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Gordon held the neck of his vodka premix loosely between his fingers, letting it swing forward and back. The party at his apartment had been a wild one, with the Science Team making a right mess of everything. Even Forzen and Mister Coolatta had shown up, with the former now asleep on the couch without his shoes, as to avoid party fouls, and the latter heading home early after coming out victorious in three successive drinking contests.
Now the remaining members of the Science Team were gathered around the coffee table, seated on pillows, blankets, and anything else soft they could get their hands on, all quietly chatting about anything and everything. Gordon would have thought it strange that they'd all lowered their voices, but seeing how they'd been earlier, it only felt right.
"I didn't like that movie much." Coomer flicked the ring pull of his bourbon, leaning against Bubby's shoulder. "I remember it in the cinemas!"
"I wasn't allowed in the Black Mesa theater," Bubby grumbled in response. He opened a bottle of water and took a sip before offering it to Coomer, only to have it declined. "The projector would affect my biology apparently." He placed finger quotes around the reasoning, scowling as he spoke. Tommy hummed in acknowledgment, sliding his wine glass towards Darnold, who was busy uncorking another bottle.
Lifting the bottle, Darnold poured a perfect glass. There was a silence as the team watched him somehow manage to pour the white wine in an uninterrupted stream, without a splash or stray drop. "I heard the projectors were also administering radiation doses as part of a 'microdosing campaign' run by the higher ups." Darnold slid the glass back before pouring his own, just as smoothly. "But they had to stop when the radiation levels started causing more negative effects than they could justify."
Gordon laughed. "I guess you're lucky then," he said, looking at Bubby.
Bubby huffed, crossing his arms. "Maybe I wanted to be irradiated."
"I'm not sure Professor." Sitting up slightly, Coomer draped an arm over Bubby's shoulder, pulling them closer together. "Our movie screening was packed, and only one of us turned into a strange preying mantis! The others either bubbled and became puddles, or got a headache."
"Did you get a headache?" Bubby asked, raising an eyebrow. Coomer blinked back at him, a tired smile on his face. "Did... did you get a headache?"
Coomer turned sharply to face Gordon, grinning in a far more genuine manner. "Hello, Gordon!"
His answer was noted with a gentle "ah" from around the table, with Gordon sipping at his drink as he tried to do the mental gymnastics needed to work out how much of Coomer might have become sludge, or if it'd just been a clone that he'd been perceiving as himself. There'd been a few times where Coomer had talked about an experience that he'd had, only for Bubby to tell him that it didn't make sense, or that he'd been doing something else at the time.
Tommy took a drink of his wine, eyes widening as he set the glass down with a "Mm!", signalling he'd thought of something. He quickly swallowed, coughing as it went down the wrong way. "Were you there for the first screening of The Thing?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I heard that when the dog was on screen-"
There was a sharp gasp from the couch, and all eyes turned to watch Forzen sit up, body tense as he struggled to reorient himself after such an awakening. He breathed deep and shaky, blinking owlishly as he turned to look at the Science Team gathered around the small table, all watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Darnold shifted in his seat, preparing to stand. "Forzen?"
"M'alright." Rubbing at his face, Forzen stumbled to his feet, legs still half asleep. "Just gotta... get some air."
"Oh." Darnold settled back down as Forzen moved towards the front door, slipping on his boots. "It's cold out there, so-"
The door shut with a slam, silencing Darnold's concerned words. Gordon frowned and set down his bottle, making sure to place it back on the small ring of condensation it had made previously. "I'll get him a jacket."
"Don't get lost." Bubby glanced towards the windows, looking at the night sky. "You promised us a movie tonight, and it's my turn to pick."
Gordon rolled his eyes, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, getting the aches out of his shoulders and pulling the hem of his shirt back down. "You better pick something by the time I get back."
Muttering to himself, Bubby took a sip of his water and turned to Coomer, intent on discussing his movie shortlist. Gordon paid them no mind, instead grabbing two jackets off the coat rack as he slipped on some sandals and headed out.
The night air was cool and refreshing, contrasting the warm buzz that the alcohol had given him. It woke Gordon immediately as he stepped out of the apartment lobby, attention focused on the man sitting hunched in the entryway. The door shut behind him with a soft click, but it was more than enough to get Forzen's attention.
"I'm fine," he said, turning slightly to the side in acknowledgement of Gordon. His elbow rested on his knee, with a cigarette loosely between his fingers. "Go back inside."
Gordon let his shoulders drop, awkwardly shifting in place before taking a seat on the concrete beside Forzen. "It's cold out," he said, handing over the coat he'd brought from inside. Forzen looked at it for a moment, then to Gordon, then back to the coat. "Take it, at least."
Bringing the cigarette back to his mouth, Forzen accepted the jacket. "Thanks." He spoke with a cloud of nicotine, slipping the plain black jacket on but foregoing the zip. "S'nice of you."
Gordon donned his own jacket, zipping it up and pulling the sleeves over his hands as best he could. "Bad dream?"
"Mm." Forzen pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew. A stream of smoke billowed from his mouth, clinging to him like an aura. Gordon held his hand out in request. "Didn't think you smoked."
"Haven't for years," he answered as Forzen pulled the packet from his pocket, handing it over to Gordon. "What about you?" He pulled out a cigarette and the lighter, setting it in his mouth and cupping the end as he tried to light it. "Didn't see you as a smoker."
"Wasn't. Not until..." Forzen trailed off but there was no need to continue. The lighter was put back in the packet and Gordon held it out. "M'not even meant to be smoking."
Gordon took a deep drag of his cigarette as Forzen grabbed the pack, feeling the nicotine permeate his lungs. "Asthma?" He breathed out, smoke leaving his nose and mouth. "You're not... You don't have-"
Forzen waved him away. "Nah," he said, smoke clinging to his words. "M'gonna be a chef, so I gotta taste the stuff. Make sure I'm not fucking up the spices."
"Since when were you gonna be a chef?" Gordon flicked the ash off his cigarette with a practiced motion, something that he'd picked up in early adulthood and never truly let go. "I thought you were just doing bootlicker shit."
"Culinary school isn't cheap." Forzen breathed deep, the glowing end of his cigarette brightening with it. He held the breath until it burnt in his chest, breathing the smoke and tension out slowly. "I just wanted to graduate. They said they'd pay the last semester."
"How old are you?" Gordon shifted closer to Forzen, trying to get a good look at the man's face.
Forzen turned away, resting his elbows on his knees. "Just turned 22." He sighed, placing a hand over his eyes. "I was so close to graduating, and- I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't've been near that shit. Had a class that afternoon. We were making souffle."
They fell into a silence, backed only by the distant sounds of traffic and the subtle hiss of their burning cigarettes. Hesitantly, Gordon set an arm over Forzen's shoulders, pausing halfway through the motion before fully committing.
"Thanks." Forzen shuffled closer to lean against him, letting Gordon rest his arm there. Again they fell into a silence that stretched for several minutes, broken when Forzen flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Had a dream 'bout Benry."
"Yeah?" Snubbing his almost finished cigarette on the concrete beside him, Gordon flicked it away into a nearby bush. "What was it?"
Taking a breath of his cigarette, Forzen blew the smoke through his nose, watching it curl in the night air. "It wasn't really... anything. It just..."
He sighed, equal parts annoyance and exhaustion. "A few days before the... We were at my place, and I was mad. Had a bad sleep and then my tutor was like 'oh, your sashimi slices are bad they should be thinner', and then Benry came over to play Street Fighter. He said he wasn't cheating but like, I picked Zangief, and he picked Bridget."
"You don't like Bridget?" Gordon tilted his head, trying to get a read on the situation.
Forzen turned to meet his gaze, face straight. "Bridget is from Guilty Gear. We were playing Street Fighter."
Gordon withdrew his arm, clasping his hands together between his knees. "Ah."
"He kept saying he wasn't cheating," Forzen continued," -but then he'd end up doing a kamehameha."
This time Gordon nodded. "Dragon Ball."
Forzen snorted. "Course you'd know that, old man."
"Shut up!" Grinning, Gordon gave Forzen's shoulder a gentle punch. "I'm not old, I'm 28!"
"Grandpa." Forzen smiled at him, letting it drop with a sigh. "He just kept doing stuff and- I got mad. I yelled at him, he yelled at me, I told him to leave and not come back, he said he'd rather die than come back, and I told him to- I said that his funeral couldn't come soon enough."
Gordon tensed, raising a hand to set on Forzen's shoulder but never quite getting there. "Forzen..."
"Didn't think three days later, I'd be pulled straight out of the rubble of Black Mesa and sent to lower his casket." Forzen laughed but it was empty and hollow thing. His fists balled in the ends of his jacket, the pitiful remains of his cigarette falling onto the ground. "Or that he'd stay dead. Y'know I- I put his intestines back in after he got attacked by a bear? I helped reattach his fingers after woodworking class, I-" He sniffed, trying desperately to hold back the wave of emotion that was rising. "I helped him after he drowned in the pool during summer break, n'after he decided he wanted to become a snowman and caught frostbite and I-"
Hands met Gordon's shoulders before he could even realize what was happening, left to owlishly stare at Forzen as he shouted, cheeks wet and eyes stinging. "And the one time I told him to stay dead, he did it! And now he's gone and I know it wasn't my fault but it- It doesn't stop because what if... If..."
"If he blames you?"
The hands slipped from Gordon's shoulders, trembling as Forzen turned away, trying to pull himself back together and pack it down. He sniffed again, rubbing desperately at his face in an attempt to scrub it all away. "I just keep thinking... what if he stayed that day. It was a weekend, so we- We coulda partied, stayed up late, he woulda called in sick and he'd- We-"
Gordon gently sighed, setting a hand on Forzen's shoulder and giving a squeeze. "The thing is, we'll never know."
"Sucks." His breath hitched, pulling Gordon close and clinging to him. There was no hesitation as Gordon held him, clutching the back of his jacket. He understood, not exactly, not in the same way that Forzen was experiencing it, but he knew the core of it, and his grip tightened for it.
The two of them sat there, clinging to each other in the cold night air. Gordon traced small circles on Forzen's back while the other hung onto his jacket for dear life, sobbing for all the pent-up grief he'd never processed. Gentle reassurances were mumbled between them, a balm for not only Forzen but Gordon too.
The fists in Gordon's jacket slowly uncurled, leaving wrinkles in the fabric as Forzen pulled away, rubbing at his eyes. "Sorry."
"Don't be." The words were soft and warm as Gordon also pulled back, leaving some space between them for Forzen to compose himself. "It's hard.
Sniffling, Forzen tugged at the sleeves of his jacket, using them to wipe his cheeks. A deep, shaky breath filled his lungs, and he breathed it out in a heavy sigh. "M'gonna... I'll be fine. Just..."
"We're doing it rough too, you know." Gordon stared up at the night sky, peaceful and quiet, unaware of their predicament. "But we're helping each other. Me, Bubby, Tommy, Coomer, even Darnold. So if you needa talk about it..." Gordon trailed off, pushing himself to his feet and stretching his arms above him.
Forzen looked up at him with a tired smile. "Will do, gramps." He gave a lazy salute even as Gordon rolled his eyes and headed towards the lobby doors. "Gordon?"
"Hm?" With the door half open and probably letting in a handful of bugs, Gordon turned around. "What's up?"
"Thanks." Forzen gave him a small thumbs up and Gordon returned it as he stepped inside, leaving the young man with his thoughts. The cold night air cut through the thing material of the jacket, but he didn't mind at all. His dream was fading, and the hold it had on his heart was going with it.
Forzen took one last breath and let it go, pushing himself to his feet. The night's chill seemed to hit him now, and he tugged the jacket closer around himself as he hurried back inside. He could see Gordon in the dimly lit entryway, waiting for the elevator.
"Any room in there?" he called as the doors slid open, causing Gordon to pause right in the doorway.
"I dunno," Gordon answered with a smile. "I'm a big guy."
Forzen snorted, pushing Gordon gently into the elevator and pressing the button for their floor. "You good?" Gordon asked, leaning against the interior railing as the doors slipped shut.
"Yeah." Reaching into his pocket, Forzen pulled out the pack of cigarettes. "Mind holding onto these?"
Gordon took them from the offered hand with a smile. "Only if you make me a souffle?"
"Yeah alright," Forzen answered with a shrug and a smile. "Why not?"