Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The office was quiet.

Doug couldn’t sit still. He’d reset the sub breaker for the building three drawings ago and checked for cameras at least eight times. Once more, he stood to walk a circuit around the room and thrice make sure he’d disabled the safety lock on the front door. Worry squirmed into every limb of his body and threatened to spill out his mouth.

And yet the office remained quiet.

He plunked down in front of the computer again and tried to ignore his own reflection in the bubbled monitor. It laughed at him. It scolded him. It listed every alternate path and option in a halting tangled loop.

And still, the office was quiet.

Was it a lie to believe Wheatley had died? Or maybe thinking him living was the fabrication. Doug had no way of knowing. That wave function would simply have to remain unobserved for now.

Doug moved to stand again but thought better of it. He’d given himself leeway on the first movements; there was ample time between Wheatley and the main breaker, but he should be getting close by now. He’d given him an hour-long window, and Doug couldn’t be away from the monitor for even a second of it. He couldn’t spare those moments of distance.

Finally, Cube spoke.

“You know there was no other way.”

“We could have taken the drive.” Doug breathed life into his doubts. His fingers traced along the seam of the keyboard, and he felt the eyes of the equipment rest on him. Eyes, always eyes. One of the easiest part of the human body to trick. He swallowed thickly. “We could have made sure-“

“There was no other way.” They repeated.

Doug turned to them pleadingly for a moment, before sighing and reaching down into his bag to withdraw the small device he’d been tinkering with on and off. It was a collection of springs and bolts, something close to an automatic window punch with a longer spike and a harness. He twisted a few screws, then wound the spike back.

“You probably should have told him about that.” Cube chastised softly as Doug pressed the button.

On the count of seven, the spike plunged down. That seemed like too little time.

“Not yet.” Doug murmured. “This is a last resort. Too unpredictable.” He adjusted once more before winding it again.

“It may be your only resort if he doesn’t make it.”

Ten seconds. Doug could get places in ten seconds. He slipped it back into his bag. “He will make it.”

And with that declaration, the office became quiet once more.

.

Doug jolted from his stillness when the lights around him sputtered to life, and the monitor lit up with its gaudy orange loading screen. Wheatley. He was alive, and he’d done it. His fingers flew to the keys, brute forcing his way through a scheduled update and tapping in his stolen credentials.

It didn’t take long.

The speaker overhead keened with feedback, then fell into static broken silence. “…If I had known you were planning to hand yourselves over, I would have prepared dinner. Oh well.” Her voice trickled down like oil over water, barely covering the sound of hands slapping against the monitor.

Doug paid neither any mind. He pulled up the security application and felt every second it took to load.

“Hm. That’s strange. I only see one of you. And I can’t hear that other one anywhere.” She purred through the speaker. It made one of his hands seize. He’d missed one, or several. The broken ones on the floor hummed. “Did you get rid of him? I forgot to mention, that idiot’s almost as paranoid as you. Well… maybe not. You’re a little hard to beat. Either way, I can assure you this time his persecution wasn’t a delusion.”

With a few simple clicks, the console came into focus. Doug clenched his jaw so hard his heart pounded through his teeth. The adrenaline pumping through his limbs had him shaking, but he had to keep constant. Had to keep steady, lest he hit the wrong key and render these efforts moot.

“That’s right. I could hear every word. I agreed with everything he said, too. You really should stop whatever it is you think you’re doing and let the Aperture Party Escort Bots surrounding you inside because he was correct.”

The statements were vague enough to pick up the dishonesty, even as Doug’s illusions latched onto the idea. It rose in murmurs first, then became a physical clamp along the ridge of his skull. Mechanical footsteps thumped around him. He pushed past the part of his mind that wished to flee from a predator and walked the knowing and precise dance of keystrokes. Doug had made sure to practice beforehand.

Into the room, into the tiles, access the specific connection of synthetic neurons; those firm lines of code blinked back what he already knew. She’d turned off the function and attempted to bar access. Not the first time he’d seen that. Doug hunched further as the shadows continued to encroach and the whispers became roars. He spelled out his work around, then dug his teeth into those well-worn divots along his bottom lip.

“Oh. That’s what you’re trying to do.” The screen flickered. A small line of red code ran along the bottom, and then the text began flying so fast he couldn’t make out anything. “You’d deluded yourself into thinking I’d forgotten about that. Or any of the other dozen or so ways to shut me off. Let me assure you; I’ve taken care of all of them.”

Doug shook off the fear grasping at his heart and snagged up Cube, booking it as lights bathed the walls red. A blaring alarm swelled through the room. They’d try again. He’d find Wheatley, and they could just try again. If worst came to worst, they could find a way to tunnel out: it was a salt mine after all. He shouldered open the door.

Three red sights snapped to attention at chest level. “There’s just one more I need to get rid of.”

“Back and to the right!” Cube cried.

In the 1.3 seconds it took for their wings to open, Doug lunged for it. Bullets flooded through the open doorway as he huddled against the plaster. Phantom pains ricocheted up his leg with each mark missed.

“Where’d you go…” one chimed as their lasers leveled out.

“Those people just wanted to say hi. I’m not sure why you ran from them.” She tutted once the gun fire ceased. “Maybe you haven’t seen a person in so long you’ve forgotten what they look like. Or has that unstable mind of yours finally given up? Go back out and say hello; you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.”

He exhaled softly. “Thank you, friend.” The extra adrenaline was fast fleeting; Doug knew it was close to running out altogether. He’d been low for a while now, sleeping less – though there was little difference – and worrying more. Stress had already eroded large cracks amid his foundation, and the addition of Wheatley, no matter the boon, had added more. It had also, without much realizing, lulled him into a sense of… safety. Or its closest cousin. Doug tipped his head back and tried to ignore the small bluster up against his cheeks. This was what happened when he felt safe. He forgot the basics like the old ‘security system’ in the hall that dropped turrets.

“You can’t get back to him if you’re shot.” They replied. “Now, we need a way out, and a place where the hornets can’t swarm.”

The most obvious way out sat on the opposite side of the room. A single vent, blending in against the wall with little to hide behind. Doug scanned the floor as he tried to calculate just how far he could get before the sensors on the turrets tripped. “How good are my odds of shutting the door?”

“Not great. Bullets go through wood.”

“Why are you so determined to stay alive? Everything you could ever possibly know is long gone. You have nothing left. What are you trying to accomplish?” She continued above him, and Doug wondered if he imagined the genuine confusion singed into her words.

“I’m going to use you as cover.” Doug pulled the portal gun off his back and activated the grip.

“By all means.” Cube spun slightly as they exited his hand.

Four steps off the wall, and the first “there you are” echoed into the room. Doug crouched and ran as best he could, holding Cube steady while they took the brunt of the gun fire. He squashed as close as he could to the vent.

“Oh good, you finally found some sanity.”

One, two, three, four, five seconds to find the screwdriver that had fallen deep into his bag.

Six, seven to get it to the first screw.

Ten, eleven to get it off, fifteen, sixteen to get the second.

Cube nudged him. “Use the gun, now!” They shouted over the fire.

Doug aimed the barrel at the cover and snagged it in the grip, tugging until the aged metal gave way and it went flying back overhead. He leaned over. It looked like a sheer drop, but he’d survived several of those before. “Ready?”

“Always!”

He once more grabbed Cube in the prongs and jumped. The vent rattled and groaned and screamed as Doug connected with the panel, and the molecules in his legs vibrated with it. Angry decibels of gunfire were the only thing that followed them. He allowed himself a few gasps of air to let the sweat work its way out of his system, and to check over the damaged side of his friend. “Oh dear.”

Most of the face had been obscured by impact spots. “Don’t worry; I barely felt it.”

“You’re made of stronger stuff than I.” Doug acquiesced, then turned to scrutinize the way ahead. He rose from where he’d crouched despite his overtaxed body protesting the motion. A tangy metallic odor crowded his space, sharp enough to make his molars ache. “And I believe we should get out of here as soon as possible.”

Cube said nothing in response as he shunted them onto his back again and started to slink down the heavily oxidized tunnel. Each step was cautious but hurried. They should be down past the elevator, if Doug remembered the space right.

Another vent came into view, along with the quiet rumbling of the underground chugging to life. Doug kicked out the metal grate. “The tumor’s grown.”

“How much has he turned on?” Cube asked.

“Most of it. Luckily, that can be fixed.” He hopped down onto the catwalk below, having to take a moment to steady himself as he swayed from exhaustion. Doug withdrew one of the cans of paint from his bag.

A hand nudged his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He meandered back to the door that led to the elevator. “Do you truly expect him to stay put with all the noise?” Finger painting was messy, but Doug was too tired to grab a brush. “He’ll try to come find me, the same way he did the last time he was worried about me.” He dashed a quick ‘X’ over the metal.

The speakers once more wailed, but these were too broken to carry Her voice. Doug counted this as a small blessing. He turned and started walking the lines he’d sketched out in his head.

“You need to rest before you go find him.”

“I can’t do that.” Doug made sure to continue tracking small blots of paint as he worked towards the solid rock wall of the mines. Wheatley would know what it meant.

Cube huffed. “You know as well as I do how exhaustion impairs function. If you have so much faith in him, then he’ll be fine while you rest.”

Doug slowed momentarily. He had plenty of experience testing his adenosine tolerance, though this would be pushing it. Every blink stretched longer. His head spun with each turn. His hands physically shook from the effort.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“No, friend. I can’t.” Doug sped up again.

.

“How long are you going to keep doing this? It is extremely futile. Just come out.”

Doug hunkers down further behind the wall as the searchlights of the escort bots sweep through once more. He can’t get caught now, not after so long. Time has lost its ability to mean anything, but he knows it’s passed the threshold into ‘long’.

It’s become a battle of endurance at this point. Doug’s survival skills against the computer’s built in need to test. One of them is going to crack soon; Her steady tone is growing incessant, weening into frenetic and Doug has started to feel the first effects of withdrawal. Nausea and headaches are rampant now, and it’s getting to a point where he can’t differentiate if a scream is real or not.

Doug just needs to hold on until She activates the reserve group. If not for himself, then the several scientists he’s inadvertently killed because he has refused to share his hiding spots or abandoned them in pursuit of his own survival. And if not for them, then for the rest of humanity that will have to deal with Her once She’s bored. And especially for her. He needs to hold on for her, most of all.

Heavy footsteps sound ever closer, and Doug presses his hand tight over his mouth. He just needs to get out of this situation first. The open panel he’s been eyeing is a bit of a sprint, but if Doug is fast enough he should be able to make it. He coils his legs up.

Then shoves off.

It’s a terrifying flight, scored by the chattering of pre-programmed phrases and metal sliding against itself. Doug ducks under a grasping hand and springs forward in a last desperate hurl. A metal crossbeam catches him in the chest, but finally, gloriously, he makes it through.

The bots clang against the panel, and claw fruitlessly after him.

They cannot fit.

He’s okay.

Doug pants as he lays there, getting his first moment to breathe in days. Hours? It feels like days. He scans over the area slowly. Someone else has been here before him, evidence by the smushed pile of papers laid out like a sleeping mat, the chipped mug, and the strangely abandoned Companion Cube. No remaining food or water though. He’s going to have to start really searching soon. Doug sits up and wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Rough day?”

He stiffens and whirls around, searching frantically for the source of the voice.

“Don’t be afraid.” The voice isn’t around a corner or coming through the metal. It’s coming straight from the cube. “I won’t hurt you.”

He stares silently as all the horror and grief he’d experienced over the past… however long it’s been, is suddenly up against his throat. That’s it, Doug thinks, She’s won. Despite minor instances - tastes and sounds mostly - it’s been a while since he’s had something so transparent from reality. There’s no way it’s telling the truth. She probably put it  there. She sees everything in this place, so She can probably see through it right now.

He curls up, back to the offending object, and tries to will himself back from vomiting.

“…that’s okay. You can talk when you’re ready. And if you never are, that’s okay too.” It’s voice sits somewhere in the middle, neither feminine nor masculine, high nor low, rough nor smooth. Doug shakes his head.

“You aren’t real.” He says weakly from between his knees. He clings to this hope, that fiction of the human mind.

“Perhaps not to you. To me, I’m very real.”

Doug pauses and peers back over his shoulder. The cube sits innocuously.

“Cogito, ergo sum. You know that one, yes?”

He’s at a loss. Part of him is learning to not care. Doug hasn’t spoken to another person in so long now, and even with his lack of participation, he misses the sound of it. At least it isn’t hurting him just yet. Doug wrests his mouth open. “I do. And I disagree. Descartes trusted the idea of reality too much. I prefer Nietzsche or Camus.” He pushes his hair back as he starts to loosen his posture. “I’ve recently come to learn that there really is no one to wipe the blood off us.”

There is a pleased note to its tone as it speaks again. “Okay, but is reality a prerequisite for us talking?”

“…I suppose not.” Doug turns slowly. If this is what it takes to last just one more day. If this is what it takes to pass this trial. If this is what it takes; if this is what it takes. It’s been a while since he’s talked to something willing to listen.

.

Doug sucked down a deep breath as he shoved off the wall. Paint wept down in front of him and pooled into the seam of the floor. “Damn it…” He’d started slipping. To wander was to waste precious time, and Doug had just spent too much half asleep against the wall. He raked his nails down his arm in an attempt to stimulate the nociceptors into waking up his brain.

“Once more, it would be much better if you rested. You’re only hurting yourself.” Cube whispered softly and reprovingly. “Just for a little while, friend. We’re safe here.”

“Hesitation kills momentum.” The shot of adrenaline stirred his thoughts, but it was transient. Doug switched his paint for a marker and dragged it along the wall as he trod forward. “I know will happen if I come back to rest.”

“So that’s what this is about.” They tutted. “You can’t change what has already occurred. Even if it echoes and reflects, you must learn to tell the difference.” Cube pressed down on his shoulders, trying to ease him into sitting, but Doug fought it off. “…please don’t do this to yourself. This doesn’t solve anything.”

Doug passed a hand back against their corner. “I’m sorry.”

.

It’s been a while. It’s been…

Doug checks his watch. Five days, twelve hours, fifteen minutes and thirty-four seconds on the dot since then. It takes an average of thirteen and a half days for another broken core to be dropped outside his office. He flips the keycard around in his hand. It took three days and seven hours to make, and twenty-four consecutive hours to chart out the plan. This will implode everything, especially if it doesn’t work, but he knows Wheatley’s in there somewhere.

They told him he quit. As if he wouldn’t notice that the apartment was suddenly short a person. It’s flimsy, and it’s told for the sake of every other lie spewed out of this place; in case anyone comes asking. Caroline didn’t leave either no matter how much they like to believe it.

Standing here is making his insides feel like they’re being boiled and chilled at the same time. Humans have evolved an instinct to specifically get themselves out of situations of danger so that the body remains alive. It warns him something awful every time he sets foot on the premises, hissing and clawing without words for him to find some shelter or safety. It wails and begs for him to go back to where there’s sun and air. Doug fights this with every ounce of strength. He knows damn well he’s not leaving Wheatley behind. Never. He’d promised to find his way back.

But Doug still finds himself hesitating. He stares at the card reader and flips the piece of plastic over again and again. If this goes wrong… then he’s failed him. Doug’s done that to too many people. He takes a slow breath and tries for the fifth or six time to force his courage into action.

A shrill scream rattles off from high above.

Doug would know that voice anywhere and decides to stop wasting time. He slides the magnetized strip through the reader and barely waits for it to turn green before he’s charging down the hall, running after the wailing like a homing pigeon.

It keeps going, growing louder and louder through each corridor. A few of the others maybe reach their hands out, call after him, but if any of them are downright objecting to his presence, they aren’t trying too hard to eject him. Doug rounds the corner. He slams into the door just as the scream cuts off.

The two programmers in the room snap their heads back at the intrusion. But they’re not what Doug is interested in. Instead, he’s staring at the table. The table that’s housing a limp, deactivated core.

Words bounce around him, swallowed in the thicket of time, and Doug finds his fingers up against its chassis. He tries to picture rounded cheekbones and warm blue eyes, but all that’s there is metal and light bulbs.

He is too late.

They took away his friend. They took away his friend, and he’s never coming back.

.

The elevator carrying him screeched to a halt and sent the memory fizzling of the rails. Tender spots littered his throat and stomach, but the marrow deep dread was preferable to the ending. Doug tried to flutter the fatigue from his vision. The walkway in front of him had acquired a gaussian blur at some point and every ache, from his pulled muscles to fractured bones, had increased tenfold. It felt like his body was made of rust.

Cube didn’t comment this time. He could hear them seething softly, growing hot against his back. He knew what they wanted to say, and they knew his response. Not much could change his mind now. Doug stepped out onto the walkway and slapped his palms against his cheeks to once more batter the sleep from his thoughts. They’d become slippery in his absence, and the way ahead was no longer clear.

The door closed noisily behind him, and Doug swapped the black marker for a red one.

“Did you consider that you might lead something else to us with all this?”

He paused. “Perhaps. But I’m willing to take that chance.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I know you don’t.”

“He makes you think it’s okay to take unnecessary risks. He makes you forget to take care of yourself.”

“He doesn’t make me do any of that. I chose to do that, and I can regret it on my own time.” Doug considered, then pulled out the blue one instead. He might think the red was blood.

“I still don’t like him.”

“I still know.”

.

“What’s wrong with it?” are the first words Doug is aware of speaking.

The senior programmer, Lin, balks at the question. “Doug- I really, really don’t think you’re allowed back here.” He can see how the man stands on edge, the way his expression sinks into uncertainty and hesitance.

“I asked what was wrong with it.” He insists. It feels wrong, calling him an it, but Doug needs to play his cards close to his chest if he’s going to execute this reworked plan. He’s never been more grateful for his body’s inability to communicate, or they’d know just how close he is to burning this whole place down.

The younger programmer, named Craig, clears his throat. “We don’t know. It’s pretty corrupted so…” He wrings his hands together and passes a sheepish look above Doug’s head.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, and the older programmer tries to look him in the eye. Doug finds himself focusing back on the core. “You should leave.” He says with the gravity of finality. It isn’t unkind, but it is firm. There are unspoken things there, sentiments in the grey of his eyes. They’ve allowed him to stay this long out of pity, but his time has run out.

“I can take a look.”

“Doug.”

“I’m the only person keeping the image database functional,” Doug clambers into his reasoning as he wriggles out of Lin’s grip, “as I have been for years, and I’ve been picking up every project you’ve been throwing out the entire time. If you’re any kind of competent computer scientist, you’ll understand the benefit of sharing code. Let me look at this.”

Craig and Lin stare at each other. Craig shrugs. Lin sighs. “This is highly confidential-“

“-but you can have a look.” Craig finishes, earning a glare from Lin. “What? I’m tired of throwing these things out. Maybe he can fix it.”

“…fine, I’ll ask Henry-“

Doug is already unplugging the core. “I’ll fill him in.” He cradles it close and makes sure to stare as he backs out. Lin steps forward once, then sighs again.

“Alright. Just know there’s no getting out of this.”

He wants to laugh. That door closed five days, twelve hours, thirty-five minutes and fifty-two seconds ago. Or maybe ten years ago. Or maybe twelve. It doesn’t matter. That path has completely disintegrated. There’s been no way back for a while. Doug nods. “Of course.” Then he turns and walks as calmly as he can out of the room.

Doug keeps that calm all the way out of the building. People are staring; he can see it. As the door to N5 shuts once more, he breaks into a sprint all the way to the safety of his own lab. Guilt saturates his chest and sinks into his blood stream like a cancer. If only he’d been quicker, if only he’d said something. Doug stops only when the door is completely shut and locked. He catches his breath before lifting the core up to eye level.

This is all that’s left. Coworker, friend, roommate, and now he’s nothing but one of Aperture’s shiny new toys. “Wheatley, I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I’m so sorry. You needed me and I didn’t… I was a coward, I’m sorry.” Doug’s voice catches raw, and he collapses into his chair. This is not the first time he’s begged for forgiveness from something that cannot hear him, but it certainly hurts the worst. “…I’ve got you, now.”

.

“That’s it.” Cube grumbled as it dragged him to the floor. “No more. You’re sleeping here whether you want to or not.”

Doug blinked. They were in a hallway. “I have to-“

“And if you fall? If you impale yourself on something? All because you were sleep deprived?” They slid into his lap and kept him down against the tile. Doug tried to lift his arms to shove them off, but his body refused. He’d reached his limit.

And still, sleeping was uncomfortable. Dreams were never just that. They were poisonous concoctions of regrets, fears and despair.  “If I do, there will be memories. And memories beget more memories until I’m so lost in my own head I can’t find my way out.”

“I’ll pull you out. Just say so.” They assured him. “…But in my arms till break of day let the living creature lie, mortal, guilty, but to me the entirely beautiful.” Cube recited softly.

“Soul and body have no bounds: to lovers as they lie upon her tolerant enchanted slope…” Doug followed. He sighed as he curled his arms around them.

Rubber brushed under his fingertips as they hummed him to sleep.

.

The door closes behind the new safety officer.

Doug exhales sharply as he drags his hands down his eyes.

He’s never coming back. Doug knows that for a fact. Even with the bare minimum assistance he offered, it won’t be enough. Aperture won’t fire him; they aren’t in a position to do that, but he wonders what will drive this one away. Morals or obligation?

Probably obligation, as much as he wants to believe otherwise. The guy seems clumsy. He’s graceful in a way that suggests he grew into those limbs at fourteen and never quite got the hang of it. Doug hopes it won’t be anything horrific. Most people here can’t afford the hospital bills, and they don’t get any benefits to speak of.

At least this one seems affable, for all it’ll do for him. The last safety officer had been some sort of ex-sergeant wholly concerned about efficiency and had planned to move more people into Doug’s lab because apparently he wasn’t ‘using the space properly’. He didn’t feel as bad when the guy had to leave due to asbestos poisoning.

Gunfire rattles the walls, and he can hear the new guy as he shouts at the turrets for misidentifying him.

It’ll be a miracle if he makes it through the week. Doug hopes he doesn’t make it a habit to swing by. He can’t see himself enjoying it. The man is pushy in a way that borders on annoying even if there is some charm to be found in his chipper demeanor. He’s the type to invite conversation at every turn and grow increasingly upset as Doug can’t bring himself to engage. Or maybe he’s the type of person to view Doug as a project. At least he won’t have to worry about it for long.

And if he stays?

Well… he’ll get bored of Doug eventually. He’s okay with that, even if being an object of curiosity to poke and prod at makes him want to peel his fingernails off. This status is his own fault, really. Lack of social contact makes you a mystery, and he’d much rather be a mystery than stand in the breakroom and listen to Rick pretend a trash adventure novel is his life story again. Doug isn’t here to make friends; he’s here to do computer science.

The computer in front of him beeps. Thoughts of the strange new hire flee as he squints at what he’s working on. The screen only says one thing. ‘Sucker’s luck’ all in lower case. What-

.

“I think I’ve almost got it now!”

“Then you should get down from there.”

Wheatley looks over from where he’s standing on the coffee table. “It’ll be fine.” He twirls the screwdriver. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t.” Doug squints down at his computer screen, rereading whatever the hell he’d just written. This hack is garbage, but there’s little he can do about it. “You’re the least qualified person to be doing that.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”  A ray of confidence shines brightly over Wheatley’s face as he turns back to the fan. “Just a couple more wires, I’m telling you.”

Doug rolls his eyes. Not that he’s actually annoyed. It’s hard to be. “I’ll get the power, since you’re so confident.” He shoves back from the desk and plods into the kitchen. As he’s opening the breaker, he hears Wheatley yelp, and then a loud crash shakes the apartment. Dust flakes off the adjacent walls and trails after him as Doug races back.

Wheatley is splayed out next to the overturned coffee table, the now broken fan, and several bits of plaster from the ceiling. The screwdriver he’d been holding sticks out of the wall. “Oh-“ Doug runs over and tugs Wheatley up. There are no visible injuries thankfully, but his roommate looks more than a little dazed. “I left for two minutes; what happened?”

“Mm…” Wheatley makes no move to help Doug sit him against the couch. “Think I pushed down too hard. Tried to jump out of the way, n’I caught the table.”

“I told you to get down.”

Wheatley laughs as Doug checks his scalp. “Well, I did just that, didn’t I?” His head lulls back into Doug’s arm, and suddenly those ocean water eyes are swimming around his face. Wheatley breaks into a cheeky grin. “Think Landlord’ll notice if we clean it up real quick?”

Something happens then. It’s so mundane in its domesticity that it shocks Doug into understanding his own chemical reactions. Lights click on and those particles of dust flutter down around him like constellations. He’s so caught up staring down at this man, laughing around his own destruction, so trusting in his presence, and he’s now acutely feeling the rush of blood through his heart and the swell of air in his lungs. Doug can count every single thing in this room that has stopped being his or Wheatley’s and just become theirs. He doesn’t know when that happened. He doesn’t know when contact – something struggled with even before his brain developed – became so casual and expected. He doesn’t know when it went from mutual habitation to living together, where Wheatley’s life is so entangled with his that he’d have to raze the whole thing to remove any trace of him. And he’s looking inward and seeing that the very same condition applies to his heart.

When did this happen? Why hadn’t he seen it sooner?

“Doug?”

Doug blinks. He’s been staring at Wheatley for a while.

“Sorry, you went somewhere. So…” Wheatley chuckles awkwardly. “Head’s all good, yeah?”

“You probably have a minor concussion.” Doug yanks his hand back rougher than intended, and Wheatley’s head bounces against the sofa. The lights pop and fizzle. “I’ll get you some ice.” He walks back to the kitchen before his roommate can say anything but stops in front of the fridge.

Really, he can only blame himself for this. Doug hasn’t had a friend in a long time. It’s reasonable he wouldn’t notice when the line got crossed. Like Ophelia, he bore himself up on Wheatley’s affections, incapable of his own duress, and he’s just now realized he’s drowning.

Doug is in love. This is the last thing he’s ever wanted.

A high-pitched ringing fills his ears as he ducks his head-

.

-Staring.

For the past hour.

Doug can’t make heads or tails of the screen in front of him. All of the cores that have ended up in his office are far more put together than this. Wheatley’s brain isn’t written in the same language as Aperture’s other appliances. And it’s not that it doesn’t work, it’s just… Doug actually can’t figure out what it’s doing. Every time he’s pretty sure he’s understood something, the machine proves him wrong. It’s a twisting scaffolding of what code should be with dangling syntax and functions that contradict. Doug realizes he’s been getting the better end of the equation on these things; at least when he gets a core, the code is comprehensible. Now he’s taken on the task of untangling a yarn that can’t decide if it’s cotton or steel wool.

He codes in a sandbox to prevent the screaming every time he turns his core on. They just had to use his voice, those heartless bastards. He keeps apologizing under his breath each time the code breaks on the off chance it hurts him.

The door to his lab slides open, and the ground trembles as a shadow enters. Henry still has his saccharine smile plastered on. “Hey, Douglas.” He sidles up to the desk, but Doug can see the way he cuts his eyes to the core. “Heard you had a busy day today.” It’s like he’s talking to a child.

“Mhm.” Doug’s fingers curl around the core’s lower handle, just in case. He keeps typing with his free hand.

Henry’s smile falls slightly, and he must realize they both know what this conversation is about. Becoming a security risk means getting a talking to which usually ends with getting fired. “How did you gain access to building N5?”

Doug shrugs one shoulder. “Ducked in behind someone. Guess they thought I worked there.” The lie rolls off easily. Doug has been expecting this. He’ll take the resulting punches with grace because Wheatley is within arm’s reach and Doug knows the route out like the back of his hand. He can get every single security feature disabled and make it to his car before they’ve fully processed that some of their equipment is missing. Of course, that would take a lot of scanning Wheatley’s hardware and software to make sure they can’t track it-

Henry doesn’t look amused. “I’m not here to fuck around, Doug.” He stretches up towards the ceiling, enshrouded in darkness. “You’ve endangered a very vital project. We can’t have breaches like this.”

“Everyone knows what we’re doing.” Doug cuts back. “Cave yells about it every couple of hours. The only thing you’re doing is physically keeping people out.” He frowns through the ‘and in’ he wishes to carve into this place. “You have me sticking my hands through gears and combing through code already; this is no different.”

“It is. You know it is. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Henry slams his hand over the monitor, and finally, Doug stops typing. “If you really want to work on this, then I expect you to do your job. You are going to follow instructions. You are not allowed to keep it. You can’t add anything, and you cannot work on it any longer than necessary. It’s going on the main computer as soon as it can function, and then if it doesn’t work, it’ll be put on a rail if it doesn’t get corrupted.” He waits until Doug is looking him in his glowing spotlight eyes before he continues. “Do I make myself clear?”

Doug has to reel in a knee jerk ‘bite me’. He nods. “Yes, sir.” He keeps his fingers curled around the handle still. The knuckle has gone white.

Henry holds his eyes. He’s one of the only people willing to do so. Then, he nods. “We’re trying to see if dampening its intelligence will make the other cores more palatable. Get it stable and then implement something that’ll fill the space with noise. Deadline is next week. Don’t worry about the memory files; they aren’t our focus.”

It’s pointed. There’s no way it can’t be. That’s the one thing Wheatley detested more than anything else, and he’s the one they’re using to test this. Doug wonders if it’s also a test for him, to see if he’ll do what he’s told. Doug’s lip quivers as he goes to reply in affirmative, but then the ground trembles, voices cry out as they splinter through the earth. It’s begging him to stop, to reconsider his words, but-

.

Test three.

Doug hovers his finger against the plastic before flexing the correct muscle and bone. The mouse clicks. The core whirs to life and a blue light fills its optic. Its shutters click once, then twice. Doug keeps his eyes on the process flying across the screen. Everything’s working.

“Hallo!” The ID core wriggles in its housing. Doug tries not to pay it any mind; he’s checking and rechecking everything he can. “H-hello…? …huh, quiet chap, okay. Well. Whatever you’re doing, it looks very interesting!”

Instinctiveness to fill the silence. Check.

“Say, w-what are you doing?” It twists in discomfort.

Cautious curiosity. Check. “I’m making sure you function properly.” Doug bites out as shortly as he can.

“Oh, brilliant! That’s good, that. Keeping me functioning. Well, keep at it then!” It chirps and closes its optic.

Overbearing positivity. Check. Doug leans back and rubs his hands roughly across his face, scratching at the thin hairs along his jaw. He has a question he’s supposed to ask. It’s the one check their concerned about, but Doug can’t bring himself to ask yet. “You’re operating fine.”

The ID core perks up at this news. Overreaction to praise. Check. “That’s great! Although, I suppose that makes you a bit useless. If I’m working, then you don’t have much to do. Sorry.” It tutters softly, then looks up. “So- not that I don’t know because that would be silly, but what, in your own words, is uh, is my function? I know it- I do, I know what that is, I just… wanted your input. On that.”

Indirect questioning. Check. “You come up with ideas. There’s one last thing I need to do.” Doug picks up the paper. The ink cuts through the page in letters, but they look like small smudges now. “If you were asked to better a harsh work environment, what would you do?” Why they chose this question, he doesn’t know.

It clicks back and forth as it thinks. “I would probably add a pool.” The ID core finally responds with a little nod. “Can’t go wrong with a pool, I think. Most people like those.”

Doug lets the paper fall back onto the desk. Henry would call this a success despite not giving him the parameters for a wrong answer. Doug wouldn’t call it that. He’s managed to salvage what he can, but Doug has failed so spectacularly that he can’t even begin to quantify it. They’d been watching him too closely, checking in too often, and now the deadline is fast approaching so every plan ends before he can think it through completely.

Still, Doug has tried. He’s forced a whole ocean’s worth of coffee through his bloodstream, coded until he could see the letters when he closed his eyes, and stayed in the same office in the same clothes for all seven days. He’s worked himself to the bone; every layer of person dissected, understood and reconstructed as carefully as he can, if only to capture a fraction of the model. It’s a xerox of a person stitched together with Doug’s pericardium on its way to the slaughterhouse. The main computer will fry it no matter how carefully he pastes it back together. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. It will never be enough. If only he had more time…

“Oh- oh, sir! You’re leaking!”

He blinks and finally looks the core in its eye. “Hm?” The world does look a little blurry. Doug dabs his fingers against his cheek, and they come away damp. “…oh.”

“Was it something I did? I- sorry, I didn’t- do you want me to change my answer? Or maybe you should call someone! Leaks are bad; something could be wrong-“

“I’m fine, Wheatley.” Doug curls his nails against his palm as he curses himself softly.

He blinks slowly. “…Wheatley. Is that my name?”

“Yes.” The rest of the truth pries at his teeth, and the lights flicker once or twice. Doug keeps his mouth shut.

“I don’t feel very much like a Wheatley. More like a Pendleton.” He rolls slowly, squinting. “Ah, well. And what’s your name?”

Final criteria. Lack of memories. “You don’t need to know.” …check. Doug hears Wheatley starting to say something but quickly terminates the process. The core powers down as he slowly tips his head back.

This won’t stop. They won’t draw any lines until they get this thing under control. Not that he’s free from blame. Doug, always content not to rock the boat, had a hand in that, but hid behind his secondary participation. This is just the consequence of that. He could change that. If not pass information to the outside, then at least do the selfish thing and get out of here. This company has had its feet to the fire for so long that the body’s almost burnt to a crisp and Doug refuses to go with it.

But it’s never that simple. This place would chase him, hunt him down for daring to try and make an example out of him. Even if his testimony somehow kills this host body, it will manage to linger. Regrow worse. Aperture is no longer just a place, but a series of ideas and actions. It’s like a hydra, although he considers Ouroboros a more apt comparison, eating itself to stay alive. Doug would only ever physically leave. It would cling to his thoughts and lurk in the shadows until the day his heart gives up its pale imitation of life. Or worse yet, it would decide he is the next eaten. They have a record of everything he’s signed off on, and every project with his input. Should Aperture so please, it could bury him. Better the devil he knew than the one he might awake.

He chose to walk down this path years ago. First out of circumstance, then out of fear, and now, resignation. He cannot go back, no matter how much he wants to. There are too many bodies in the way; the best Doug can manage is to stop walking. He knows it’s the wrong choice, but Wheatley ended up like this trying to make the correct one. He’ll just have to find another way.

Of course, if that computer ever decides to act faster than its kill switch, Doug won’t have to figure it out.

He quietly picks Wheatley up, but he can’t bring himself to stand. Déjà vu f loods his thoughts as he stares at himself through the glass. Hasn’t he already- didn’t this not work…?

Reality bends around him. He could leave, if he wanted. He could make the right choice this time if he just stood up and left. There isn’t anything that has him beholden to this place. He isn’t as helpless as that. Doug rips himself out of the chair and turns sharply-

.

The lab floor is clean and bright as Doug stares down at it. The innards of one of the factories’ arms are laid out before him, wires like sinew as they drape over the edges. He’s pretty sure he was doing something, something really important, but he can’t remember what. Perhaps he needs to get his dosage upped.

Mechanisms slide open and draw his attention away from the foreboding in his chest. Wheatley hurries through before the door finishes opening – already a bad sign – but instead of looking around for him like he normally does, he’s focused on a piece of paper between his fingers. A line is drawn between his brow as he frowns and bends the edges. Something is wrong.

“Wheatley?” He calls, finally causing his friend to jerk his head up. Wheatley is pale, more so than his already waxy complexion from working here for almost a decade.

He tries to smile, but it’s wan. “Morning, Doug.”

“It’s past twelve.” Doug knows it sounds snarky, but he’s doing anything he can to inject some levity before whatever second shoe comes crashing down on his head. He only gets a small chuckle in return before Wheatley’s dire expression returns. “…what is it?” He nods to the paper.

Wheatley hesitates. Alarm bells ring through his head and sound down the hall, and either they’re both too used to them to react or they’re merely phantoms. “I…” Any remaining color disappears as he holds out the note. Doug takes it.

                ‘Report to N5’

Stones fill his belly, and by the look on Wheatley’s face, they’re sharing the same thought. Some of the other staff have taken to calling N5 ‘the Black Hole’ because once people go in, they disappear. Everyone knows what really happens, of course. They know what comes out in their stead. All that’s lacking is official acknowledgement. Fear sinks its claws into him. Suddenly every object he’d taken into his lab was a threat, a foreign body infecting the space, a logic bomb planted for this very moment. “It’s been on my desk for a few days. I’ve- I’ve been ducking around people as best I can- What do I do?”

Always asking him. Always trusting him. Doug should never have told him to lie on those reports. He never would have stayed this long otherwise. His throat runs dry as spiraling pathways stretch out before him. He always hates choices. There’s too many and not enough time, not enough information. The only surefire way to see clean air again is to leave, and they have all the exits monitored. Well. Almost all of them.

Doug draws him into the center of the room, where nothing hangs, and none of the walls can listen in. “Get to the public facing part of the facility. Take the exit in the South-East corner of the building; it’s a simple push bar door. Don’t take your car, use the bus and sit as close to the door as you can, don’t talk to anyone. Once you get home, take whatever cash you have and your passport and get to the airport. Buy a one-way ticket.” He talks in a hurried whisper, tracing the route he’s always envisioned for himself. “Don’t stop. Act natural, but whatever you do, don’t let them catch you. If they get wise, run.”

Hands lace over the one gripping his arm, and Wheatley watches him with those wide blue eyes that are always so full of emotions Doug could just drown in envy. “They’ll know you had something to do with it.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I can’t leave you behind.” Wheatley insists, but the shadows flitting around the corners of his vision are starting to scratch away the thin line of reason he’s grasping onto. “I need to know you’re safe.”

“Please,” Doug is not above begging, “just go. I’ll find a way back to you, I promise.”

Wheatley nods, eyes shining in the light as he visibly tries to keep himself from crying. He finds it decidedly fitting for the final exit to be as teary eyed as the first entrance. Their hands remain locked for a moment before peeling apart, and Wheatley heads for the door.

That foreboding is back, but now it’s edges seep into his skull. Something isn’t right despite his best attempts to think it through. He’s missing something. A big black shadow that remains behind him no matter how he tilts his head. It strikes, just as the door is opening. “Wait!”

Wheatley stops and looks back at him.

“Don’t… don’t go that way. They’ll expect you to come down here.” Doug doesn’t feel fear anymore, instead it’s pain buried and obfuscated by layers of resignation and faux absolution.

“What do you want me to do?”

The world hangs on a razor’s edge. Defeat and lucidity drags the years back down across his shoulders. “…I don’t know. Last time, I let you walk out that door.” A single sentence and the film reel snaps in two. Doug feels himself ripping and shedding the confines of traveled destiny, squeezing through the crack in his cage, and yet remaining absolutely stationary. Time digs its feet into the sand trying to slip through. The edges of the world fray and unravel into ribbons.

Wheatley’s wide-eyed terror-stricken expression melts between blinks. His shoulders drop, and something calm settles over his features. “You never were content to leave reality alone.”

The gentleness of the ribbing isn’t matched by Doug’s own tumultuous expression. “Why let me be lucid in this one?” He swallows. “I know I can’t undo this.”

“Haven’t the foggiest.” Wheatley shrugs. He noticeably hasn’t moved away from the door. “Though if I had to guess, I think maybe you have some hang ups about this whole thing.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and leans back.

“But this isn’t real.” He counters, fists drawn tight to his sides. “What I do here doesn’t matter. When I get up, this will all…” His throat runs dry. “I already let you go.”

Lights twinkle in Wheatley’s eyes in the way they always used to. “No. No, I think that’s the problem. For all you rationalize and use your intellect, you still have a heart. You still want to change this.”

Doug shakes his head. “I know you’re gone.”

“Up here.” Wheatley taps his pointer against his temple. “Here doesn’t know that.” His finger slipped down, resting on his breastbone. “You chained this poor guy up and locked him in a cellar. He’s still waiting by the door.”

Cracks form along the wall. “Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. But clearly it seems to.” Wheatley snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it. D’you remember that ghost tour we went on in Mansfield and how the tour guide said ghosts linger because they have unfinished business?”

Doug is gripping his shirt like a lifeline. “You aren’t him. You aren’t a ghost. You don’t have to keep this up.”

Sympathy swells through Wheatley’s eyes as he watches. “You’re trying to rationalize again.” He pushes his glasses up with his knuckle, much the way waking Wheatley does. “Come on. Like you said, it doesn’t matter anyway, so what’s the harm? What’ve you got cooped up in there that you haven’t done?”

“I can’t.” He snaps finally. “Not with you.” The world is blurring, and now Doug is barely holding back his tears. He’s always much more emotional in his head. “I’d just be telling it to myself, I can’t-“ he hiccups. “It doesn’t count.”

Wheatley inclines his head. “…you did say you had to make your own peace, since no one else can give it to you.”

“I don’t want to.” The cracks on the wall are inching towards the door, and some are starting to spread across the tile under his feet.

“Because?”

It’s infuriating and nauseating at the same time, and the whole room shakes, causing the lights to blink rapidly. “Because I want to tell you in person.”

Wheatley’s grin is quiet in its understanding while sparing on its pity. The room evens out. He crosses the floor finally and gathers him up in his arms, finally knocking the tears free. Doug’s arms trace up his spine, free of the implants, and come to rest in the small of his back. “I don’t need you to tell me that I can’t do that.” He mumbles into the cotton of his shirt.

“No. Not like that.” The past whispers.

“But…”

“It’s okay.” It urges softly, tracing long thin fingers through his hair. “Let it out. Tell me what you’d tell him.”

He finds himself blotting out more tears into the fabric. It tears off the bandage hiding the sore he calls a heart, and Doug forces himself to get a stone’s throw over the edge of speaking. “It’s my fault this happened. If I’d noticed the signs sooner, if I’d paid more attention. If I’d thought about it for a moment longer or given you different instructions, you would have been able to make it out. There are so many things I could have done to save you.” He fists the shirt in his hands and draws it closer. “I would have liked to run away with you. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the nicest, it probably wouldn’t have fixed a lot, but I would have liked to try. I messed that up for both of us.” He admits.

There is music playing from somewhere and nowhere at all, that naïve melody Doug carried with him into the depths of the darkness. It sweeps through the room, sinking into the cracks and softening their nature. He tilts his head enough to stare into the blue expanse watching him behind thick lenses. “Learn to be more forgiving of yourself, Douglas. Life goes on. That is its mercy.” It smiles. “But, I would have liked to leave with you too.”

Doug is the one to pull back, though it takes his hands. They stand, caught there. “I know you don’t know that.”

The past laughs. “I think you do. Anything else you wish to say?” It looks at him imploringly.

“…no.” Doug knows what it’s trying to get at, but he’s coming around to the fact that the sentiment might not just apply to the idea standing before him, as horrible as that is. He’s managed to trip and fall into the same situation a second time.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” It tries to step back, but Doug is still holding it tight. He can’t bring himself to loosen his grip. This memory only has one ending, and he’s hesitant to see it through. He’s hesitant to see what he is after this.

“Let go.” It whispers. Doug forces himself to uncurl his fingers, and it slips away to return to the spot in front of the door. It slides effortlessly back into Wheatley’s mannerisms “Hey, don’t worry, second chances and all that. The only one really stuck in the past here is me. You know what they say, when one door closes, another opens.”

It’s out of place. It’s cheesy. And draws a smile from somewhere deep within Doug. He allows himself to pretend. “I never should have bought you that book.”

“You would have done it again in a heartbeat.” He laughs. “Cmon. Onward and upward, Douglas.” The door opens and Wheatley meets his eyes once more before disappearing through it. It slides shut with a small clunk.

The memory clicks back onto the rails. Doug knows what’s coming, and he knows what he must do. Something hits the wall. It scuffles, it screams. “Sh- f- Help! Doug!” Wheatley’s voice, burned there, beats at the door. Doug does not move.

The naïve melody is still playing. He closes his eyes as the singer howls in time with Wheatley screaming. “I want out.”

It goes silent. Gears grind and move, causing him to focus back on the door. Beyond it, Cube rests, turned at an angle. “The Dutchess is going to be savage if we keep her waiting.”

Doug steps forward as the room starts to shake. “We’re going to be late.”

.

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

The world came into view around him in slow bursts and coalesced into the shape of a face. A tan face with blue-grey eyes. A face that should be far, far, far away from here.

Doug jerked back from the touch, causing the illusion of Chell to do the same. He’d never get used to the cruelty of his mind. Instead of being allowed to simmer in acceptance, he was instead swept back up into fear, coiled against the wall and guarding his body.

She couldn’t be here. It was as simple as that. There were too many things she’d have to pass to get down here, and She wouldn’t allow that sort of thing. Chell always had Her full attention. And Chell was smart. She knew distance was her only option. This was an impossibility, and Doug wouldn’t believe anything but.

The phantom raised her hands placidly as she stood out of arms reach. Neither spoke. Slowly, Chell raised her finger and pointed to him, and then made a small okay sign. Are you okay?

“You…” He curled his fingers tight around Cube’s edge. Not real, not real, not real. That was much kinder than any other reality. “…shouldn’t. Shouldn’t be. You can’t, you left, you…” Words dissolved as he said them, growing thick and heavy even as he fretted.

She tilted her head. Those eyes that had never once found his before softened as Chell crouched. Placating gestures didn’t work; not even Cube whispering their presence could still the tide. Doug would not allow his mind to fabricate such a reality. The only comfort in this situation was the knowledge that this shade couldn’t hurt him. Chell was still safe on the surface, living her life as she should.

Eventually, she sighed and pointed at the marker poking out of his pocket. Doug slipped his fingers against the cap. It couldn’t hurt to see what it wanted. “Remember, reality is not a condition for conversation.” Cube brushed up against his cheek.

He shyly nudged the marker over.

Chell moved to a patch on the wall near him and cracked the cap off with her thumb. ‘Cube guy?’ She looked at him imploringly though he did his best to avert his eyes.

Doug tried. His voice had abandoned him under the tension; all he could get out was a little nod and a clipped “Doug.”

‘What are you doing here?’

Doug ran his eyes over the words again and again, trying to find some succinct way to put it. “Unfinished business.” He croaked softly. “What…” he curled up further, “why here?”

At that, a wry grin rose on her face, and Chell wrote swiftly ‘Unfinished Business’. She then continued, ‘down here the whole time?’

“This layer? No. Aperture? Yes.”

Chell made some expression, but Doug could only see the side of her frown. He wanted to curl back further or even scamper off until the metabolic disturbances shifted away from this mirage. It was being far less vicious than the others, but he knew how much of a trap that could be. This fiction would take his words and twist them into barbed wire and shrapnel.

There was a beat of silence as they both hovered there.

Chell got to writing first. ‘Said she lost some things down here. Only you?’

It strung together one of the gaps. Maybe it could be real, if She had authorized this descent. “No.” Doug cleared his throat. “Someone else. A mutual friend.”

The twisting cascade of emotions that wove through her expression were numerous and complicated. Chell tried to meet his eyes, but he’d already dropped them solely to the wall. She sighed. ‘Him?’

“I know…” Doug forced the words out as best he could, “I know feelings are conflicting.” She snorted at this. “I do not envy. But he’s important to… my responsibility.” Doug picked up Cube. Phantom or not, he needed to get moving again. Wheatley may not have moved before, but by now that was a certainty. “Need to go find. Want to follow, won’t stop you.”

Her head bobbed in his peripheral. Doug hesitated but nodded in acknowledgement; the hard conversations could wait, like they always did. Chell capped the marker she’d been given.

They left the office without further conversation. Doug couldn’t bring himself to comment on anything. How does one have face to face conversation with self-made salvation? How does one look hope and guilt in the eye and say anything other than supplication? When that unwitting savior starts asking questions, how do you respond? What if they weren’t even there at all? Doug couldn’t figure out where to start. And so, he didn’t.

“She’s expecting a core.” Cube brought up once they were well on their way.

Doug slowed slightly. This was a fair point. “He will look a little different from the last time you saw him.” Chell’s eyes lingered on his back, and Doug ground his teeth against his bottom lip. “You knew about Caroline, correct?”

The tapping of her boots stopped. When he peered back, her expression had dampened into quiet apprehension and the marker was poised with no surface in sight. Doug haphazardly pulled a notebook from his bag.

‘Him too?’ Chell thrust the paper back.

“Yes. Almost all the cores had a brain scan. I was able to recover his body.”

She arched her brows down harshly, and her mouth dipped into a deeper frown. ‘What does he look like?’

Doug quietly encouraged them to walk again. “Tall. Blonde. Pale. Emaciated.” He kept ahead so he didn’t have to see the moment their equation spat out a solution. “Wearing test subject gear.”

Chell brought the notebook back, expression inscrutable. She seemed content to let the conversation lull then. Doug was fine with that. They were weaving through the spheres at a good clip now and he’d forgotten to leave a trail for the man they were going to find. Doug scrabbled out his marker again and slashed it through the closest wall before slipping into the Penrose triangle of his thoughts once more.

 Cube nestled politely against his back. “If you still wish to apologize, now may be an opportune time.”

“No.” Doug whispered back, flicking an arrow into the metal. “I will not be forfeiting my future just yet.” He shot a look over his shoulder, but Chell was still focused on the rest of the facility. Her thumb kept dancing over the top of the portal gun that he had just noticed in her possession.

“But if she is real?”

“We don’t know that.”

“Just try.”

“Not until I know for certain.”

They continued without further complicated discussion. Doug was purely to blame for that, as whenever he heard Chell writing, he only ever found it in him to answer in curt sentences. She’d caught on fairly quickly, boiling down her questions to only be yes or no. Mostly, they filled each other in.

Yes, Doug had been the same guy who’d helped her find her way out of the testing track. Yes, he’d been in a cryo-bed. Yes, he’d been a scientist before. No, She probably didn’t know he’d put Wheatley in a body. Yes, they were trying to shut her off again because they couldn’t get out without her knowing. No, he didn’t know if Wheatley was still where he’d left him. And yes, Wheatley had no clue about the brain mapping beforehand.

Chell also mimed out how she’d gotten down here. She drew the second testing bot and a small house, a crude depiction of Her and an elevator then acted the series of events out with her hands. It solidified her further, however Doug remained stalwart in being tight lipped. Not until further data.

Electrical engineering was quiet too once they arrived. Doug had made it a point not to take too many breaks, and Chell had obliged in letting him shoot portals. He stared into the cold interior of the building and tried to keep himself from worrying. Wheatley probably still needed to get the body used to talking for long periods of time.

Then he saw the hole.

Ominous intuition flagged in his chest as he lifted his head to the rest of the building. “Wheatley?” He called. Something clacked loudly, then a chassis rolled quickly into view. An older model core stared at him.

“Are you his friend?” He said, half panicky. “Hey, so- my name’s Grady, he said you were here, I just- oh.” The core listed to the side. “…didn’t mention there were two of you.” Doug’s eyes inched open just a bit. Confirmation of the observation of reality. Wavelength collapsed. He looked over his shoulder at her.

“You’re…”

“Okay- whatever, whatever,” Grady rambled on, flapping his hand as his iris pinched tight, “look, it wa’n’t my fault, but he- he fell down that hole. I tried to warm him, but he was already on his way.” He whispered as he rolled even closer. “I’m sorry, I think he’s...”

“How long ago was this?”

“A few hours? Why-“

“How deep is it?” Doug didn’t have time to match the somber energy of the machine in front of him. Wheatley had his boots; he’d be okay.

Grady shifted between Doug and Chell’s faces. “I don’t- I have no clue. I’m not even sure it has a bottom, but I don’t think-” He jerked back as Chell stepped towards the edge. “Whoa, lady! Do you have a death wish?”

Doug shook his head as he stepped up beside her. “Even if you did that, I couldn’t follow.” He pulled a loose screw from his bag. “But we can figure out where we need to go.” He dropped it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

Splash.

Water. That could complicate things.

Grady rotated to the side. “Actually… he might be okay. If he can swim.”

“Hitting water from this height would be like hitting solid ground. But I wouldn’t doubt it.” Doug raked his thumbs against the straps of his bag. “That’s about 240 meters. Around 30 stories. Two layers. Aperture of the early 60s.” He murmured. “Quickest way down would be to find an elevator to the surface. They had stops in every iteration.”

Chell, the real, breathing person that she was, didn’t stop to question his assessment or judgement. She didn’t ask how he knew Wheatley hadn’t died or hesitate on the fact that Doug had only recently realized she wasn’t an illusion. She simply nodded and gestured for him to lead with the prongs of her portal gun.

It was a level of trust Doug didn’t deserve. A level of trust he needs to apologize for instilling. “One thing before we go.” He walked over to the breaker box that was still propped open and threw the main switch. The buzzing sputtered out with a snap. Doug’s shoulders slumped as the camera in the corner of the room dropped still.

“You sent him all the way out here to turn it on, and you just turned it off?” Doug simply nodded. Before he could return to the door, Grady rotated in front of him, hand gesturing wildly. “Wait- wait!”

Doug raised a brow. “Yes?”

“You- listen, this might be a bit sudden, but he said some things. Bout you getting him a body or something. Think you could…” Grady cleared his throat gently, then rolled his wrist gently. “…I don’t mean to put any pressure on you, and you’re a little busy, and this isn’t… but…”

He stood at a loss. Of course, the rational answer was to help; this was yet another person Aperture had eaten in its march to progress, but Doug didn’t know anything about this one. There was no telling what he’d do or how he’d respond under pressure or how much he knew. Not to mention having to up their food and water acquisition to accommodate. And the space. And the noise, God, the noise. Doug could rarely handle more than three people in a room all at once. Maybe once She was no longer an issue, that would be feasible, but currently, there were too many variables.

“This is an unnecessary risk.” Cube muttered in agreement. “You were barely equipped to handle the first one, and the girl didn’t sign up to take care of both a stranger and the person who betrayed her.”

A plastic cap clicked across from them. Chell tapped the back of the core and held up the notebook. Grady flipped around, his body effectively obscuring the page. “…oh. He mighta mentioned something like that, yeah.” She pat her palm against Grady’s chassis as he slowly wheeled out of the way. “Just don’t take too long, aight?” She jerked her head down once, then found Doug’s wrist and dragged him forward.

He stumbled, mostly out of shock. Chell only stopped when she’d brought them to one of the smaller inter-layer elevators. “…what did you say to him?” Doug politely pulled his hand out of her grip. Pins and needles dug through his skin.

Chell held up the notebook. ‘Not safe right now. We will come back later once it is.’ She then jerked her thumb to the elevator in a silent question of direction.

”It should get us closer, yes. And thank you.” They entered side by side in silence. Cube nudged him gently, and he knew why. She was real. She’d really come back; not for them, but that didn’t change the perceived facts.

As the elevator opened, Doug allowed himself to really observe her. There were differences. Chell had grown her hair out and platted it, and the desaturated pallor caused by long term suspension and Aperture’s lack of sunlight had lifted. The jumpsuit had been fitted, hemmed below the knee and lacking the upper half, and her shirt now had a faded logo. Callouses were visible along her palms. Dirt, fresh and clean, clung to Chell’s nails and clothes. Most of her scars were faded.

The outside had been good to Chell. She looked healthy.

The test subject remained somewhere under it though. Her eyes were still clear and bright, and her stance remained determined. When observing the area, her expression remained tempered. Chell knew how to handle this place.

Guilt and iron stung his taste buds.

He’d done that. Doug had chosen, and she probably didn’t know just how large a role he’d played. Or how he’d celebrated her departure. It wasn’t long, but it was poignant. She’d done what thousands had dreamt of doing, what he’d spent his days and nights chasing. Perhaps he was Sisyphus, doomed to have his boulder never reach the top, but he’d delighted in the knowledge that she’d, supposedly, made it. And yet Aperture had pulled her back in. Doug sat with the dreadful reality that she was here. Ouroboros had not had its fill of her.

They needed to talk about it. Sooner rather than later. Doug ran through the words he’d turned over in his head thousands of times. Each felt too short for the choices he’d made; for all she’d had to endure because of him.

Chell cleared her throat. She stood watching him from the catwalk. Doug had apparently been staring at the wall for a while. He lowered his head and stepped out silently, letting it remain quiet for a while. They fell into step beside each other.

“You deserve an apology.” He started, as plain and as flat as he could, once he’d finally sorted himself out.

Chell turned to him with a quiet raise of her brow.

“I was the one who changed the testing order, so you went first. I’m sorry for dragging you into something that was never yours to deal with.” Doug ducked his head. “I forced you to clean up the mess that I and my colleagues caused, all because I didn’t think I could do it myself. I’ve caused a lot of your grief.” He kept his eyes fixed on the grid of holes under his feet. “You shouldn’t have been responsible for our problems.”

‘I was still here.’ She wrote back. ‘You led me out’

“…yes. But I failed to help when you needed it. I condemned you to a second cycle because of my cowardice. If I had done something, you wouldn’t have had to bear a stay in suspended animation. You would have stayed in your own time.” Doug muttered as he drew further in on himself. “There are many paths that I could have chosen. Yet I didn’t. You suffered because of my actions and inactions. I only hope you can forgive me someday.”

Chell’s expression once more turned enigmatic and she tucked her notebook back, letting them get swallowed up in that uncomfortable atmosphere. Doug didn’t push for an answer; he knew where his faults lay, and it wasn’t up to him to demand she accept them. All he could do was apologize and try to do it correctly this time.

There was a click. A few quiet swishes. Eyes squinted and brow dipped, Chell tracked her eyes over her page multiple times before nodding to herself and holding it out. ‘I forgive you’.

The albatross around his neck stirred. Doug stared at the words, so bold and heavy in their realness. “…that shouldn’t be given so easily.” He muttered.

‘It isn’t’ Doug choked down a noise that tried to burst out from the hollow of his stomach. Then Chell flipped the notebook back again. ‘Why me?’

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Her greatest weapon was her ability to crush people’s spirits. Physical deaths were less interesting to her than those personal ones. I needed someone who refused to capitulate to that.” Doug shrugged. “You were an outlier in that regard.”

“Huh… so that was your hunch.” Cube spoke for the first time in a few minutes.

Chell smiled ever so slightly as she tucked her marker into her pocket. The atmosphere exhaled, and Doug felt his steps land just a bit easier. Now, they just needed to make their way to the closest reception office and they could…

“….and if you think you can do any better than that, I’d like to see you try!”

“I would! If I could fucking walk!” The caves through two voices towards them, and they both stopped, if only for a moment. Doug didn’t hesitate further; he picked up the pace.