Did Pepper ever went to a universe that was so similar to her own that she legit forgot for a second that she was in a alternate universe?
Nope!
Being in a universe that is not your own is very painful after awhile if you don't have any form of stability. The longer you stay, the more that pain draws out.
For Pepper, it'll always feel like a buzz under her skin, and -for even creepier factor that i'll need to figure out how to tag- it feels like a bunch of bugs crowling under her skin. Tiny legs pricking her insides, some that slither, some that feel like the flutter of wings. Its gross.
If she wanted to stay, she would need to match her energy with the world, but that would effectively cut her off from HER world. So not ideal.
In which Gordon is just fine. Really. He’s just fine.
And then he’s not, anymore.
Sometimes, when Gordon wasn’t paying much attention to anything else, he could feel old memories try to claw their way back to the surface. Old memories that bubbled and swirled under his thoughts, lapping against the back of his mind like a gentle wave. He could ignore them, ignore how deep and dark those old memories really were, but that didn’t stop the ocean at his back from reaching for him. Trying to drown him.
The coffee cup he’d been filling had long since overflowed, the pot nearly empty. Hot liquid ran down the sides, across his counter, pooling on the tiles at his feet. The bitter sting of his coffee- how he liked it, stung his nose. His eyes were narrowed, unfocused, as he watched as fat, grotesque alien forms wriggled their way free and crawled across his counter, claws scratching against his counter and over his hands. The itching was spreading over his hand, his arm, heavy over the back of his neck like hot breath. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest, in his ears, drowning out everything else in the roar of water.
His grip on the pot was white-knuckled and tense, but it’s shaking gave away how weak the grip really was. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. His other hand reached up, digging nails across his face, scratching near his eyes and trying to dislodge a headset he wasn’t even wearing anymore, he had to get it off, he had to stop-
The coffee pot went flying across the room, breaking against the far wall and sending large glass shards crashing to the ground before he even registered the knocking sound that had made him relax. He breathed in. Once. Twice. He could breathe. He blinked and rubbed at his eye for a moment, then brushed his hair back out of his face. He took another breath. The knocking started again.
He was just fine.
-----
Life outside Black Mesa was…
Gordon took his son to school. Cleaned the house. Thought about getting a new job. Didn’t. He had plenty of money saved away- Black Mesa had paid fairly well, and selling off that damned prison of a HEV suit to one of Black Mesa’s former competitors had paid really well. Plus, it served as a nice final ‘fuck you’ to the orginization that had made him go through hell and back. All in all, he could go a long time without needing to worry about money.
So he had a lot of free time.
The thing is, Gordon wasn’t good at doing nothing. He liked having something to do, work that needed to get done, but there were only so many times you could sweep the house from top to bottom before you had to admit it was clean already. Only so many card pyramids he could make before he got sick of them, or justin.tv videos he could watch before he started tuning them out. He used to have hobbies, before… but uh, without a work life to balance his day out, he couldn’t find anything to pour his time into. Another job would do him good. He wasn’t ready for one yet.
He was going round and round in circles, never settling on any conclusion. Gordon huffed and let himself flop sideways onto his couch, eyeing his dusty playstation. Tommy and Benrey had offered to let him join them in some online games. He wasn’t sure if he was desperate enough to willingly subject himself to Benrey. Maybe. Possibly. God, he was honestly considering, wasn’t he? Gordon let his head fall back to the couch, throwing his arm dramatically over his face. Skin met his face. He jumped, scrambling back up before his thoughts caught up with him.
He breathed out, slowly. Flexed the fingers on his hand, turning it over and back again in front of his face. Sometimes, he thought it might’ve been better if it at least left a scar. A line where his arm had been reconnected. Something he could look at and know that, yeah, it had been real. He really had lost his arm down there. He breathed in. Of course he’d rather have an arm over no arm. It’s just that some part of his mind had never gotten the memo that he was back together again. He breathed out. It was okay. It didn’t matter if he sometimes got phantom pains for a hand that was still there, or woke up gasping for air from a nightmare, or that he couldn’t stand to be in the dark without breaking down in a panic attack.
He breathed in.
He was fine. He just had to convince himself that.
-----
Sometimes, he found himself trying to do things with the wrong hand.
Gordon had been right handed his entire life. Still, that didn’t stop him from reaching for doors with his left. From picking up pens and trying to write with his left, before hastily switching back to his right. From trying to grab things off handily with his left.
The apple fumbled from his left hand where he’d grabbed it wrong, bounced once on the floor (probably bruising in the process) and rolled across the ground.
It wasn’t even that he was this bad with his left. It was just that, once he realized what he was doing, he panicked and dropped whatever he was holding.
Sometimes, he thought it might’ve been easier to just get used to using his left. He didn’t always like how things felt in his right, anymore, anyhow.
-----
“It’s um- it’s a little weird to talk about.”
“Please, Freeman. Go on. I promise I’m not here to judge.”
Breathe out.
Gordon still felt like this was a mistake.
This office couldn’t have been further from what the offices from Black Mesa had been like. If Gordon had to describe it in one word it’d probably be… cozy. Or warm. Or inviting. There was a little zen garden on the table between him and the therapist, with a little figurine of a cat standing inside. Little knick knacks decorated the corners of a bookcase off to one side, and abstract pictures hung from the wall. The couch Gordon was sitting on had little pillows with flowers embroidered on one side.
It made something in the back of his gut crawl, and he wasn’t sure why.
“Okay.” Gordon said. He was leaning forward, wringing his hands in front of him- both of them, partly because he was nervous and partly to remind himself why he was here. “Okay.” he repeated, more for himself than anything. “I um, did the guy who um, he recommended you to me, did he tell you anything about my past?” he asked. The therapist- Gordon stole a glance at the nametag she was wearing again... Dr. Garcia nodded her head. Dang. Gordon was looking for a chance to stall. “Okay. Okay. So um…”
He scratched at his beard- he’d just shaved it back down, so the ends of his hair felt rough against his fingers. Supposedly there were negate that, but Gordon had never been one to care about those small details. Even just shaving had been on the backburner recently- he’d only finally made himself do so so that he could look presentable now. There were things he knew he needed to say, and others he knew he wasn’t allowed or couldn’t possibly talk about.
“So um, yeah. The… earthquake. All in all, I got out fairly well. No long term injuries. Barely a scratch. But uh-” he faulted for a moment. Despite knowing this was coming, he’d never bothered to think up what he should say. Dr. Garcia was writing as he spoke. “There was a… close call. A beam broke off from the ceiling in front of me, while I was on the floor-” he paused to stretch his right arm out in front of him. “Missed this by mere inches. Pure luck I even have an arm right now. And that should be the end of it. But- um…”
More notes. Gordon pulled his arm back, rubbing at the spot it’d been cut before. “I keep getting these… these nightmares. Where, I uh- did lose. Not always in the same way. Or- or I’ll be awake, and suddenly feel like it hurts, but when I stop and think about it-” Gordon shrugged and clicked his tongue. “Nothing. I keep um, when I’m not thinking about it, trying to ignore this hand, but uh… there’s nothing wrong with it.”
He found his voice petering out after that. He’d felt like he had more to say, but no words came to his tongue, nor could he think of what else could be said. Well… he could, but those were things that he couldn’t say. Dr. Garcia continued to write for a few more moments, before nodding to herself, almost unnoticeable, and lowered her pen as her eyes rose to his.
“Trauma can take many forms, mister Freeman.” if she noticed him flinch, she didn’t say anything. “Sometimes, those ways don’t always make… logical sense. Our minds can cling to one small moment during a traumatic experience- a word, an action, or sometimes, a ‘what-if’ scenario and link those moments to our emotional state, at the time.”
She tapped something on her clipboard. “Judging by what you’ve told me, I believe some physical therapy could do you good. Help remind yourself that your hand is still there, and help your mind decouple the idea of nearly losing your hand from your actual hand.”
-----
Was it wrong to upset when you were perfectly healthy? Was it selfish of him to spend so long hung up on injury he didn’t even have anymore? Was it wrong of him to spend so long thinking about something that had only lasted a few hours, at most?
-----
Sometimes he felt like he’d never really left Black Mesa. That he’d open his eyes one morning, and he’d wake up back there.
-----
“Mister Freeman.”
“Mister Coolatta.”
Gordon didn’t know what Tommy’s dad was doing standing on his doorstep. The last time he’d seen the guy, he’d taken the group to the movies. Before that, it had been at the Chuck e Cheese back in… Gordon did the math in his head for a moment. Ah. It had been awhile, hadn’t it? While he was doing this, Mr. Coolatta hadn’t moved from his spot, nor did he seem inclined to say the next word anytime soon. So Gordon asked “What brings you around the neighborhood?”
“I was hoping. To have a… conversation.” Mr. Coolatta said, precise. Sharp. He was smiling in a way that didn’t seem to fit his face quite right. “But not one that I wish to have on, your doorstep. If you wouldn’t mind, Mister Freeman…?”
Ah. It took Gordon a moment to process what he was asking. He gave a little nod and stepped to the side, muttering a soft ‘come in’ under his breath. Mr. Coolatta breezed past him- was he even walking on the ground- before Gordon turned his back on the man to close the door. When he turned back, Mr. Coolatta had somehow made it across his house and sat in a chair in his living room. Gordon stalled a moment, before heading after him.
“Take a seat.” Mr. Coolatta said, gesturing to the chair across from him with a shark's grin. As if this wasn’t Gordon's own home. He sat down anyway. “Now, let’s cut the pleasantries and get right to the heart of the matter. Is the hand I gifted you not up to your standards?”
“Wha?” Gordon asked.
Mr. Coolatta shook his head, his head downturned slightly and his eyes closed for just a moment. “It’s no secret what’s been bothering you as of late, Mister Freeman. Normally, I wouldn’t bother myself with… such endeavors, but Tommy’s very important to me, and you’re very important to… my dear, Tommy.” he was looking at Gordon now, who was doing his best to sink into his own chair. “And Tommy’s very worried. So I decided to… step in, and see if I could do some, damage control before you spireled even… further.”
“Look man-” Gordon realized how far he’d sunk down and yanked himself back up, trying to straighten his back. “It's… the hands are great. Love it. Works just like it did before. It’s just that the…” Gordon stumbled over his words for a moment, before pointing up at his head. “The problems up here, this is the part of me that won’t… that won’t work correctly. And believe me.” Gordon sighed and slumped over. “I’ve been trying man.”
“Would you like me to fix that, too?”
Gordon slowly looked back up, squinting at Mr. Coolatta for a moment. “Huh?”
He leaned forward, his fingertips coming together so that his hands formed a pyramid in front of his mouth and chin. “Would you like me to… take care of that. For you too, Mister Freeman?” he asked.
-----
When Gordon finally opened his door to find Tommy on the other side, he couldn’t help but grin.
“Tommy!” Gordon said, laughing. It felt so good to laugh. He hadn’t in… how long now? “It’s great to see you, man! What brings you on by?”
Tommy had been expecting a few things. Had braced himself for several of them. He had not been expecting this. Gordon actually looked like he’d been taking care of himself instead of just his son- showered, dressed in clean clothes, freshly shaven and not a wink of missed sleep hiding under his eyes. He looked… happy.
Way too happy to be genuine.
He picked his words carefully when he said, “I wanted to… catch up with you. It’s been awhile, mister Freeman.”
Gordon laughed again. “One on Tommy, you can just call me Gordon. In fact, I think you were my superior back at-” his voice vaultered for a moment, as did his smile, then he shook his head and it was all back. “Where are my manors? Come right in, make yourself at home.” he offered, stepping aside so that Tommy could come inside.
The house looked nice, but from what he’d heard, Gordon had been cleaning non-stop since he’d gotten back anyways. Tommy walked further in- and stopped when he got to the living room, standing in the doorway, unsure where his eyes should look back. “Is this…?” Tommy asked, not finishing his sentence as he finished entering the room, flopping into the first chair he came across. Gordon entered the room after him, a pep in his step, before falling cross-legged to the floor in front of the massive pile of Lego in front of him. Around his spot on the floor were several builds, made of random colors and bricks that, as far as Tommy could see, weren't made to any sort of instructions.
Gordon picked up one that looked like a spaceship, with complex looking wing and thrusters and everything. It looked like Gordon was trying to pour his entire MIT Education into this one Lego build. “I used to love building with Lego as a kid- I found some of my old tubes of the stuff in storage for Joshua to play with, but then I realized how much of the stuff I still had and… well,” Gordon shot Tommy a sheepish grin, shrugging his shoulders. “I got a little carried away.”
“I can see that.” Tommy said. Smiling, and wondering if he should have checked up on Gordon more often. He got up and crossed the room to Gordon, resting a hand on his shoulder and kneeling down to his height. “Gordon. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” he asked, squeezing Gordon’s shoulder in a way he hoped was reassuring. Gordon looked at him for a few moments, something shifting in his expression, before he shook his head. “Gordon, I’m serious.”
“Nice to meet you, Serious.” Gordon joked, reaching up to pat Tommy’s shoulder back. “But seriously, I’m fine. I promise.”
Tommy sighed, and let go of Gordon’s shoulder, and stepped back to find his own spot amongst the Lego bricks to sit down. He preferred Minecraft, himself. “Alright.” Tommy said. “Let’s build, then.”
The next few… However, many minutes was filled with the sound of little plastic bricks being clicked into place, broken by one of the two occasionally asking for a piece near the other. Gordon didn’t seem to be in a very talkative mood, humming under his breath, and Tommy was too busy alternating between his builds and watching Gordon closely to think up any conversation starters. Most of Tommy’s builds stuck to a coherent color pattern and structurally sound designs, while Gordons seemed to be… more about how many bricks he could throw into one spot as possible.
Tommy was placing the finishing touches on his tribute to Sunkist, worlds best dog, when he noticed the change. It took him a second- the clicking of bricks had become such background noise he’d started to tune it out, but the rhythm had changed. It was clunkier. Scrambled. Tommy looked up to see Gordon’s hands were fumbling while trying to put the pieces together, shaking too heavily to line them up. Tommy looked up further, and had to bite his tongue before a gasp escaped his lips.
He didn’t want to frighten him, but he wasn’t sure he could just leave Gordon trapped with whatever thoughts were roaming loose in his head right now. Tommy put his build down carefully- more for Gordon’s benefit then his own, and knelt across the pile of Lego. “Gordon.” he said, softly. He got no response, so he cleared his throat and tried a little louder. “Gordon.”
Gordon’s vision flicked back and forth, something in his expression hardening- then the Lego build he’d been working on, something that could have generously been called a car, shattered in his grip. Gordon stared at his hand like he couldn’t fathom where his build had gone, shook his head, and finally looked up at Tommy with a big smile.
“Oh, hi Tommy!” Gordon said, voice light and carefree. “When did you get here?”
Tommy met Gordon’s eyes for a few silent seconds, searching, before sighing and standing to his feet. “I’m getting you some water.” Tommy announced, stepping over the Lego pile and striding towards the kitchen. “And then we’ve got to talk.”
“You’re- hold on Tommy, wait-!”
Tommy heard Gordon get up and scramble after him, but it was too late. Tommy had already entered the kitchen. Tommy glanced back and forth in confusion, first at the mess at the counter, then the one across the room. He turned back to Gordon, raising an eyebrow questionable at him.
“I uh…” Gordon fiddled with his fingers, seemingly without realizing it, eyes darting wildly back and forth. “I got.. Startled. Yeah. Just a little jumpy.”
“You were startled,” Tommy said. “So you overfilled a coffee mug and shattered your pot on the other side of the room?”
“...Yes?” Gordon answered.
Tommy strode forwards and clasped both hands on his shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. “Gordon. We care about you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
For a second, just a moment, it looked like Gordon was about to break. Then he shook his head, tension melting from the shoulders under Tommy’s grip, and when Gordon finally dragged his head up there was an unmistakable yellow glint to his eyes.
“Oh, hi Tommy!” Gordon said, smiling. “What’re you doing here?”
Tommy closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breathing in slowly, and then out. When he opened them, he wasn’t really looking at Gordon when he said “I’m gonna go talk to my dad.”
-----
Gordon was fine. Really.
He was fine.
And then he wasn’t anymore.
-----
The next time Tommy found him, Gordon was sitting in one of his kitchen chairs, head in his hands, sobbing softly to himself. Tommy pulled another chair over to his, sat down in it, and wrapped an arm around Gordon’s shaking shoulders.
I probably stink but I hate showers because the water hitting my skin feels like tiny little bugs scurrying across my skin and it triggers my phobia, my tactile hallucinations, and my formication, and I don’t have the energy for a bath /neg
I am so sick of this shit I hate feeling bugs crawling on my skin its so annoying I can't even tell if it's real anymore. Like there might actually be bugs on my skin! Seriously a couple of times there were bugs on me but most of the time there's not there's plausible deniability there
