It was fast and unexpected; it surprised her onto her feet and by the end of the night, they were dancing. Their new living room was large and open with a fireplace glowing, flickering erratically as if conducting their movements. He was ungainly on his feet, shuffling and making jerky little movements as they jumped and twirled around – she was no better, and every time they tripped over each other's feet, a laugh would bubble past her lips and they'd just resume their movements, dancing to the music that played only in his head. He'd hum a tuneless song, breaking on and off as he saw fit, as they spun around once, twice, three times and down they went, dizzily collapsing onto the couch.
He chuckled, embarrassed, as she fought the onset of dizziness. It was hard to imagine that only a few hours ago she'd been miserable, she thought as she looked up at him. She was nestled comfortably against him with her head leaning against his shoulder as he repeatedly combed his fingers through her hair.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers, breathing in deeply. As a core, as an employee of Aperture, he couldn't remember ever being so content. It was a feeling much unlike the Euphoria Solution, which had been so intense, so fleeting, always leaving him with an empty hunger for more. This wasn't like that at all – it was happiness he hadn't known a core could feel: soft and warm and completely filling. When he'd lived in Aperture, it had been nothing but fear and cowardice; it was so different here, where he was never scared for his life and had someone to look after who wasn't catatonic.
He hummed gently into her hair, a soft song that had always calmed him – ironically enough a token of that purgatory he never wanted to revisit. He'd often caught a turret or cube radiating this song.
She closed her eyes and listened to him, a deep, throaty noise that resonated in his chest and made every part of her tingle. She knew this song; it was the song, her last conscious reminder of her imprisonment in Aperture – the terrifying moment when she thought she was caught – trapped and defenseless without the portal gun – by the turrets.
They'd opened their dispensers and she'd staggered back against the glass of the elevator-
And they'd started singing.
She'd watched in awe as she was lifted into the full concert. It was in a language she'd never heard before, much less could translate, and it was a hypnotizing falsetto that contrasted sharply with his deep baritone hum – but it was no less beautiful.
She sighed deeply, happily, and joined him in her own shaky alto.
His voice stuttered when she joined him – he hadn't thought that she'd known the song. He'd thought that only those few Aperture robots knew it, some funny nonsense lyrics that went along with the prettiest melody he'd ever heard. But then, he figured, holding her closer to him, she'd spent her whole life with the very same robots, turrets and cubes. Why shouldn't she know the song?
It had startled him at first, her joining in. But, man alive, he realized, she sounded brilliant! The song ended and he waited a beat to see if she kept going, but she stopped with him, snuggled close and just as utterly content as he was. She'd always known that she was happy with him – any bad blood or guilt between them had dissolved years ago – but where they were now… not even her wildest daydreams could have conjured up something so wonderfully blissful; her mind could not have foreseen this within the confines of Aperture's walls.
She snuggled closer to him, noting an odd sensation in her chest. She wrinkled her nose, tearing away from him and turning her head to the side.
Chell coughed.
