A/N: This was an interesting chapter to write. I hope it works!

To the guest reviewer: That's good. I'm glad my portrayal of Doug is okay. It's important to me! I enjoyed writing that scene, it's kind of a precursor to Raintalker's painting. Thank you :)

Chapter Three – The Confession.

Chell stood waiting for the light to turn green, her head reeling from everything she'd witnessed in the past twenty minutes. Lawrence dead on a gurney, the look of terror frozen on his face for all eternity. He'd been sweet, far too kind to have died so horrifically. And that woman – Christine – and her off-hand remarks about her ruined project… Chell had never felt a more powerful surge of raw hatred towards a person as she had at that moment. It put her feelings towards Rattmann in perspective. He'd never done anything to make her react that violently. Just lately, he hadn't been as cold and hateful as he'd been in the past. Perhaps he was finally seeing what was happening at the facility, finally having his eyes opened. And what he'd said to her just five minutes ago…

She wondered what on Earth, (or on the moon), had possessed her to acknowledge his comment. His advice, although helpful, was the epitome of the phrase 'too little, too late'. He was a scientist, forcing her to run test after test to check the functions of a device his employers deemed more valuable than human life. But it hadn't escaped her notice that he'd been just as horrified by what they'd seen outside as she had. He even seemed equally disgusted by Christine's reactions, and for the first time in their 110-day-old relationship, he'd looked at her with compassion.

Her first instinct had been suspicion that it was a ploy, a technique to gain her trust for some reason. But then he'd given her an unexpected glimpse into the unstable part of him, the part that had earned him the reputation as 'the crazy one'. Either he was the best actor she'd ever seen, or he was genuine, and he had problems. She wondered briefly if it was something she could exploit, to somehow lead to an escape route, but it wasn't like her to be so devious. It made her feel unclean to even think it, like she was lowering herself to Aperture's standards. She may well get out that way, but she'd lose part of herself. She had so little of herself left that that thought was unacceptable.

The light changed colour, and she entered the airlock through to the test chamber. Once inside, she waited for gravity to disappear. She didn't know what sort of technology kept everyone around the facility grounded, only that they were able to turn it off in certain sections. The moment she felt her weight shift, she kicked off from the ground in the direction of the door into the test chamber. She floated forward like an underwater swimmer, drifting through the door as it opened for her.

Clinging onto the wall with her left hand, she surveyed the room. Turrets, of course. That was what had killed Lawrence. A pool of dried blood still covered the floor, spread out in a dramatic splatter pattern from where the reinstalled gravity had pulled it down. Chell blanched, breathing hard, regaining her composure. She was not squeamish, but it was the thought of the poor man's terror, and the knowledge that she could easily go the same way if she wasn't careful.

Her keen eyes spotted the route she'd have to take past the turrets, where she needed to place her portals. It had taken her a little time to ignore the instinct to look for white portal surfaces, as she'd had to do with the previous device. The new one could fire anywhere. It gave her more freedom for placement, but it also made it more difficult, as the portal surfaces had always provided clues as to the solution to the test. It also meant that she had to be careful when firing, as often she accidentally found herself shooting a portal on the wire mesh that divided the room instead of on the wall behind it. The zero gravity element added another layer of difficulty, as she could only move by giving herself a boost off the surfaces. If she found herself running out of momentum in the middle of a room, it was likely that she'd get stuck and have to wait until she drifted close enough to kick off a wall. In a worst-case scenario, she could easily find herself floating in front of a turret with no means of moving. That was most likely what had happened to Lawrence.

Directing herself, she kicked off from the wall, floating forward towards the mesh fence that split the chamber in half. Aiming the device through the holes, she fired. A blue portal materialised on the wall on the other side. Chell shot an orange one in the wall next to her and pulled herself through it. Shooting portals, keeping herself out of range of the turrets, she made her way up to the cube that would open the door. She undid the straps that were holding it down, and clumsily shifted it through a portal to the receptacle. She slotted it into place, and the door slid open. To get to it, she had to move past the final turret. The only way she could see to do it was the simple way: be faster than it was. Bracing herself, she kicked off from the ground, shooting upwards like a bullet.

"Hello," intoned the turret, its voice sweet but chilling.

The scarlet laser beam cut a scorching line in the wall, missing her heels by inches. She tucked her legs up and manoeuvred herself through the door into the airlock. The door slid shut behind her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good job," came Rattmann's voice from the speakers, and she raised an eyebrow. He never usually spoke to her while she was testing.

She gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, and braced herself for the next chamber. His behaviour was puzzling her. Chell didn't like it when things altered suddenly for no apparent reason. It always made her suspicious that something else was going on. She didn't want to be so cynical, especially when it seemed that he'd changed for the better, but she just couldn't help it. It was too deeply ingrained by her past experiences of Aperture Science.

She'd more or less decided that he was having a crisis of conscience. Although she didn't trust him, she was hopeful that it would improve things for her in the long run. Perhaps, if she was actually lucky for once, he would even help her escape. She wasn't pinning her hopes on it, though. Hope was a fragile thing, so easily destroyed. She didn't plan on making herself vulnerable by giving in to it.

He gave her a brief encouraging comment after each of the five tests she worked through. It didn't take her long to come to expect them, and she even found herself feeling grateful for them. She always got a buzz from completing a test, a reaction that she kept well hidden. She didn't enjoy testing, not by a long shot, but she couldn't deny the satisfaction she felt from beating them.

Rattmann was waiting in the equipment room at the end of the chambers when she came through the airlock. She held out her right arm so he could remove the portal device, which he busied himself with straight away.

She found herself studying him as he worked, wondering what it was that had tipped him over the edge to become someone who might one day be on her side. He was closer to her own age than she'd first suspected. Chell had had her twenty-sixth birthday pass unnoticed a few weeks previously. Not that she really minded. Birthdays were just a number to her. A number and an excuse for a large cake, which wasn't an issue anyway because she always bought cake if she wanted it without feeling the need to wait for an occasion. Rattmann looked to be in his mid thirties, and not forty as she'd initially assumed. The shadows beneath his eyes and his permanently serious expression made him appear older.

The moment the angle of his head changed, she dropped her gaze to the floor, not wishing to be caught staring. He lifted the portal device off her arm, and she flexed her stiff fingers before tugging off her gloves. He turned away to lock the device in a secure cupboard, and she worked at the straps of her long fall boots. They were a safety precaution, but one that only worked if she was facing the right way when the gravity came back online. Until they'd installed handles along the ceiling of the airlock, she and some of the other test subjects had found themselves landing on various limbs as soon as the gravity was reactivated. It was a precaution that any other company would have anticipated. Aperture had a very casual relationship with health and safety.

Chell kicked off the boots, nudging them in the direction of the shelf where they were stored. Rattmann picked them up, putting them in their proper place without a word of reprimand. She couldn't care less about their expensive inventions. The boots were damned uncomfortable to wear anyway.

"Your next series of tests will be..." He paused, running a finger down the notes on his clipboard. "Wednesday morning."

Chell shrugged. She didn't know what day it was. Calendars were not included in the minimalist decor of the test subjects' living quarters.

He frowned at her, apparently deciphering her expression. "That's in two days."

She nodded, as if it were neither here nor there. Already, she felt a stab of anxiety uncoil itself in the pit of her stomach. After 110 days of incident-free testing, she felt very much like she was on borrowed time.

"Do you really not know what day it is?" he asked, the insensitive side of him re-emerging.

She glared at him, a retort almost escaping her lips. She bit her tongue.

'Do you really not know what it's like in our part of the station?' she asked silently, because she couldn't quite bring herself to ask it out loud.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a half-sigh, half-grumble. She didn't think it was directed at her.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I'm..." He trailed off, and the silence hung between them. "I'll see you in two days."

She nodded curtly, sweeping out of the room dismissively, as if she was the one in authority. With nothing else to do, she headed to her quarters to use five of her shower minutes before seeing how much time she could eat up by sleeping.

Doug decided to stop off in the main staff lounge for his allocated three-weekly supplies before heading to write up that day's notes. His prescription was delivered to him because Aperture actually had a semblance of a confidentiality policy, but everything else he had to pick up.

The room wasn't empty like he'd hoped. Three of his co-workers stood there, nursing cups of coffee, and talking in brusque tones that made them sound more important than they were. They were all of a similar age, just shy of forty, and all of them made frequent embarrassing attempts to extend their youth in their choice of slang. Despite their different appearances, Doug had always found them pretty interchangeable.

"...stupid thing to do anyway," one of them, Craig, was saying as he walked in. "Hey, Doug."

Doug nodded to them, heading to the shelves that covered one wall. He located the pile of supplies with his name on, and began checking everything he'd requested was there. He needed a shave.

"Yeah, I know," spoke up Jonathan, a man who flatly refused to let anyone shorten his name. "It's like they pick the most dim people they can find off the street and persuade them to volunteer."

The third, Neil, gave a short bark of laughter. "Well Doug's won't even speak! Will she, Doug?"

Although he knew perfectly well what they were talking about, he glanced up and said innocently, "Huh?"

"Your test subject," Neil elaborated. "She doesn't talk."

"Oh. No, she doesn't."

Jonathan swilled his coffee around the bottom of his mug. "Yeah, I've never understood that. What's she trying to prove?"

Doug gave a non-committal shrug, shaking out an Aperture-logoed paper bag and placing his supply of toiletries inside it.

"God knows," Craig said. "She's probably brain damaged, like Victoria thinks."

"I don't know, she seems pretty self aware to me," Neil put in, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Only seen her a few times, though. She's got one hell of a glare! Does she look at you that way, Doug?"

"Usually," he replied, examining a tube of toothpaste, trying hard not to throw it.

"What's her deal?" Jonathan asked.

"What's any of their deals?" Craig said emphatically, causing Neil, who was a self-labelled grammar freak, to wince. "You'd think they'd be grateful for the chance to be involved in this project. Only a handful of people even know we're up here."

Doug finished packing his bag, and headed over to the kettle. He needed a cup of coffee, and something to do with his hands so that he wouldn't strangle any of them. He'd listened to their derogatory chats before, of course, but now, since he'd seen the fate of Christine's test subject, he had no stomach for it. That, and the fact that any word against his own test subject set his blood boiling.

"Let's face it," Jonathan declared, "they're all freaking stupid. Have you seen the way they walk around this place? They're not people, they're sheep. Sheeple!"

"That's not a word," Neil told him.

"Well it should be! Seriously, though, if we had test subjects that had higher IQs, can you imagine how different the results would be?"

Craig put his cup down, sighing in exasperation. "Yes, genius, but then you'd be a damn test subject. And I'm betting you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Well, no, not me, obviously, but just...you know, people who are a bit smarter. I swear, this place has really gone downhill since Mr. Johnson died."

"You say that every time you don't agree with something."

Doug spooned coffee granules into a mug and willed the kettle to boil faster.

"I'm not saying all test subjects are stupid," Jonathan went on, proving once again that he didn't know when to let a topic drop. "It's just that I think they could've made more of an effort for a project of this scale."

"And only three hot chicks among them," Neil said, shaking his head.

"Ugh, for God's sake, Neil, they're test subjects," Jonathan spat.

"It's not a dirty word. They're still women under the jumpsuits. And those things leave little to the imagination anyway. Talk about form-fitting! Whoever designed those needs a medal."

"Or an execution," Craig added. "Didn't you notice that not all the female test subjects are slim? That is not something you want to be seeing first thing in the morning."

"Wait," Neil interrupted. "Two hot chicks. Not three. There was that redhead, but I've just remembered she got herself killed."

"You must be desperate if you're looking at them," Jonathan said, his tone dripping with superiority. "I feel sorry for you fellas. I tell ya, if Victoria and I weren't such good friends…"

Craig snorted loudly. "Good friends? The whole station knows about you two."

"I'm just saying, I understand that you must be desperate. We've been up here a long time now, you're kinda limited to the women that are around."

"Shut up, man."

"At least there are two test subjects worth looking at," Neil put in. "Better than none, right?"

"I don't know," Craig said with a shrug. "There's no policy about it, but I get the feeling it would be frowned upon to…distract the test subjects. When they walk around in those tight jumpsuits, it's just torturing us, isn't it?"

"Nah, I like them."

"Can't you just agree to disagree?" Jonathan asked.

"No," Neil stated firmly. "Say, Doug got one of the hot ones. Is it better or worse, Doug?"

Doug somehow managed to keep his hand steady as he poured water into his coffee cup. He stirred it, scrambling for a diplomatic answer that wouldn't give away how disgusted he was by the whole conversation.

"1498 may be hot," Craig said with a snigger, "but she's a freaking psycho. That glare would put you off!"

"Dude, I thought we established that she's brain damaged," Jonathan said, draining the last of his drink.

"I wouldn't care!" Neil declared. "Just because she's brain damaged, doesn't mean that she can't–"

They all jumped as Doug's spoon clattered onto the metal draining board. His fists were tightly clenched, his knuckles almost the same colour as his lab coat.

"You all right, buddy?" Craig asked.

Doug cleared his throat. "I, uh, I'm not feeling too good. I'm going to go lie down."

"Okay. See you later."

Clutching his bag of supplies in the crook of his arm, Doug departed the room as quickly as his full cup of coffee would allow. His head was reeling. He'd never agreed with their viewpoints, but he'd always been able to let their words flow over him, they'd never affected him before.

'Is this her influence again?' he asked himself. He knew it was. She was influencing every part of his life, sweeping in like a summer storm, changing the landscape. And she didn't even know she was doing it.

His coffee was dangerously close to dripping on the dull grey floor. He had no other outlet for his anger but the shaking of his hands. He paused, leaning back against the wall of the corridor, trying to calm down. It had taken him a while to find his way around the facility. Every corridor looked the same: grey floors, grey doors, grey walls. It was vastly unimaginative. The only splash of colour was the optics of the few cores that could be seen zipping around on the management rails.

The sound of footsteps echoed around the corner, and he turned his head. There came a soft, playful giggle. Instinct told him not to move, and he froze, his hands suddenly still. Peter, his superior, appeared at the end of the corridor, accompanied by a young and pretty member of housekeeping. Doug watched as they disappeared into a room that he was fairly sure was a supply closet. If he had had any lingering doubts about what they were up to, they were eliminated by the sight of Peter tapping the girl lightly on the backside on the way through the door.

Doug didn't move for a long while, processing what he'd seen. Peter's politician wife was busy campaigning back on Earth. Although he didn't like either of them, he felt awkward about what he'd witnessed, and even felt a flutter of sympathy for her. She'd find out eventually. That was always the way it worked. He continued on his way, walking as quietly as he could. There was barely a sound from the closet when he passed it. They were clearly experts at that particular brand of deception.

Finally back in the peace of his own room, he unpacked his supplies and drank his coffee, keeping himself busy to ward off thinking. He didn't much care about Peter's extra curricular activities. It was the conversation he'd overheard that kept playing on his mind. The worst part was, he was in the minority. Most of his co-workers thought the exact same way that Jonathan, Craig and Neil did, blinded by their own self-importance, and the freedom that a lack of morals gave their experiments. Getting results that no other science lab could match swelled their heads, and clouded the fact that they were only able to do what they did because Aperture didn't care who it walked over in its quest for science.

Doug genuinely didn't understand how the company had avoided a lawsuit for so long. Bribery probably had something to do with it. He hadn't really thought too hard about it. He'd just been grateful to find a job where nobody seemed to care much about his condition.

He thought about his test subject, and how furious she'd be if she'd heard what was being said about her and the others.

'You have no one to stick up for you,' he said silently, perching on the bed so he could kick off his shoes. 'And I'm afraid I'm not brave enough to do it. The best I can do is keep out of it. I hope you can forgive me.'

He could partially see himself in the mirror on the wall, and in his mind's eye she appeared behind him, her expression one of disapproval and disappointment. He longed to draw her, to try and expel her from his thoughts, but he didn't dare, for fear of it being found and misinterpreted.

'But it wouldn't be misinterpreted,' a voice said at the back of his mind. 'That's what you're afraid of. Why can't you just admit that you're infatuated?'

Admitting it would be the honest thing to do, but part of him couldn't let go, aware that it complicated things.

'Things are already complicated. In fact, probably more so than if you just acknowledge that you lo-'

Doug jumped to his feet, stomping into the bathroom. He intended to have a shave, to distract himself with the motions of the ritual, but his reflection mocked him the moment he moved in front of the mirror.

'What harm can it do to just say it?'

"What good can it do?"

'Oh, you're actually talking to me. Well that's nice.'

"Just shut up, I know I'm a little overdue on my dosage. I'll deal with it."

'Sure you will. Eventually. Shaving is so much more important, you know.'

Doug ignored it, turning on the hot water. The term was applied loosely. At best, the water was lukewarm.

'Be honest with yourself and I'll go away.'

"No you won't."

'I will. I want you to be honest, Doug. If you're not honest with yourself how can you be honest with others? With her?'

He dabbed shaving gel on his face, fighting to keep his temper in check. It was frankly ridiculous to lose his temper with himself. Especially when deep down, he knew the voice was right. He drew the razor methodically down his cheek, cutting paths through the foam.

The voice apparently had some interest in his welfare, and didn't speak up again until the blade was away from his skin.

'You think about her all the time,' it said persistently. 'You care about what happens to her. You worry about her opinion of you. You don't like it when people say derogatory things about her. You find her attractive. You want to keep her safe and happy. Should I go on? You know what they call all that, don't you?'

He rinsed his face and met his own gaze in the mirror, bracing his hands either side of the sink.

"Leave me alone."

'Admit the truth and I will. It's in your best interests, Dougie. You'll feel better.'

"I'll feel better as soon as I swallow my damn pills and make you disappear."

'Except that it doesn't always work, does it? Trust me, this is the only way to do it. If you didn't want to admit it, I wouldn't even be here. Just do it!'

"Fine! You're right. I...I love her. She clawed her way into my heart and now she's never going to leave. She's in my head. She's in my dreams. She's everything. And she hates me." He paused, breathing hard, his limbs trembling with a mixture of anger and raw emotion. "Now do you see why I didn't want to admit it? Because it hurts."

But the voice, as promised, was silent.

He lowered his head, staring into the sink, letting out a long, shaky breath. The truth stung, as he'd known it would. And yet, annoyingly, he felt a weight off his shoulders.

Doug dried his face, and headed back out to take his tablets. He didn't know what to do with his confession now that he'd said it aloud. The chances of her returning his feelings were slim, at best. Unless he proved himself to be an ally and helped her get out of there. He'd be helping himself too, of course. The longing to return to Earth grew stronger on a daily basis. What was becoming increasingly strong, was the urge to tell Aperture Laboratories to stick its job. Perhaps he could do that, save her, and run away somewhere rural to start a new life. He wondered if she'd agree to that. Still, he could dream. He had to find some way to get through the days.

Now that he'd admitted it, he felt able to think about it more openly, without the underlying current of secrecy that he'd felt before. So he loved her. But when had it started? He didn't even know. Seeking answers, he thought back to the first time he'd met her, only a few months ago...

On the day that the scientists were due to meet their test subjects, Doug awoke with an empty feeling that he was pretty sure was supposed to be filled by anticipation. The project was new, the device more so. He should have been happy to get the ball rolling. But he'd already been there too long. He'd spent a month preparing, settling in to life on the moon. A month, as it turned out, was just enough time for him to get thoroughly fed up with the facility and the people in it.

Everything was grey and monochrome, everywhere he looked. The people were beginning to look that way too, restless and miserable in their monotonous routine. It was always cold there, and that made them all unhappy. Perhaps the arrival of the test subjects would stir things up, but Doug doubted it. He was deeply cynical about his life.

He arrived a few minutes before his appointed timeslot, just as his co-worker, Neil, was exiting the room, two bewildered-looking male test subjects in his wake.

"Doug! Wait til you see yours!"

He frowned, taken aback by the enthusiasm. "What?"

"You've got 1498, right?"

"Yes. So what?"

"She's gorgeous! Pouty lips, killer body...my God, are you gonna be distracted!"

Doug rolled his eyes. "I doubt that. I've got work to focus on. You should too."

Neil waved off his comment, jerking a thumb in the direction of his test subjects. "These two agree with me. Eyes on stalks, I'm telling you."

"I never-" one of them began.

"Uh," said Neil sharply. "It's okay. You don't need to talk."

"Screw you," the man spat. "I'm not even meant to be here."

Neil turned on him. Doug couldn't see his face, but the test subject's reaction was one of startled anger.

"Look," Neil told him, his voice low, "don't make me call security this early in the project. You won't like the consequences. You are a test subject. That means you do as I say."

The test subject looked ready to bite back, but the other one kicked him lightly in the shin, shaking his head. The test subject took his partner's advice, albeit grudgingly.

Neil glanced back at Doug, shrugging apologetically. "Just go on in there, you'll agree with me in no time."

"You don't know me that well, Neil."

"I know," Neil agreed. "You've got that quiet, brooding and mysterious thing going for you. But trust me, this is not up for debate."

"Right," Doug said sceptically. "Well, we'll see."

"Yeah. See you later."

Neil moved on down the corridor, the test subjects reluctantly following. Doug took a moment to savour his dislike of the man before heading in to collect his own test subject. He glanced down at his notes, to double check if Neil had it right. It seemed he had. His subject was definitely 1498.

The test subjects were being organised in small groups to avoid crowding and confusion. There were only six awaiting collection, two men and four women. They covered a broad range of ages, and the skin-tight orange and white jumpsuit only fitted some of them well.

One of the junior lab technicians was supervising, holding his clipboard in a way that he clearly thought made him look important.

"Ah, Mr. Rattmann. Welcome."

"Morning, Price."

Price examined the chart on his clipboard, running a stubby finger down the list. "Let's see...Douglas Rattmann...ah yes, 1498."

Doug nodded, resisting the urge to say 'I could have told you that'. Sarcasm rarely helped in maintaining good relations with co-workers. He'd eventually been forced to accept that.

Price turned to the group. The low chatter amongst them had stopped.

"1498," he announced. "1498, that's you, honey."

The woman in question scowled at him, wrenching her arm out of his helpful grasp. He actually recoiled, just a little, recovering quickly and fixing her with a frown.

"Come on, there's no need for that. This is Mr. Rattmann. He'll be your supervising scientist for the duration of your time here."

Doug studied her, hoping his curiosity wasn't too obvious. Reluctantly, he had to admit that Neil was right. She was stunning, but Doug suspected his reasons for thinking so were different than Neil's. Her fierce glare marred the beauty of her face, but it was her eyes that made her striking. They were as cold and hard as steel, and almost the same colour. Despite their iciness, there was a spark of fire there, an almost hidden strand of something he identified as fury. Although what she had to be angry about, he had no idea. She had volunteered for testing. They all had.

She was studying him too, but her expression carefully hid what she thought, aside from that she appeared to hate both him and Price. He wondered what he'd done to deserve that.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, offering a hand for her to shake.

She didn't take it, and didn't answer.

"She, uh, she doesn't speak," Price told him. "It says so in her file. Here." He handed the folder over.

Doug flipped it open, scanning the first page. 'Name: Chell [REDACTED]' it read.

"Why is her surname redacted?" he asked.

"She wouldn't tell us what it is."

"Why not?"

Price looked disconcerted by his questioning. "I don't know. Sorry. You'd have to ask her."

They both glanced up at her. She quirked a challenging eyebrow. Doug decided to accept the obvious: she was going to make his work more difficult than it needed to be.

"Okay. No surname. Fine. Follow me, please. Thank you, Price."

When he started walking, he half expected her to obstinately stay put, and was relieved to hear the almost-silent steps of her bare feet. He led her to the chamber where she'd be doing her introductory test. Inside the equipment room, he turned to face her. Her scowl had disappeared, but she still looked sullen, her expression arctic.

"You've used long fall boots before, I assume?" he asked.

She didn't acknowledge him. She didn't look confused, so he gathered she had. Doug checked her shoe size in her file and found her a pair. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she didn't put them on. He didn't much like the thought of wrestling her into them, as if she was a petulant child who didn't want to go to school. Her general behaviour so far was well into childish territory. It puzzled him no end, and he wondered if he'd spend all his time thinking about that rather than focusing on her test results.

He turned away to find her some gloves. When he looked back, she was strapping the boots on. Doug offered up a silent word of thanks to the universe. He handed her the gloves, which she snatched away, and headed over to the cabinet where the prototype portal device was stored. He swiped his I.D. card and removed it, holding it awkwardly in both hands. It was peculiarly balanced, possibly a snag to iron out in later models.

"I see from your file that you're familiar with the A.S.H.P.D.," he said. "This one is different. Rather than being handheld, it attaches to your wrist."

She was watching keenly, absorbing the information. So she certainly wasn't stupid, despite her juvenile conduct. He went on with his demonstration.

"Hold your right arm out, please."

She shot him a withering look, but did as he said. He slid the device into place and tightened the clasps. She was studying it curiously, testing the weight of it, examining the narrow barrel that made it a little too top-heavy, the focusing points that hovered above and below her hand. It was much smaller than the previous model, but somehow the weight had stayed the same. Doug gently turned her hand over, making sure the triggers fit snugly in her palm. If she curled her fingers into a fist, she could easily reach them.

"This is how you fire it. Blue portal, orange portal. Got it?"

Again, she didn't acknowledge him. He was already getting used to it. He let go of her arm, which lurched a little as she took up the entire weight.

"There are a few other elements that make this device different to the previous model. Firstly, it's more fragile, so be careful. Secondly, it's a prototype, so let me know if you notice any glitches. Most importantly, it can fire onto any surface. Living materials are the exception so far, but apart from that, anything goes. The tests will no longer contain specific portal surfaces."

She looked at him, her expression thoughtful. Raising her arm, she fired a blue portal into the wall in front of her. With a glint in her eyes that had him leaping instinctively backwards, she shot an orange one at his feet. Sometimes, it did pay to be paranoid.

He shot her a frown. She met his gaze, the challenge unmistakeable. Part of him relished it. His days certainly wouldn't be so tedious from now on.

"Okay," he said calmly, "so you know what you're doing. That'll help. Enter the airlock. You're ready for your preliminary test."

Her expression hardened, and she stepped through the door, the emancipation grille cancelling out the portals.

"Oh," he added, "one more thing: these tests are conducted in zero gravity."

Her eyes widened in surprise, just a little, but enough to indicate that something got through to her. He counted it as a victory.

"Good luck."

She glared at him until the door cut her off from view. Doug considered everything that had occurred, and found himself almost wanting to smile. She would be hard work, he could tell, and he knew he might never understand her behaviour. But one thing was perfectly clear: he wasn't going to be bored.

Doug couldn't quite bring himself to smile at the memory itself, but something did become painfully evident in hindsight: she'd hooked him right from the start, purely by accident. He'd been fascinated. And he still was, he could accept it now. What remained unclear was just what he was going to do about it.

A/N: Even though they'll never see this, I want to apologise to the other people who work in the same building as me whose names I borrowed. They're all very nice people who unknowingly donated their names to some nasty characters!