A/N: Aaaand she's waking up again. It's tradition now!

Chapter Fourteen - Out of the Shadows.

My limbs are heavy and awkward, dragged down by exhaustion, yet I force myself to keep running. She's behind me, always behind me, always taunting. The path I'm on is narrow, flanked by acid pits on either side. She keeps trying to knock me into them, placing turrets and rockets in my way, sending thermal discouragement beams across the tiles so I have to jump and twist to avoid them. Then I run out of path, and she laughs, a cold, strangely gentle laugh. I turn, and she's right there. She lurches forwards, and I tumble off, falling into nothingness. I will fall forever. And I can still hear her laughing.

I wake with a strangled gasp, sitting up clumsily. My body is damp with cold sweat and seized by an uncontrollable tremble, my heartbeat and breathing too fast. I rest my elbows on my knees, running my hands through my hair. I stare at my feet, struggling to get back in control.

When I look up, Doug is watching me, leaning back against the wall that he's once again covered with sketches. His eyes are unusually bright. While I don't find it disturbing exactly, it is a little unsettling. He's obviously been fighting his demons, exorcising the voices from his head by scribbling their words on the wall.

"Nightmare?" he says.

I nod, letting out a shaky breath.

"I wish I could tell you it gets easier."

I send him a feeble smile. "I appreciate your honesty."

He meets my gaze, acknowledging my comment. Then he glances at the cube, and I wonder if it's talking again.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Just over an hour, I'd guess." He shrugs. "It's hard to tell."

"I know."

He stands up and crosses to the cube, crouching down to speak to it in a low voice. I reach for my long fall boots, strap them in place, and get to my feet. I can't make much sense of what he's scrawled on the wall, but I notice there's another portrait of me. I look like I'm running, and he's written 'strength' next to it. It feels like an invasion of privacy to study these murals while he's here, and I turn respectfully away.

He's turning away himself, and I realise that he was watching me examine his drawings. His shoulders slump, and I wonder if he's misinterpreting my reaction.

"I didn't want to…" I begin, and he looks back around, raising one eyebrow in question. "These," I gesture to the wall, "these are private. It…feels wrong. They're yours."

"I…" He pauses, swallows, and continues. "I actually don't mind. You know everything about me." In a voice so quiet I can barely make out his words, he adds, "Well, almost everything."

"Even still, it makes you uncomfortable…"

"It's fine. It means you know me. You're the first person…in a long time. And…now the only one." He smiles and pats the cube. "You know you don't count," he says to it fondly.

I glance back at the drawings, noting the way I look in them, because now I go back to it, I see I'm there more than once. I look strong, determined, somehow graceful…almost…beautiful. Although I'm very hesitant to use that word.

"Is this really how you see me?" I ask, my tone soft in a kind of awed wonder.

I can't meet his eyes while I ask, and perhaps this makes it easier for him to answer, which he does straight away with a simple, "Yes."

I'm rendered speechless, scrambling madly for something to say. But then there comes a loud clang from the direction of the test chambers. We don't even exchange a glance. In a trice, we're both running for the door, Doug swinging the cube onto his back as he goes. Beyond the office is a maze of corridors. I hesitate, unsure which way to go. Doug overtakes me, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the left hand route. He seems confident about where he's going, so I let him lead me.

We jog on in silence, winding our way through the garbage-strewn paths. It looks like this was an area that was more heavily populated when GLaDOS pumped out the neurotoxin. There's much more evidence of human activity here than I've seen anywhere else. More scattered paperwork, tea and coffee stains on the floor lying by abandoned, cracked mugs, a dropped packet of Kleenex, a broken cigarette lighter. I hope that some of them got out via the escape route we're looking for.

"I don't know exactly where you are," comes GLaDOS's voice suddenly, making us both skid to a stop. "But I know you're there. Honestly now, after everything I've done for you, feeding you, shipping you around where you wanted to go, letting the moron leave. And you decide to break yet more Aperture Science property and go exploring through areas you're not authorised to be in. Do you have any idea just how rude that is?"

I glance at Doug. His expression of shock and concern looks exactly how I imagine my own to look.

"Can she hear us?" I mouth.

He nods. I feel as if someone has trickled cold water down my back. I hate the thought of her listening to everything we say, stalking us shamelessly. I know we've been lucky so far. This is the first 'backstage' area that I've come across where she can speak to me. But I was hoping to never hear her voice again.

"I'm a generous person," she goes on, "so I'm happy to let you wander around back there. Science will still be waiting when you come back. And don't trouble yourself with finding your way here. I've got two party escort bots already headed to your location. You're welcome."

We continue on while she speaks, walking slowly to minimise sound, yet aware that if the party escort bots are on their way we need to pick up the pace. Eventually, we pass through a door into another maintenance area, and Doug examines the ceiling thoroughly before letting out a sigh.

"I think we're okay here," he says at length.

"Where are we?"

"Almost there."

Foolishly, I feel hope rise at his words. I don't want to feel it. It's been there and been trampled on too many times now. But it materialises anyway, despite my past experiences.

"Are you all right?" he asks earnestly.

I meet his gaze, noticing the genuine concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine," I reply. "It's just...I didn't want to get my hopes up, not after everything that's happened. But I can't seem to help it. I just...well, you know, you're probably going through the same thought process."

He nods. "It's...kind of surreal, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

I glance around. We're in a kind of warehouse, filled with hundreds of storage containers. Some of them have been opened and emptied, others are still shut up.

"I used to come here looking for provisions," Doug says as we walk through. "One of these crates kept me supplied with beans for a year!"

"You must be sick of the sight of beans."

"They were a necessary evil."

We carry on, and then something occurs to me.

"If you came here looking for supplies," I say, turning to regard him, "why didn't you just take the service elevator out of here?"

He keeps looking ahead, hesitating before he answers. "Well, firstly, I couldn't get to it. There's a large mechanised door we need to pass through and it needs two switches thrown simultaneously to open it."

"You're smart, though, you could have figured a way around that if you'd tried."

"Heh, don't be so sure."

"You said firstly," I point out. "What was the other reason?"

He sends a brief glance my way. "I...I couldn't, in good conscience, leave you behind."

I let out a sigh. "Doug. You...you shouldn't have done that! You could have escaped years ago!"

He stops walking and faces me, his demeanour surprisingly calm. "I was the one who put you in stasis. I felt partly responsible for you being here. I couldn't just leave. And besides...the way you talked to me...you seemed like someone who could be a friend. Well, I did think of you as a friend, even though I know it was mostly in my head."

"I thought of you as a friend too."

He smiles distractedly. "That's nice to know. But my point is, I... I'm a coward, I know that, but..." He trails off, shrugging. "I could never leave friends behind. Not when there's a chance..."

"There's a difference between being scared and being cowardly," I tell him, touched by his low opinion of himself. "Being cowardly means giving up, and you don't. You never have."

"I guess I was taking a leaf out of your book."

I shake my head. "No, it's not just that. Maybe I...inspired you, if that's the right word. But you couldn't have done it without determination. That's all you. It has nothing to do with me."

"You do inspire me," he murmurs, almost to himself.

I note the present tense.

"In your own way, you're just as tenacious as I am," I say warmly.

"Come on, now."

"I mean it. You don't give yourself nearly enough credit."

He doesn't seem convinced, staring resolutely out into the depths of the warehouse. I step forward, raising my hand to his cheek, turning his face to meet my eyes. He looks a little shocked, and I don't blame him. I've slightly shocked myself.

"Doug," I begin sincerely. "You need to stop beating yourself up about things you had no control over. I know it'll be easier once we're out of here, but you can't let this place take everything from you. You're a good man. The best. Never doubt it."

A rapid slideshow of emotions flicker across his face. It's too much for me to keep track of, but I can see that my proximity is affecting him almost as much as it's affecting me. It isn't the same as the way he shied from physical contact before. It's something else. Does he feel what I feel? He's so guarded, it's impossible to tell. But now I'm starting to wonder, and it fills me with another kind of foolish hope.

After a long moment of contemplation, he says, "It's hard not to doubt yourself, when you're dealing with...everything I've had to deal with. But...I'm glad that I have you to remind me."

I move my hand to his shoulder and give it a light squeeze. "I'm glad too."

"You're my strength, Chell," he says seriously. "I would never have made it this far if not for you."

"I believe you would," I reply softly. I'm self-conscious accepting the compliment.

We both lapse into silence. It's awkward, but not excruciatingly so. For once he doesn't shy away from holding my gaze, but as always, he keeps his thoughts to himself. I can read very little in his expression.

"We should keep going," I say at last.

He nods, and we continue walking, winding our way through the labyrinth created by the storage containers. There's a short corridor beyond the warehouse, then we come to the dual switch door that Doug mentioned. We throw the levers, and the door creaks open reluctantly, coming to a groaning stop before it's completely done. We slip through the gap, just managing to get the cube through, and step out into the unknown territory of the space beyond. It's a long, dimly lit corridor, sloping upwards.

"This is it!" whispers Doug excitedly.

We both pause for a moment, staring into the darkness. It was clearly never meant to be seen by anyone Aperture considered to be important. The walls, ceiling and floor are all made of dark concrete, and nearly every surface is damp, occasionally coated with mould. There are small, muted lights mounted on the walls, but only about one in six are actually working.

Still, neither of us moves. I glance up at Doug. He's looking intently ahead, lips pressed tightly together, his jaw tense. One hand is clutching at the sling he uses to carry the cube, as if seeking reassurance.

For once, I know exactly what's going through his head. The moment we start down this path, we'll be walking into the unknown. We have no idea what's happening on the surface. We could be stepping from the frying pan into the fire. For all its faults, Aperture has kept us safe from outside dangers. Better the devil you know. I feel it too. Just barely, but enough to make me hesitate.

I'm strong enough to move past it. My stubborn streak won't let me down, not now. But Doug…Doug has suffered so much more, so much longer than I have. I understand why he's afraid.

I slip my hand into his. He turns to me, eyebrows raised in question.

"Together," I say.

He nods, lips curling in a tiny smile. Together, we take a step forward. After that first one, the rest are easy.

We maintain a mutually agreed silence as we go, wary of the emptiness of the corridor. It continues to slope upwards, curving slightly to the right. We're winding our way out in a lazy spiral. I don't know how long we walk before monotony sets in. It's horrendously repetitive, giving the impression that we're not actually getting anywhere at all.

"Did they really make test subjects walk all this way after they were done with them?" I ask in a low voice, desperate to break the tedium.

"I don't know. It wouldn't surprise me. Back then most of the scientists saw the test subjects as little more than pieces of testing equipment. Some of my older co-workers felt that way too. They felt more concern for the gear they created than for the humans getting hurt by it." He throws a look over his shoulder at the cube. "Good point," he says to it.

"What?"

"Didn't you notice how the elevators are just bigger transportation devices to get things sent through the tubes?"

My mouth falls open slightly. I never had noticed that. "Along with the rest of the testing apparatus," I say.

"Exactly."

"My God. I don't know why I'm always surprised to hear about new lows this place sinks to, but somehow I am. I guess I always hope there's a limit."

"We used to get played a motivational message from Mr. Johnson every morning," Doug recalls, "where he'd shout 'Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are footprints on the moon'."

"Oh please."

"I know."

We turn a sharper bend, and I feel something against my skin, soft and almost forgotten.

"Do you feel that?" I ask, my voice a whisper. "It's…a breeze. Air. Real air!"

Doug doesn't speak, closing his eyes as he notices it too. When he opens them again, he turns to me, his face lit up with hope. I can feel his edgy tremble through our linked hands. He's probably resisting the urge to run the rest of the way. I want to give in to it too. Freedom is so close, it's almost torture to walk. But we have no idea if any security measures have been installed in this corridor, and it would be beyond stupid to yield to recklessness now.

After a few more paces we discover that our caution was a shrewd course of action. Doug tugs my hand, stopping my progress.

"Pressure pads," he says.

I glance down at the floor, noticing the small, slightly raised tiles scattered along the route.

"I really don't want to find out what they're for," I comment.

"No," he agrees.

I shoot him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

He nods, and we continue on, forced to drop hands so we can focus on not stepping on the pads. We turn another bend, and Doug halts abruptly, inhaling sharply.

"What is it?" I ask, immediately on alert.

"There's something up ahead. I think. Can you see it too? Is it real?"

I glance ahead, spotting the dark shape slumped against the wall. It looks like some kind of animal, and judging by the smell, it's been dead for a while.

"I see it."

We approach warily, and Doug kneels down to examine it.

"It's a deer, I think. Or was." He grimaces.

"How did it get here?"

"It must have fallen down the elevator shaft. We must be close."

A sound echoes up to us, resonating from the direction we've come from. It's a kind of mechanical clanging, like footsteps.

"Party escort bots," Doug says grimly.

"She knows we're here," I add.

"We need to move."

He stands up, accidentally knocking the deer as he does so. Its head droops forward, depressing one of the pressure pads. Before either of us can react, a panel in the wall slides up, and it becomes clear what happened to the deer. A thin line of ruby light crosses the corridor, dancing across Doug's lab coat.

"There you are," pipes up a sickeningly familiar, deceptively sweet voice.

With no time to form coherent thought, I simply react, lurching forward, shoving Doug further down the passageway as the spatter of bullets alerts the party escort bots to our presence.

Pain explodes up my right side, and I hit the ground with a gasp. Doug is back on his feet faster than I would have thought possible, hauling me back on mine and dragging me out of range of the turret. It's a miracle we didn't set off any more.

I sprawl against the wall, trying to breathe regularly. It's hard. Every movement aggravates the shot wound, sending burning pain rippling across my ribs.

"Chell!" Doug is saying frantically. "You need to get back up! We need to leave now!"

I bite my lip, struggling to comply, maintaining a death grip on his arm. My own limbs are quivering. I taste blood where I bite too hard. Doug throws my arm across his shoulders and I can't hold back a cry. We stumble a few steps, and my vision fogs. Against my will, I find myself dropping to my knees. Why can't I get back up? My head is so light.

"Okay, okay, okay," Doug mutters. "Think, Doug!"

"I'm…I'm trying to stand," I gasp.

"I know." There's a pause, then he snaps, "I can't do that, it hurts her! No, there's another way…I don't care, I have to try."

The echoing footsteps are moving quicker now. There's no way of telling how far away they are.

"Chell, Chell, look at me."

I focus on his face. It swims in and out of sight.

"Hang on to me if you can."

He moves my arm across his shoulders again, resting one hand against my back, slipping the other under my knees. With some difficulty he straightens up, taking me with him.

"Don't," I manage to say, whimpering slightly. "Doug, I'm…heavy. Don't…hurt yourself."

"You're not heavy at all," he tells me gallantly, but I can hear the strain in his voice. His malnourished frame shouldn't have to carry a relatively healthy person like me. Amongst the haze of pain, I feel incredibly guilty.

Taking care to avoid the pressure pads, he carries on, his steps slow but determined. Pausing to take a quick look back, he murmurs, "Oh God, they're nearly here."

"Leave me," I say, knowing that he won't listen, but compelled to say it anyway. "I don't want you to die…for my sake."

"Likewise, you stupid, tenacious woman." His voice is angry, but laced with concern and undeniable affection.

Adrenaline kicks in, and he breaks into a clumsy run. The jolts send waves of agony through me, and I fight hard not to cry out. The mechanised footsteps are growing ever closer. I'm beyond panic now. The pain has leeched it out of me.

"Nearly there!" he yells.

One final bout of jolting, and we cross some kind of threshold. Doug spins, facing the wall to the left. I see them now. Two sinister pink optics materialising out of the dark.

"Hit the switch! Quickly!"

Gathering my wits about me, I reach for the lever he means and bring it down. The elevator begins to move upwards, and Doug leans back, resting on the cube. He's breathing hard, his limbs shaking. He slides uncomfortably down the wall until he's sitting against it, still supporting me as I lie in a bloody heap in his lap.

"You…still with me?" he pants.

"Always," I mutter, pressing my hand to my wound. In my pain-induced daze I'd forgotten to put pressure on it.

I rest my forehead on his shoulder, refusing to give in and lose consciousness. We're still breathing. We're still alive. For now, anyway.

"If I can't find a medic," I say seriously, "don't…drag me around with you…I'll just slow you down."

"Don't talk like that."

"I mean it. Doug…I…I care about you…too much to keep you from…living."

I feel him rest his cheek on the top of my head. "You saved my life. I'm not going to let you die."

"If I…have a bullet in me…you might not have a choice."

"May I take a look?"

"Sure." I have nothing to lose.

He eases me onto the floor and unzips my jumpsuit, parting the fabric to try and see past the blood. With some difficulty, I pull my arms out of it, tugging it down so he can use the sleeves to wipe the worst away. Gently, he lifts my vest top out of the way.

"There's an exit wound," he says at length. "The bullet went straight through you."

"That's good, right?"

"I think so. It clipped your side. In inch further, and you would probably be dead. Or at least, we'd have an even more serious problem."

I tug at the sleeves of my jumpsuit, trying to rip them off. Doug leans forward to help, and together we manage to do it. The cheap fabric tears with a satisfying splitting sound. Doug ties them together into a makeshift bandage, and wraps it around my waist. It's not ideal, but it'll do. Biting my lip against the pain, I push myself up into a sitting position. Doug leans back against the cube, and pulls me with him, supporting and comforting. I don't know how he knows that I need it, but I'm glad he does. I've been forcing myself to be strong for so long, I probably deserve this moment of weakness.

We sit in silence, watching the dull concrete of the wall pass us. Although I know that GLaDOS can't possibly reach us here, I'm still uneasy. This elevator is past its best, and if it fails we won't just fall back to where we were, we'll fall back into old Aperture.

A whirring noise makes us both look upwards. A hatch in the ceiling is sliding back, filling the elevator with the fiery glow of the setting sun. We both blink stupidly, squinting into the light. Doug scrambles to his feet, bending down to scoop me up again, ignoring my protests.

"Remind me," he says casually, "who did you say would be carrying who?"

I snort, then grimace, holding my wound. "Don't make me laugh!"

He smiles, although there's a touch of guilt in it. "Sorry."

We run out of wall, and the elevator keeps going, taking us up to ground level. Doug has the presence of mind to get off it immediately, taking a few stumbling steps through the wheat. Behind us, the elevator vanishes into the darkness, and the hatch closes, blending into the dirt.

We stay put, staring, feeling the breeze on our skin, the temperate warmth of the sun as it disappears beyond the horizon. I glance up at Doug. His face is awash with the gentle orange glow, hiding his pale complexion and lighting the shadows under his eyes. I've never seen him smile quite the way he's smiling now. His eyes are bright with tears.

Doug is not a man you would look at and immediately think 'handsome'. That square-jawed, tanned, Hollywood flawlessness is not him. He'd never be anything so dull. He has charm, a kind of shy charisma that is all his own. His mismatched eyes have a strange sort of beauty to them. His natural expression is one of intelligent seriousness, defined by the concerned crease between his eyebrows that almost seems permanent. But when he smiles, all that worry falls away. His caring side, the deeply-rooted kindness that is always present in him, comes to the surface and is made visible. It's these moments, like this one, his smile illuminated by that wonderful glow of real sunlight, that make me even more aware of the deeply-rooted ache between my ribs, that has nothing to do with a shot wound, and I realise just how far I've already fallen.

I lean my head against his shoulder once more, all my pain, sorrow, hope and exhaustion bearing down on me in a single rush of relief. We're out. I can finally afford to feel everything I've been repressing. It's a little overwhelming, and I'm glad I have him to cling to.

In a surprising move, he presses his lips to my forehead. Despite everything, it sends a small shiver through me. His beard scrapes my skin, but I don't mind it.

"We made it," he murmurs, his breath stirring my hair.

I close my eyes. I don't need to see the world right now. I can feel the sun and hear the wind rustling the wheat that surrounds us, so I know it's still there.

"Chell?"

"I'm still with you," I reassure him, not moving. "I'm just so tired."

"Stay awake just a little longer. We need to find someplace safe."

"We're free," I say. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I should be the one comforting you, not the other way round!"

"This works for me."

"Say it again, then. The important part."

I open my eyes enough to return the smile he's giving me.

"We're free."

A/N: This is the final chapter, but there will be an epilogue to tie up a few loose ends.

If anyone's interested, I painted a moment from this chapter. The link is at the top of my profile page. Do check it out if you're so inclined :)