Chapter Text
“hey uh. freeman. you allergic to snakes?”
“Hm?”
Gordon Freeman is tired.
It’s 4am. He’s had an absolutely cromulent fuckcrustable of a day so far. He’s been working on two papers, both pretty important for his research, and he’s playing a precarious balancing game of energy, sleep, caffeine, and time.
Benrey’s asking about snakes?
“asked if you were allergic to snakes c’mon man i don't got all day here.”
“Why do you need to know—“ Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the prickling behind his eyes from looking at the computer. “No, I’m not allergic to snakes.”
“sweet ‘cause. i got us a new roommate”
“…You what?”
“got us a new roommate.”
And then Benrey, seemingly convinced that yes, that is enough information and certainly explains things, turns and leaves.
Gordon does not like the implications of that statement.
It’s not— because he doesn’t like snakes. He does. And it’s not that he doesn’t trust Benrey. He does.
He’s just not completely sure they’re the type of person to not pick up a snake from God knows where and bring it home.
Which— they wouldn’t do that, surely.
…Probably.
He abandons his computer to follow Benrey down the hall.
Benrey’s room looks the same as ever (methodical chaos), save for the addition of a big tank draped in towels on the box they use as a shelf- how did they lug that thing in here? Gordon decides he does not want to know.
“oh hey feetman.”
“Is there a snake in that box?”
“’s a viv-ar-i-um. and yeah.” Benrey is lying on the carpet. “why, you scared or somethin’?”
“No, but…” Gordon’s thoughts are fuzzier than he’d like. “Would have been nice to get some warning since we literally live together?”
“was kind of last minute. the whole snake adoption thing. my bad. well ackshually it was rose’s fault she was supposed to take her but like she backed out. ’n moving snakes takes a tight schedule.”
Well. Alright. This is life now, he supposes.
“What— kind of snake.” And where the fuck did you acquire her? goes unsaid, but Benrey explains anyways.
“corn snake. uh. got her from virgil ‘cause his dorm found out about her.” They point up to the tank. “its sleepy time so she doesn’t get stressed.”
“What’s a corn snake?”
“orange.”
“Thanks. Explains a lot.”
“shes not bitey. or venomous. we gotta feed her mices though. hey why’s the plural of mices not meese.”
“…I dunno?” Gordon rubs his eyes. “Where’d you get the tank— or, uh, vivarium?”
Benrey tsks. “didja really think i wouldn’t get her stuff from virgil first. for shame.”
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According to Benrey, Virgil calls her Lemon. Which- well. Gordon spots her lying under her heat lamp and she’s really closer to an orange than anything else.
Maybe a tangerine?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It takes time to acclimate Lemon to her new environment, to learn how to feed and handle her without stressing her. Eventually, though, Gordon’s able to hold her outside of her cage. Although she seems to prefer Benrey ever so slightly.
“Aw man,” Gordon watches as the tiny, orange noodle-looking beast makes a bid for Benrey’s hand. “Why does she like you better?”
“warm.” Benrey grins. “gordon cold-handman. plus i am just her favourite.”
The snake seems to agree, wedging herself into their sleeve. Little reptile sleeping bag.
There is a lull.
“She really doesn’t look like a lemon.”
“nah.”
Lemon tastes the air.
“well. she doesn’t even know her name’s lemon. guess we could call her somethin’ else.”
“…Fructose.”
“…no.”
“Okay, well. Any other ideas?”
“mmmm… macaroni. kraft dinners.”
“Still a food name.”
“oh k. so there’s a rule against food names now. fuckin’… fructoseman.” Benrey twists their hand so Lemon-Fructose-Macaroni can clamber onto the back of their wrist.
“I’m not good with names!”
“yeah i know. you named yourself gordon. thomas tank engine lookin ass.”
“Yeah, well— you named yourself Benrey.” He’s really not sure what kind of a comeback that is.
Benrey sticks their tongue out at him. “we should name her…. candace.”
“Huh. Why—“ Gordon regrets the words as he’s speaking.
“can deez NUTS fit in your—“
The corn snake tastes the air around her face, seemingly undisturbed by the discussion.
Which. Yeah. She is a snake. It’s not within her umwelt to be concerned with the arbitrary vibrations of human words. Or names.
Gordon reflects. “Peach?. That one’s still a food, but—”
“mario karts. daisy.”
“Daisy could work. Or Tiger?”
“i still like macaroni.” Benrey places their hand on Gordon’s shoulder, careful to support the snake. Candace-Peach-Daisy-Tiger bravely slithers over the gap between the two, ends up nestled against Gordon’s neck, where the fabric of his hoodie traps warmth.
She does look noodle-like. And violently yellow-orange.
“Yeah, I see it. Macaroni.”
“fuck yea.”