Work Text:
Adrenaline surging, Gordon ducked left, missing the Combine soldier's swing by a hair's breadth.
Too close.
This guy was huge. He didn't think he'd ever seen a soldier this big before. Persistent, too. He hadn't anticipated running head-first into one of the Combine troops, blindsided to the temple by the end of an SMG whipping straight from the ninety degree corner of the bend of a hallway he'd been traversing. He was barely holding up though the relentless barrage of fists whistling through the air. He couldn't find enough time to fight back before another punch would fly his way and force him back into this frantic dance of evasion. After the initial hit to his temple, there hadn't even been time to recover before his crowbar was knocked from his hand in a brutal punch, leaving him defenceless. He didn't know why the soldier hadn't shot him full of holes yet. Guess this one had been a fan of boxing once, before falling to the Combine regime.
Another swing from the soldier, a quick jab to keep him on his toes. He ducked to the side. Lucky he was nimble, hard to believe with the heavy HEV suit he wore, but this wasn't his first fist-fight by a long shot. Dusty and greased with sweat, he felt the terrifying slide of his glasses slipping and slapped a frantic hand over his face to keep them from falling, blocking his sight.
Big mistake.
A lightning-quick punch came straight to the side of his head, blasting right into his ear. He hollered in pain, head snapping to the side and eyes flying shut as an explosion of sound screamed through his synapses.
His glasses went flying anyways.
The world was a blur of motion and noise, all mashing together into a warped, pulsing haze. He couldn't react. His armoured body hit the floor like a stone, a crash that came clear through one ear, but roared in the other. He dimly registered that he hadn't sustained any more head trauma hitting the ground, but his suit was rattling off words he couldn't grasp through the waves of disorientation. Barely able to move, his arms shuffled on the floor uselessly as he desperately tried to wrestle back his senses. Flailing like a stunned bird, panic quickly set in.
Glasses. Glasses, have to— need glasses. And the— and the crowbar.
He scrambled blindly, HEV suit cutting grooves into the concrete as he flipped onto his front and swept his hands in wide, desperate arcs. The tinny sound of the soldier's voice bounced off his ears.
Gone. His glasses weren't there.
Screw it. He grunted, gritting his teeth, pushing shaky arms beneath him to lift himself up. He had to get up. A swift kick landed above his hip, followed by more Combine nonsense his garbled brain couldn't piece together. The HEV suit softened most of the blow, but he was sent back down to the ground.
Groaning in pain, he quickly tried again, flicking squinted eyes up at his attacker. The large grey shape of the soldier was already in motion as something came slamming down viciously onto his leg, instantly buckling the metal around his ankle like papier-mâché. White-hot agony shot up his leg and seared through every single nerve in his body. He couldn't hold it back and the scream tore straight from the depths of his lungs.
Legs swinging, the soldier paced back and forth, uncharacteristically smug, keeping their glowing goggles trained on him but allowing him to scream himself empty, enjoying the show. After the blinding pain passed, he was left heaving, air whistling through tightly clenched teeth, head thumping like a drum. He fought back a trembling surge of nausea while the stern voice of the HEV suit calmly recited its diagnosis.
Warning. Compound...fracture...detected. Automatic...medical...systems...engaged. Morphine...administered.
He grunted, the sound trailing into a shaky whimper. A gentle click and whirr alerted him to the hefty dose of morphine being pumped into him and he hissed a strained sigh. Through all the chaos, he'd ended up close to where his trusty red crowbar lay. A blurry red line, off to the side but within reach if he could just shuffle a little closer. Problem was the Combine nutjob was in the way. There was something seriously wrong with this one. The conversion process had clearly left any previous sadistic tendencies untouched.
The drug mingling with his blood had beaten back the agony enough for him to formulate an idea. Trying his hardest to ignore the harsh bite of pain every time he moved, Gordon pulled himself closer to the strutting soldier and lunged, grabbing ahold of one of their legs and sticking on tight. The soldier let out a growl that sounded like disgust or anger, probably both, but he'd stopped them in their tracks. Using their own leg as leverage, he pushed off and dove for the crowbar.
Got it!
He clenched his fist around the metal rod, indescribable relief passing through him with it back in his hand. With an adrenaline-fueled surge of power, he twisted back around and savagely speared the sharpened point of metal up between the soldier's legs before they could react, praying that he hit something.
His prayer was answered.
The tip pierced clean through fabric, lodging deep into flesh and tendon between the crook of the grunt's leg. A robotic scream scratched out of the misshapen mask, and hot, wet blood dripped onto his glove, trailing down his hand onto the floor. He quickly let go as they stumbled back and buckled to one knee, toppling over into a wailing heap.
A delirious little laugh escaped him, but the fight wasn't over yet. Grimacing, Gordon started to crawl forward on his elbows, broken leg scraping uselessly and leaving a trail of bright red droplets behind him.
Closing in on the struggling body, he reached between their legs for the curved end of his crowbar, wrenching it out with a growl, ignoring the disturbing howl of pain. Adjusting his grip on the blood-smeared metal, he powered on, getting closer to the grunt's head.
Sensing danger, the soldier groaned and tried to get up, rasping heavily. Gordon lifted his weapon, readying a strike, but they reacted by catching the swing just before it landed. He tugged the crowbar back, but the soldier's grip was solid. Grunting in pain, he wrestled himself into a one-legged kneel. It was all a battle of strength from here on out. Gordon had the advantage at this height, and the weight of the HEV suit to boot, but the soldier was packing serious muscle. A stray leg kicked his broken ankle and he bit back a heavy groan. He bore down on the curved end of the crowbar, lining up the point with the crook of the soldier's neck. An angry sound burst from the mask, the sound of garbled profanities. His arms trembled, fingers burning from the strength of his grip. He could feel the soldier slipping and doubled down, a growl building at the back of his throat. The crowbar was shaking as he pushed down with all his might, watching the sharpened end slowly sink lower and lower. The soldier struggled, bucking and kicking, head swinging side to side, firing rapid bursts of panicked speech. He ignored it all, honed in on that vulnerable little spot at the fold of the soldier's neck. As soon as the tip made contact, he rose up and slammed his weight down to drive it home. The body under him went stiff. Unable to scream around the rod of metal lodged deep in their throat, the soldier gasped out a mechanised gurgle of blood and started to shake. Gordon screwed his eyes shut, riding out the erratic jitters of the dying body. Soon everything went still, and the hands gripping the crowbar went limp, falling away, followed by the low tone of a flatline.
Silence returned.
Unclenching his teeth, he let go of the breath he'd been holding, lowering back to the floor, giving himself a second to recover.
He'd won. But at a cost. He was always careful, but... he'd known something like this was bound to happen after the countless close calls he'd narrowly avoided.
Gingerly he turned onto hands and knees and crawled over to the nearest wall, leaning back and resting his head. The morphine was starting to wear off, a hot feverish throb gradually worming its way back into his leg. He grimaced, carefully pulling his limb closer. Without his glasses he couldn't make out much of the damage, but he could still tell that it was bad. He wasn't going to be able to walk this one off. He'd have to regroup with the rebels and get patched up. Shit. Repairs to his suit, too.
Breathing hard, Gordon sat back and made himself as comfortable as possible, well and truly spent. He'd wait awhile before limping back to a settlement like a beaten dog. He thought he deserved a little rest, at least. In his mind, something that was long, long overdue...