporeal.

After a moment's hesitation, he pushed the door open. In the few seconds it took for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, he made out her form, huddled under the covers of the bed, sobbing. It wasn't audible, but the way her shoulders were trembling...

Gordon sat at the edge of the bed, his hand shaking a bit as he pulled the blanket away. Alyx looked up at him-wearing an over-sized t-shirt hanging down to her knees, her eyes red and dark bags under them, her hair hanging loose over her forehead, her face gaunt and tear-stained-before opening her mouth to say something. Before she could, Gordon leaned in and pressed his lips against hers in the most gentle of kisses.

He quickly pulled away, his cheeks flushing red and mentally scolding himself for doing such a thing. For a few seconds, he stared at the peeling coat of paint on the wall, before looking back at Alyx. He took her hand, his stomach sinking at how limp and icy her fingers felt between his own, and looked into her eyes. They were the same eyes as always, bright and clear, but this time there was something there that wasn't before. Not merely sadness or anger or fear; it was more than that, something that he couldn't describe, something that transcended mere words, but he felt it with every strand of his being, and it almost had him in tears. Her eyes weren't on him, however, and before he could figure out what she was looking at, she tugged her hand away from his grip. Brief flits of panic flew through Gordon's mind, the worry that he had hurt her, or-

"Gordon." Her voice was tiny and breathless and he almost missed it over the sound of his own pounding heart. "That-" She lifted her arm a bit, reaching toward the lab coat hanging over Gordon's shoulders. She opened her mouth to say something, but the only thing that came out was a small squeak; she squeezed her eyes closed, swallowing back her tears, unable to bring herself to speak.

Gordon leaned forward a bit, brushing away a loose strand of hair that had fallen onto her face, and making a silent promise to himself to take care of her. Her father's death had next to broken her; one of the few people she could count on to be there for her had been torn away in the space of a minute and a half, and suddenly things weren't so clear anymore.

"Gordon, that's-" She took a deep, shaky breath, her entire body seeming to spasm from choking, breathless sobs, and reached out for the lab coat. "Dad's."

Oh. He did the only thing he could do, which was to slip it off and then drape it over Alyx's shoulders. Goosebumps formed on his bare arms and he shivered from the chill that pervaded the room, but he didn't really mind. Other things were more important than his personal comfort. Alyx let out a long, shaky breath, letting herself lean against Gordon. He slipped his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap, swaying her back and forth. He was a solid, reassuring presence, and for the first time since the Advisors had broken into the hangar, she felt almost at peace.

They remained that way for a while; eyes closed, arms wrapped around each other. Their breathing was slow and steady, and neither of them spoke. Words now seemed too clumsy and imprecise, and it was better to say nothing at all.

Eventually, Alyx was the first to pull away. Even though her lower lip was trembling, she gave a small, weak smile up at Gordon. He stretched his legs out and got to his feet, a sudden idea forming itself in his head.

"Gordon, wait." Alyx's voice was still shaky and breathless.

He turned back toward her, pointing to his wrist, then holding up his hands, fingers outstretched. Ten minutes.

"You'll come back after that, right?"

Gordon nodded, holding his hand up to his chest. Promise.

Gordon took two wrong turns trying to find the kitchen. Although it was small and cramped, it was used to provide meals for at least a hundred members of the Resistance, so it was well-stocked.

He quickly found the mugs, as well as the cocoa; the latter was something of a luxury in these scarce times; he'd deal with the consequences of that later on. Condensed milk, check. Vanilla, check. No marshmallows-oh well. The stove-top would've taken too long, but thankfully the microwave was working, and after a few minutes two steaming mugs of hot chocolate were almost ready.

Except for one last thing. It was something his mother had always done. He clambered up onto the counter-top, reaching for the spice rack on the top shelf, quickly going through the small bottles, reading the labels, searching for one in specific. Ground cinnamon. Good. He climbed back down, found a teaspoon in one of the drawers, and poured a generous dash of cinnamon in each mug.

He checked the clock; it had been seven minutes since he had left Alyx. One last thing; he reached up in the cupboard, pulling down a tin of cookies. He ignored the attached post-it note -"DO NOT TOUCH! - Dr. M." - and put some cookies on a plate.

There. Perfect. With just over two minutes to spare, he headed back to Alyx's room, balancing a tray in his hands.

A good cup of hot chocolate could help treat almost any ailment, Gordon's mother had said on more than one occasion. Now, as he sat beside Alyx, both of them drinking their mugs of hot chocolate, he believed it more than ever. He could feel her sorrow ebbing away as she held the mug in her hands. Still, Gordon knew better than to expect miracles; grief wasn't one of those things that went away quickly with one cup of hot chocolate. Still, just for tonight, it had helped.

With a start, Gordon realized that she had fallen asleep. He got to his feet, about to take the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, and paused, looking back at Alyx. He crouched beside the bed, pulling the light blankets around her shoulder, tucking her in.

Her eyes opened, and she murmured something, lifting her head from the pillow.

"Shhh." Gordon picked up her pillow, fluffing it several times before slipping it back beneath her head. She yawned, snuggled further under the covers, and went back to sleep.

Alyx was awoken the next morning by Dog tugging at her arm; she rolled over, groaning, trying her best to block out the trauma of the day before.

"What is it, boy?"

He motioned toward the door, once again tugging at her arm until she got up, pulling on a pair of jeans and sliding her feet into a pair of slippers. Wrapping her father's lab coat tighter around her against the chill in the air, she crossed the hallway to Gordon's room, peeking in the door.

Gordon was laying on the bed, and he looked like shit, curled up in a fetal position, dripping in his own sweat, rocking back and forth with small whimpers of pain. "Gordon?" she asked, leaning heavily against the door-frame, her knuckles almost white. "Are you all right?"

It was almost as though he didn't hear her. Alyx slipped into the room, kneeling beside his cot; only then did Gordon open his eyes. His normally bright green eyes were dulled with pain, and he didn't even seem to notice her as, a few seconds later, he closed them again, his entire body shuddering. Alyx got to her feet, fighting back the unsettling fear growing in her, and went to find Dr. Kleiner.

He was locked in his office, one of the rebels told her, pointing down one of the corridors. With nothing more than a brief wave, she sprinted toward it, banging on the door. "Dr. Kleiner! Open up!"

Several agonizingly long seconds later, the door opened, and Dr. Kleiner peeked out, his eyes red and the rest of him looking twenty years older than usual, but still somewhat composed. "Yes, Alyx? What is it, my dear?"

"It-" Her throat was dry and her voice cracked, and she swallowed before speaking again. "It's -he doesn't look well at all."

Dr. Kleiner shook his head. "Oh dear. I was afraid that this might happen."

"What? Is he-"

"Dr. Freeman's suit is designed to give him frequent administrations of a quite potent cocktail of painkilling drugs. Long-term users of the HEV suit have been known to become somewhat dependent on it, and once they are separated from the suit-well, once the effect of the drugs wears off, the withdrawal symptoms are most unpleasant."

"Can't we give him something, or-he looks like hell."

"I'm afraid not, my dear; the best you can do is to make him as comfortable as possible."

She returned to Gordon's room with a glass of water. He was barely able to sit up, let alone hold the glass without spilling the water, so Alyx held the glass for him. Even so, water dripped down his face, but he was in such a state that he didn't even notice. The solid, dependable man that she had come to rely on had been reduced to this shivering, withered husk.

Alyx was reminded of the time she was stuck in Dr. Kleiner's lab; she had found a magazine with an article about some war in a place called Iraq. It had been called that in the old days-the days before Combine rule, days in which she was too young to remember. In the magazine, there had been a photograph of a worn-out, bedraggled soldier standing at guard in the hot sun; he looked like he was about to fall over. She could almost imagine Gordon in that photograph.

She leaned over, wiping the rivulets of sweat from his forehead, watching his thin chest rise and fall under the blankets covering him. It was odd; they had really known each other for what amounted to a few days, and yet it seemed much longer. She had heard the stories about him; how he had been at ground zero during the Resonance Cascade. And although he had been the one to push the crystal in, hell if he wasn't cleaning up his own mess. In the process, he had become something of a legendary figure amongst many factions of the Resistance; the Vortigaunts often recounted the tale of how the one Free Man had released them from the chafing bonds of servitude that they had endured for eons.

For all that Alyx had heard about him, though, she wasn't really prepared for her first meeting with him-sprawled out on the floor, in a blue citizen uniform, knocked silly by metrocops just seconds before. Not exactly the type of man that she would have chalked up to being the world's saviour.

Nor did he look like one now. He had stopped rocking back and forth in some wild attempt to stop the pain, but he was still a very sick man.

Still, caring for him throughout the day-sponging cool water over his forehead, giving him small sips of chicken noodle soup, and telling him stories about her days in the Resistance-allowed her some reprieve from her own grief. For a moment, the events of the previous day flooded her mind again, and it took almost everything she had to force out the gruesome images. She squeezed her eyes shut, a chill spreading throughout her entire body as she remembered what had happened. Her father-

Just as she thought she was done with the crying, her shoulders began to shake. She turned away from Gordon, frantically wiping her eyes in a pointless attempt to stem the flow of tears pouring out onto her cheeks. It wasn't fair that her father had been taken away so quickly. The Advisors should have killed her instead.

But they were in a war, and war wasn't fair.

Alyx felt a tug at her arm, and she turned her head. Gordon, weak as he was, had pulled himself into a semi-sitting position and was now clinging to her arm, tugging at it, silently asking her to join him. She blinked several times through the blur of tears, and then crawled in beside him.

Gordon dropped his arm with a weak smile. Up close, she could see every furrow of his face, every tiny scratch and wrinkle. Even as tired, gaunt and pale as he was, he was gorgeous. And here he was, in immeasurable pain, almost unable to sit up, and still doing his best to comfort her.

With a brave effort, she tried to smile back at him; her face felt tight and her eyes were watery, but she was trying, and that was what mattered. She swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry her throat was, and got to her feet. "Gordon, I'm-I'm going to go get a drink. Do you want one?" She paused. "I mean, another one."

His nod was barely visible, but he raised his hand a few inches from the blankets and she took that as a 'yes.' She got up, put her slippers on, and headed out to the hallway, pausing momentarily at the door to take one last look at him.

She hurried to the kitchen area, trying to avoid all of the sympathy from various members of the Resistance. She needn't have bothered; Barney and his group of evacuees had finally shown up on foot after their train had derailed somewhere a few miles south, and she couldn't go more than a few feet without running into yet another person asking if she was okay, asking if she needed anything, or simply saying they were sorry for her loss.

She couldn't bring herself to be angry with them, though; there wasn't really any way for them to know that she had already been asked these questions a few million times. All of the times she had wished Gordon had been just a bit more talkative seemed to fade to a dim memory. Now she found herself wishing everyone was more like Gordon.

Fortunately for her, she was soon able to make a sprint for the kitchen, making sure that some well-meaning person hadn't followed her in before closing the door. Alyx stumbled over to the counter and leaned heavily against it, forcing herself to take deep breaths, telling herself that she was being silly. It wasn't really much use, though, so before she could give herself a chance to fall apart, she began looking for some clean dishes. As much as she wanted another warm mug of hot chocolate, she didn't think her stomach could really handle it.

Behind her, the door opened, and Alyx whirled around. Any sharp words on her tongue were quickly swallowed back though when she saw Barney. He apparently still hadn't gotten a chance to shave and the persistent stubble that lined his jaw had grown out into a thick, matted tangle of black hair, and he looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep in days.

"I know, I know, I look like hell." He ran a gloved hand through his thick hair. "Just got here 'bout an hour ago, and since then good luck findin' a bathroom without a dozen people lined up to use it."

Alyx couldn't help it; a small laugh escaped from her. Barney gave a small, tired smile and then hopped up onto the counter, sitting on the edge, looking down at her. "I'd ask how you're doing since...well, y'know, but you've probably been asked that about..."

She gave a small shrug, leaning against the fridge. "Not too great, really. It was just so sudden, and-" Her voice broke, and she cast her eyes downwards, blinking furiously.

"It's tough, isn't it?" Barney's voice had softened a bit. "For all of us, Al."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "You'd think that after seeing so many others killed-"

"-that it'd get easier. I know what you mean." They were both silent for a few long moments, before Barney spoke up again. "So, how's Gordon doing?"

She shifted her weight, leaning her elbows on the counter top. "He looks bad, Barney, and I have no idea what to do."

"He's a pretty tough cookie, y'know. He'll be fine. I know you're scared of losin' him after what happened to Eli, but believe me, he'll be fine."

"Losing him?"

Barney cringed. "Oh hell, Alyx. I shouldn't have said that."

But Alyx was already lost in thought. Losing Gordon. It wasn't something that had occurred to her before; either he'd get better or...she wasn't sure what the other option was, but him dying definitely wasn't something on her mind. Never again seeing him, or-

"Look, there's somethin' else I'd been meaning to bring up with you. About you and Gordon."

"Me and Gordon?" Any attempt at a casual tone was marred by the way her voice faltered, and Barney was quick to notice.

"Don't give me that bull. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

She crossed her arms. "What, exactly?"

"There's something goin' on between you two. You don't get that look on your face when talking about just anybody, Alyx."

"What're you talking about, Barney?"

"Look, I know the doc's a great guy and all, but I just don't want you going and gettin' yourself too attached to someone again. Look, Al, you remember what happened to your old boyfriend?"

"What the hell are you bringing that up for?"

Barney got up, leaning his head against the wall, groaning inwardly. "Dammit, 'cause of how rough you took it! Look, if anything happens to Gordon-I just don't want you to get hurt again. Nobody does." With that, Barney stood up straight, flexing his back. "I'd better get going before Magnusson throws a fit. You know how he is."

"Good ol' Dr. Magnusson, huh?"

"Exactly. But Al, before I go, keep in mind what I said. And take care of yourself, yeah?" Before she could answer that, he was gone. Alyx stood there for a few minutes longer, rolling the conversation around and around in her mind, before remembering what she had come to the kitchen for. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate would be nice.