The second night is always the hardest.
May. 17th, 2008 12:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acts_of_gordThe first time Gordon tried to sleep in Milliways, he was out before his head hit the pillow. Total exhaustion held the dreams at bay.
The second time was different.
He was back in Black Mesa, seventy feet above the floor, holding onto a railing for dear life as he crouched for the same hopeless jump that had killed him twenty times already. And was going to kill him again, as he felt the lift-off go wrong, exactly the same as every other time.
He was clinging to a pipe that snaked its way over a river of oily, vile stuff, his Geiger counter so frantic the ticking sounds blurred together into one long cry. He was going to fall. He always fell, and felt the burning eating into his bones, but the darkness never lasted long enough for mercy; his last struggle ended with him clinging to the pipe again, looking down at the bubbling waste.
He was leaning against a wall with his rifle in hand, closing his eyes and counting the moments between the last bullet and the first grenade. He always got it wrong, and he knew that, but he stepped out just in time to be caught anyway-
They snapped him awake, one after another, and he stared at the ceiling in silence each time. But he'd been through worse (hadn't he?), so he tried to put it aside, tried to sleep again...
Eventually, though, even the dog noticed. Raisa put her head over the edge of the bed and stared at him with worried big-dog eyes. He mustered a smile for her sake and reached over to run one gauntleted hand over her head. "It's okay," he murmured, "I'm all right."
It was a miserable lie and they both knew it.
The room itself had no window, but when Gordon went to splash water on his face, he caught sight of the one in the bathroom. It was small, and more meant for ventilation than a view, but he undid the lock and pried it open anyway. Outside it was cool, and a drizzling sense of greyness filled the darkness. A sudden sense of homesickness beyond belief squeezed his heart; he closed the window and looked over to the dog, who was keeping her obedient vigil in the next room. "Hey," he called. "Wanna go-"
He almost said outside, but stopped. You didn't say that word in front of a big dog unless you were ready to go out right then. He was going to need some time to work up the nerve for that, not because he was afraid of going out, but because... well, because he wanted to see if he could take the chance of doing it without the HEV suit. Even his cycling armor had mesh points and gaps in it; what good was it walking under the open sky again if you couldn't feel the damp on your skin?
He never told anyone just how long it took, sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the first of the catches in the HEV suit removal sequence, before he finally mustered the will to start prying it off. He didn't remember until his hand was on the dresser drawer that he didn't have any other clothing here. There were clothes in the drawer anyway. The T-shirt was from the MIT bookstore, and the jeans were his size-
Gordon looked around for some sign that he'd fallen asleep after all and started dreaming again, but nothing was forthcoming. In the end he pulled the stuff on regardless, and tried not to think how ridiculously naked he felt without the suit. He could walk outside without it. He could.
But if anyone tried to take his crowbar away from him, they were in for a very bad time. That, he wasn't going to give up 'til the day he died.
Nobody noticed one man and one big dog slipping through the Bar out to the back door, or if they did, they didn't say. The sky was clouded over; somehow, that seemed appropriate. He wasn't sure what he'd think of the sight of stars tonight. Not after- after everything. But there was a little moonlight through the clouds and drizzle and grey, enough to navigate at least a little by; so that was how Gordon spent the rest of the night until dawn, following the shoreline of the lake, one foot in front of the other until whatever was waiting in the day ahead came to claim him.
The second time was different.
He was back in Black Mesa, seventy feet above the floor, holding onto a railing for dear life as he crouched for the same hopeless jump that had killed him twenty times already. And was going to kill him again, as he felt the lift-off go wrong, exactly the same as every other time.
He was clinging to a pipe that snaked its way over a river of oily, vile stuff, his Geiger counter so frantic the ticking sounds blurred together into one long cry. He was going to fall. He always fell, and felt the burning eating into his bones, but the darkness never lasted long enough for mercy; his last struggle ended with him clinging to the pipe again, looking down at the bubbling waste.
He was leaning against a wall with his rifle in hand, closing his eyes and counting the moments between the last bullet and the first grenade. He always got it wrong, and he knew that, but he stepped out just in time to be caught anyway-
They snapped him awake, one after another, and he stared at the ceiling in silence each time. But he'd been through worse (hadn't he?), so he tried to put it aside, tried to sleep again...
Eventually, though, even the dog noticed. Raisa put her head over the edge of the bed and stared at him with worried big-dog eyes. He mustered a smile for her sake and reached over to run one gauntleted hand over her head. "It's okay," he murmured, "I'm all right."
It was a miserable lie and they both knew it.
The room itself had no window, but when Gordon went to splash water on his face, he caught sight of the one in the bathroom. It was small, and more meant for ventilation than a view, but he undid the lock and pried it open anyway. Outside it was cool, and a drizzling sense of greyness filled the darkness. A sudden sense of homesickness beyond belief squeezed his heart; he closed the window and looked over to the dog, who was keeping her obedient vigil in the next room. "Hey," he called. "Wanna go-"
He almost said outside, but stopped. You didn't say that word in front of a big dog unless you were ready to go out right then. He was going to need some time to work up the nerve for that, not because he was afraid of going out, but because... well, because he wanted to see if he could take the chance of doing it without the HEV suit. Even his cycling armor had mesh points and gaps in it; what good was it walking under the open sky again if you couldn't feel the damp on your skin?
He never told anyone just how long it took, sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the first of the catches in the HEV suit removal sequence, before he finally mustered the will to start prying it off. He didn't remember until his hand was on the dresser drawer that he didn't have any other clothing here. There were clothes in the drawer anyway. The T-shirt was from the MIT bookstore, and the jeans were his size-
Gordon looked around for some sign that he'd fallen asleep after all and started dreaming again, but nothing was forthcoming. In the end he pulled the stuff on regardless, and tried not to think how ridiculously naked he felt without the suit. He could walk outside without it. He could.
But if anyone tried to take his crowbar away from him, they were in for a very bad time. That, he wasn't going to give up 'til the day he died.
Nobody noticed one man and one big dog slipping through the Bar out to the back door, or if they did, they didn't say. The sky was clouded over; somehow, that seemed appropriate. He wasn't sure what he'd think of the sight of stars tonight. Not after- after everything. But there was a little moonlight through the clouds and drizzle and grey, enough to navigate at least a little by; so that was how Gordon spent the rest of the night until dawn, following the shoreline of the lake, one foot in front of the other until whatever was waiting in the day ahead came to claim him.
