JANUARY 1967
Douglas Ramón, male, age 34, was having a really bad day. He was currently hiding in the broom closet on the haunted and abandoned nineteenth floor, over 200 feet underground, counting his own heartbeats on his knobby fingers. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he'd restarted counting at least four times, and his behind was becoming numb from sitting on the cold tile.
It all started, of course, when he woke up an hour before his morning alarm and couldn't get back to sleep. Then he got sick from breakfast – possibly the milk had gone off, he didn't know. Then he'd stabbed his finger with a miniature screwdriver and bled all over the robotic core prototype he'd been working on. And then he'd gotten a memo down the tube from Miss Caroline, requesting his presence in the first floor office at 1PM.
Doug breathed deep in rhythm with his counting. He was a dead man, he was sure. There weren't many reasons he could think of for someone like him to be called upstairs, and none of them were good. He could be about to get fired or pummeled or any number of things that could be punishment for not following some obscure rule or another, but he couldn't just ignore a memo from upstairs. He couldn't. He needed to stay at this job, he needed to finish his work, to see it to completion! Plus, if he didn't show up, Miss Caroline would certainly come down and drag him up to the office by the ear. He had to go. He had to.
He jumped up, hurrying out of the broom closet before he lost his nerve, seeing stars but moving forward nonetheless.
On the way up, the elevator opened and closed three times and moved five people between floors 10 and 05. Doug was the only one riding to floor 01, and he clenched and unclenched his fingers until they were sore. Did his hair look alright? Was there any food in his teeth? Was his tie straight? He was too afraid to look in the surrounding mirrors and check. It wasn't until the elevator stopped with a cordial ding! that he found the willpower to move at all, and it took everything just to step out into the hallway.
The wood paneling up here made the place feel very small, nearly suffocating. The hall led only forward, no off-shoots, no extra rooms, and the smell of cigarette smoke was in the patterned orange carpet. As Doug moved toward the heavy, wooden double-doors at the end, the hall widened into a waiting area, complete with orange-cushioned chairs, orange-stained wooden coffee tables, and glass ash-trays. To the side of the double-doors was a receptionist's desk. Behind the receptionist's desk sat Miss Caroline.
She stood up when she saw him, pale even through her rouge.
"He found out," she whispered. "Be prepared."
"We didn't do anything wrong," Doug squeaked, sweat starting on his forehead.
"That's not how he sees it. Just… just go through the motions, do what he says, and you'll keep your job."
She looked him over and huffed, straightening his necktie and flattening the lapels of his lab coat. He didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at the double-doors, then asked, "Are you feeling any better at least?"
The buzzer on the desk sounded, and a red light blinked on and off. A booming voice came through both the speaker and the doors: "CAROLINE, IS OUR 1 O'CLOCK HERE YET?"
Miss Caroline reached behind to the desk and pressed the reply button: "Yessir, Mr. Johnson!"
"SEND HIM IN."
She turned back to Doug, her jaw tight, and flipped his ID badge to face forward.
"I'll feel better when this is over with," she said and turned toward the double-doors. They opened without a sound, and the daylight poured out.
Doug was still trying to adjust his eyes as the booming voice came again.
"SO, THIS IS THE INFAMOUS MR. RAYMOND. CAROLINE, SHUT THE DOOR ON YOUR WAY OUT."
"Yes, sir," Miss Caroline said and backed out of the office, leaving Doug alone.
Noonday sunlight reflected off the white marble floors, coming through the impossible windows behind the desk. The desk itself was enormous, much too wide for one person, and even the large blue office chair was dwarfed by it. Sitting proudly in front of the desktop calendar was a gleaming, silver, trapezoidal nameplate with font as bold as the person it named: CAVE JOHNSON, CEO
"SIT DOWN, SON," said the man himself, all six-foot-two-inch sideburns of him, standing over a minibar set into the wall beside a bookshelf. "COME ON, HAVE A SEAT, I WON'T BITE. WOULD YOU LIKE A DRINK? I THINK YOU'LL NEED IT."
Doug had no choice in the matter, and no sooner had he approached the miniscule visitor's chair did Mr. Johnson shove an angular glass of antiseptic-masquerading-as-drinkable-liquid into his trembling hands. Before he could say thank you, Mr. Johnson clinked his glass with his and downed it.
"SIT DOWN, MR. RAYMOND—DOUGLAS, CAN I CALL YOU DOUGLAS? 'COURSE I CAN! I'M YOUR BOSS! DOUGLAS, WE NEED TO HAVE A MAN-TO-MAN CONVERSATION ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH MY WIFE."
"Your—" Doug choked "your what—"
"DON'T THINK I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT YOU TWO HAVING YOUR LITTLE RENDEZVOUS. HONESTLY, I GET IT. SHE'S A LOVELY GAL, REAL GEM OF A WOMAN. BUT A REAL MAN KEEPS HIS HANDS TO HIMSELF, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE THING HE'S TRYING TO TOUCH IS HIS BOSS'S WIFE!"
Mr. Johnson poured himself another glass and sat down behind his desk. His gray eyes reflected the light from the floor like ice. Doug looked away, sure that he'd freeze at any moment.
"AND TO THINK IT WOULD BE A GUY LIKE YOU. DESPICABLE. DISGUSTING, REALLY, BECAUSE IT SEEMS—" Mr. Johnson reached under his desk and produced a thick folder, plopping it down "—THAT YOU'RE AN INTELLIGENT YOUNG MAN. SIX MASTERS' DEGREES? THE AVERAGE LAB RAT ONLY HOLDS THREE, AND THAT'S A STRETCH WHEN YOU GET DOWN TO ROBOTICISTS. PLUS, IT SAYS HERE YOU'VE GOT A DOCTORATE NOW. I'D EXPECT BETTER BEHAVIOR FROM A TRUE MAN OF SCIENCE."
Doug decided maybe he should take a seat now. His knees weren't feeling particularly like working at the moment.
"Sir," he said, hurrying to get a word in, "this is a huge misunderstanding—"
"NO, NO, I THINK I UNDERSTAND JUST FINE. YOU FORGET, I WAS YOUR AGE ONCE, I REMEMBER THE LADIES, THE THRILL OF THE CHASE, WANTING WHAT YOU CAN'T HAVE."
"Caroline and I never—"
"THAT'S 'MRS. CAROLINE' TO YOU!"
"Y-yes, sir. Mrs. Caroline and I never did anything untoward, I promise. We were friends in school, and—"
"AH, YES, SHE TOLD ME ALL ABOUT YOUR FLING AT UNIVERSITY."
"It wasn't a 'fling,' sir—"
"BUT YOU DATED, YES?"
"Only once—"
"AND NOW YOU'RE LOOKING TO REKINDLE SOMETHING. WELL, I'VE GOT NEWS FOR YOU, BUDDY, SHE'S MARRIED! TO ME! TO THE COMPANY! AND NO SNOT-NOSED, WEASEL-FACED WHITE-COAT IS GOING TO DISTRACT HER FROM THOSE OBLIGATIONS! AM I CLEAR?"
Doug cowered, looking away: "Yes, sir."
Mr. Johnson settled back in his chair, seemingly satisfied.
"THAT BEING SAID," he continued, a little less forcefully, "I HAVE A SPECIAL JOB FOR YOU. A NEW PROJECT. IT SEEMS DESPITE YOUR SIGNIFICANT HANDICAPS, YOU'RE ONE OF THE MOST CAPABLE PEOPLE IN THIS GODFORSAKEN PLACE."
He reached into his pinstripe jacket pocket and produced a checkbook, scribbling inside with a heavy-looking pen.
"NOW, UNDERSTAND THIS: I FULLY EXPECT YOU TO CONTINUE YOUR WORK WITH THE ROBOTIC CORES. IF YOU FALL BEHIND MY EXPECTATIONS, YOU'RE FIRED. IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO THE NEW PROJECT, YOU'RE FIRED. YOU'LL WRITE WEEKLY REPORTS ON HOW THE NEW PROJECT IS DOING AND SUBMIT IT TO CAROLINE EVERY FRIDAY BEFORE 5PM. AND IF ANYONE—" he violently ripped out the check "—AND I MEAN ANYONE FINDS OUT ABOUT THE NEW PROJECT, I WILL PERSONALLY AND PURPOSEFULLY PUT MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS THAT YOUR GRANDCHILDREN WILL TASTE SHELL CORDOVAN LEATHER. GOT IT?"
Doug swallowed hard and managed a small "yes, sir."
Mr. Johnson passed the check along the smooth surface of the desk, and Doug took it cautiously. It was signed for a sum of one-thousand dollars.
"THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH TO GET YOU STARTED. CAROLINE WILL ANSWER ANY OTHER QUESTIONS YOU HAVE. YOU'RE DISMISSED."
Doug stood automatically, then hesitated, wondering if he should say thank you. Mr. Johnson rolled his eyes and waved a hand to shoo him off. Doug nodded and hurried out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Caroline was pacing slowly around the waiting area, biting the inside of her lip, when he came out, and she immediately asked, "What'd he say?"
Doug puffed out his cheeks and held out the check for her to see. She stiffened, eyes glassy as she stared, then breathed and raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know where he thinks he's getting that money from, but if he wants to spend it, fine. Did he tell you what it's for?"
"Only that it's to get started on a new project," Doug replied, scratching his chin.
"That's one way to put it."
Miss—no, Mrs. Caroline stepped toward the desk and pressed her button: "Sir, I'll be away from the desk for ten minutes to show Dr. Ramón the new workspace."
No reply. She shrugged and waved for him to follow her. She scanned her ID at the elevator and held the Close Doors button as it dropped them down into the Earth. Doug made sure to stand a little further away from her. It was only as the doors opened on floor 19 that he finally asked, "Where are we going?"
Mrs. Caroline stepped out into the hallway, heels clacking against the blue-and-white tile, and fished a ring with two keys out of her dress pocket.
"You boys consider this floor haunted, right?" she asked flatly, and Doug nodded. "And no one comes here?"
He nodded again, even though it was technically a lie. He came here often, usually to hide in the broom closet where no one would think to look for him while he had his attacks. He wondered if she knew about that.
"You get this place all to yourself then," Mrs. Caroline said mock-chipperly and went to unlock the first door on the right. "It's the same as all the others, five labs on each side, elevator and stairs on that wall, restrooms on the other wall there. The only difference is that you get a bunk."
She opened the door, and he saw she was right – there was a full-sized cot pushed up against the empty wall to the side, partially hidden by spare bins and boxes.
"Why?" he asked, suspicious.
Caroline bit her lips together: "Try not to freak out."
"Why?" Doug asked more urgently.
She motioned toward the boxes with her head. He looked at them, then her, then them, then her. She motioned again, and he hesitantly approached, stepping carefully as if a wild animal might pop out at any moment. It was only when he was a few feet away that he realized there was something in one of the boxes, something small and round. Something breathing.
Doug stopped where he was. He'd expected a robot of some sort, that being his specialty, or maybe a gadget to help out with the Portal Testing Program downstairs. But this… this was a living thing. He backed away before he could see the rest of it.
"No," he said. "No, no, I can't do this."
"Douglas—"
"Why is this my responsibility? What did I do?"
"It's not just you."
"It's not?" Doug asked, confused. "Who else is on the project?"
"Alright, it's mostly you," Caroline admitted. "Just… take a look at it, and do your best. You want to keep working here, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then this is your only shot!"
She checked her watch and handed him the keys: "Look, I have to go. There'll be more hell to pay if I'm not back when I said I'd be."
Doug stared at her helplessly, and she sighed.
"I'm sorry. I'll explain later, okay? I promise I will."
With that, she left. The lab door swung shut behind her. The elevator dinged! as it opened and clacked! as it shut. Doug stood stock still and tried to process what was happening.
This was all a misunderstanding. This was all an unfortunate, inopportune misunderstanding. He didn't even like people, much less in a way that would count as adultery. Sure, once he'd realized Caroline worked in the same facility as him, he'd offered to take her out to dinner and drinks, but it was just to catch up! And how was he supposed to know the Carrie Mclain he'd had Physics 210 with back in the day was the Miss Caroline of Aperture Laboratories? He hadn't known they were one in the same until a year ago, and then it wasn't like he knew she was married. Otherwise, he would have been more careful. She hadn't even mentioned it, she didn't even wear a ring. It wasn't his fault!
The living thing made a high humming sound and shifted in its box. Doug jumped, nearly dropping the keys. The thing made a tiny growling noise, and he imitated it, frustrated, then took a breath. He stepped forward. Just below the edges of the old box, there was a strawberry-patterned blanket. From in-between the folds of the blanket, a tiny scrunched face peered out, blinking its wet, gray eyes in the fluorescent light.
"Oh god," said Doug.
"Mrmmmmbl," replied the baby.
He felt his knees go weak, and he leaned against the nearby table, lowering himself down to the floor, back pressed against the metal legs, trying to breathe.
"Oh god, ohhh god."
One, two, three, four…
"This can't be happening."
…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight…
He let out a sudden shriek, absolutely uncontrollable, nothing he could do about it, and beside him, the baby started to wail. He turned to it and wailed, and the baby shrieked angrily back. They did this back-and-forth for several minutes until they were both tired out, red-faced and teary-eyed.
"Really, Mr. Johnson, I must protest," said Doug shakily, head in his hands. "I am in no way a fit parent. I can hardly feed myself, and I've got a very serious reason to."
"Aaaieeek!" agreed the baby furiously.
"I know nothing about children," he said.
"Grrlbl," agreed the baby, a little more calmly.
"Oh god, why me? What did I do? I don't get it. Do you get it?"
"Mmmmmmhep," hiccupped the baby as she stuck her fist in her mouth.
"Me neither!" Doug laughed, then laughed harder and harder, manically down at the floor, and the baby stared at him, surprised. When he finally stopped, he looked back over at her. She was definitely judging him. He sighed and took a deep breath, straightening his legs and leaning back.
"Your father must be out of his mind," he grumbled. "That is assuming Mr. Johnson is your father. I don't know who else it would be. You've got the eyes. Quit staring, or you'll turn me to ice."
The baby did not stop staring. Doug sighed again and sat forward.
"It's not like they even gave me instructions, y'know? What's the point of all this? How long is it supposed to go on? Are we testing? Do you need improvements? Need someone to replace your nuts and bolts?"
As he said this aloud, he scanned over the strawberry blanket and pink onesie.
"Maybe not that," he said, then chuckled nervously to himself. He took another long, deep breath and pulled his notebook and pen out of his breast pocket.
"Let's see… no matter what the project actually is, you're going to need a few things. Especially if this is supposed to last long enough that I need to sleep here."
"Ftupftupfup," suggested the baby.
"Yes, right, food is important. Do you eat yet? Or is it all drinking, right now?"
"Mmmmm," replied the baby.
"Alright, I'll have to get both. I've got the money for it, though your mother – oh, geez, I guess ol' Carrie's your mother, huh? Christ. Well, she didn't look too happy about all the money he gave me for you. We'll have to tell her not to worry. I hardly buy anything for myself, so this is all for you, little Project."
Doug scribbled a list down the outer side of a page, then stopped, scratching his chin.
'Does this mean I can't bring you out of the lab?" he asked. "Don't you need your shots and check-ups? Stuff like that? Maybe you've already got them, I don't know. Depending on how long you and I will be working together, maybe that comes later."
The baby waved her arms around and kicked: "AAH!"
"Shots aren't that bad, be reasonable."
"AAAAEEEEE!"
"No, you're not getting out of it. It's very important to get vaccinated. You probably don't remember the whole polio issue, but I do, and trust me, you don't want that. Besides, I think that one's by mouth now."
Doug stopped, blinking. He was calm, surprisingly so. His heart had stopped racing, despite the situation, and honestly, he felt pretty good. He side-eyed the baby. The baby stared, gurgling.
"Alright," Doug said, slowly standing up. "I guess I need to go get my things. Don't suppose you can just… go to sleep? No? Fair enough, you probably just woke up anyway. Don't panic, I'll only be a few minutes, okay?"
The baby kicked in response. Doug nodded hesitantly, backing away, then hurried out the door, down the hallway, and into the elevator. As he zipped down from 19 to 26, six people came in and out. Only one said anything to him.
"Hey, Dr. Ramón!" Mason from Engineering said chipperly. "Where were you at lunch?"
"Had a meeting," Doug mumbled. The elevator numbers casually flicked by.
"Upstairs? That had to be boring. Wasn't with Accounting, was it? Do you still have your funding?"
"Yes," Doug grumbled. "It was a personal meeting."
"Oh? What happened?"
The elevator dinged! for floor 26.
"New project. Gonna be busy," Doug answered and swept out into the hallway.
"Alright, well, good luck!' Mason kindly yelled after him.
Doug hurried past the first four lab rooms and into the fifth on the right, pushing open the wooden door with both hands. The metal tables pressed against the walls were littered with scrap, parts, screws, wires, and lights. Two people sat on stools, talking together over a clipboard. One of them looked up as he came in.
"Doug!" Greg (male, 61, gap-toothed) chirped. "Did you do the wiring on Core-3G?"
"Yes," said Doug as he found his section of the table and began plucking tools into his pockets. He snatched up a few thumbtacks, his winter jacket, a couple pens, his notebook, and –as an afterthought – his coffee mug.
"—does that sound about right?"
"Uh," replied Doug, realizing he hadn't heard a thing. "Sure."
"Okay, I'll have to get back to you on fixes for that."
"Um, thank you. Much appreciated."
The other white-coated man, Henry Dwight (male, 32, balding) looked up from a card of burnt plastic and copper in his hands.
"Where y'headed, Doug? You look pink."
Doug sipped his coffee as he thought of what to say.
"Was put on a new project alongside this one. Gotta set up."
"A new project?" Henry asked, eyebrow raised. "Which one?"
"Er… can't really say."
"Y'can't? What, did they up your clearance, too?"
"N-no, just… don't really know yet."
"Ah, one of those," said Greg sagely. "I heard they're doing some weird stuff down in the salt caves again, but nobody's spilling what it is. Are you going down there?"
Doug hesitated and grabbed one of the desk lamps.
"Might be. Haven't gotten all the info yet."
He hurried out the door before they could ask him anything else. Their eyes followed him until the door was fully closed, and he heard Henry say, "Lucky bastard."
He hoped he was right.
Doug put everything down on one of the white metal tables. The baby watched him over the edge of her box. He felt his heartbeat starting to take-off again, probably because of all the questioning upstairs, and he breathed deep, over and over – if he started to freak out again, then she would, too, and he really didn't know how to handle that properly.
"Staring is impolite," Doug said calmly, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I guess I'll have to figure out how to teach you that. Or maybe not. We don't know how long we're supposed to be on this 'project' anyway."
He set up the desk lamp: "I guess I can't keep calling you a 'project', huh? Did anyone give you a name?"
The baby hummed into her slobbery fist. Doug nodded, understanding: "Yeah, I guess that's how things go, these days. At least you didn't end up on a doorstep. Don't worry, we'll figure it out."
He sipped his coffee, which had long gone cold, and opened his notebook, flipping past the scribbles and concentric circle diagrams to his list.
"As soon as I get the chance, I'll go top-side and get everything we need," he said. "Maybe some library books, too, since I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. And since I get the feeling you're not supposed to leave this room… hopefully, you'll go to sleep so I can sneak out."
The baby hummed in agreement, kicking her blanket off.
Doug realized he hadn't taken an initial look at her, gotten a baseline, and he sighed. She watched his face, fearless and attentive, as he lifted her up under the arms and looked her over, left side, right side, underneath. She was a small thing, maybe ten to fifteen pounds, with all ten fingers and ten toes, a matching pink hat and onesie, and patches of deep pink in her tan cheeks. She had a soft, rounded belly and her legs hovered bent underneath her, as if waiting to be dropped. Amused, Doug lowered her down until her feet touched the tiled floor, and she quickly pulled them back up at the cold.
"Sorry," he chuckled and lifted her back up. Her head lolled as he positioned her in one arm, testing the weight and stability, supporting her neck in the crook of his elbow. Honestly, it wasn't all that different from how he carried the personality cores around the lab.
"See, it's okay," he said, more to himself than to the baby. "I'm not sure what all this is about, but it'll be alright. I bet you're going to be calmer than me through this whole thing, if I'm honest. Just don't tell anyone."
The baby made a small, contented noise of agreement and waved a shining, wet fist at him.
The clock in the hallway ticked past 5:30PM. Upstairs and downstairs, people were making their way home for the day, squeezing into the single elevator and riding up to floor 00 to try to beat an incoming storm. Snow was already starting to fall, and the chill wind was picking up. But deep down in the labs, Doug was warm and honestly quite chuffed.
He'd managed to sneak off earlier after the lunch rush had passed and make the short drive to the store. It had been absolutely frigid outside, and no one had questioned him when he returned bundled up in his winter coat, every pocket full. The center table in his lab was now stocked with everything he could think of that he might need – little jars of puree, a tin of powdered milk, a towel, a bar of soap, a toothbrush, a blanket from his emergency stash in the car, and a spoon he'd stolen from one of the upstairs breakrooms. He knew he was forgetting something, but for the time being, both he and the baby had no complaints.
She was asleep now, content to return to her box, and she snored softly as Doug tinkered with the core on the table he'd claimed as his desk. He'd turned out the ceiling lights and turned on the desk lamp, thumb-tacking his white lab coat to a pinboard nailed to the wall and draping it over the baby box like a tent. He had started making a list of possible experiments and milestones for the 'project' but had run out of ideas. The core was, at least, familiar territory, and it was easier to think while his hands were doing something.
The elevator dinged! outside. Doug froze, listening. Heels clacked slowly across the tile, and there was a soft knock on the lab door. He very quietly put down his tools and crept to the door, glad he had covered the rectangular window with paper. There was a shuffling on the other side of the door.
"Douglas," came the soft, high voice, "are you there?"
He cautiously opened the door. Caroline stood there, holding her coat and purse, and the professional stature she usually carried faltered. They stared silently at each other.
"How's it going?" Caroline finally asked.
"Fine," Doug answered, trying not to sound short.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
He opened the door a little wider, and she came through, pressing it closed behind her as quietly as she could, as if someone might hear.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to come back," she said quietly. "I couldn't get away."
Doug put his hands in his pockets: "You're busy. I know how it is."
"Did you find everything I left for you?"
"What?"
"In the boxes. Did you look?"
His face must have broadcast his confusion because she gave a short laugh and walked toward the boxes near the baby, opening one up to reveal bottles, food, and cloth diapers. She plucked out a stuffed animal from the side, a bird with plush wings, and handed it to him.
"You didn't think I was leaving you with nothing, did you?"
Doug took the bird and sighed, embarrassed: "I wasn't sure."
Caroline hung her head, closing the box again.
"Douglas," she said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got pulled into this. There wasn't much I could do."
"What happened?"
"Old-fashioned family values, I suppose. It's hard to explain."
Doug shrugged: "I have time if you do."
He motioned toward the desk chair, and she sighed, walking over and taking a seat. The lamp highlighted the emerging silver strands in her hair.
"Promise not to tell anyone?"
"Of course."
She bit her lips together in a tight purse, looking down at her clasped hands.
"In my husband's mind, there's only two things a lady can do: have a career, or be a mother. She cannot do both. I was willing to do what I had to if it meant I could stay here, but he was fully against an abortion. Plus, he said he wanted to know if I'd 'been faithful'."
She bared her teeth as she said this, and her eye twitched: "As if I've ever done anything to make him question it. Apparently, having a single, solitary friend is enough to qualify."
Doug rubbed the back of his neck: "I guess it would have been smarter to go out with a group, instead of… you know. Just the two of us. I didn't even think about it."
"Neither did I."
They met eyes. Caroline took a breath and straightened her shoulders.
"Even once she was born, he wasn't satisfied. He said it's in the eyes, which made me laugh. And it didn't change the fact that he was going to put me in that house, and I would never escape, not as long as she was there. I couldn't have that, and I told him so. It helps that he didn't want to lose his 'best secretary'. And what better way to dodge a problem than to put it on the guy you think is responsible?"
Doug cringed: "Sure, but, for heaven's sake—I mean, he's seen this place. You see this place—a single floor hundreds of feet underground? This is no place for a kid. Hell, this is hardly a place for a grown man. She won't have a life here."
Caroline gave him a wry smile: "My, aren't you invested already."
Doug felt his ears burn: "Despite how I look, I am a human being. I can sympathize."
The ventilation kicked on, and a warm breeze blew through the room. Caroline twisted the ring on her finger, a new addition that Doug did not remember her wearing before. It looked tight.
"I know she can't stay here in the long run," she said, "but it was either you or me, and I—" she stopped, shutting her eyes "—I'm sorry. I'm just… buying time, maybe until times change, maybe until he does, I don't know. But I'm not giving up everything I've worked for, not now."
She tilted her head down so that she had to look up at him: "Will you help me?"
Doug sighed, sitting back with his arms crossed. This was a pickle. A pickle it was. He scratched at his chin, avoiding Caroline's dark eyes as they bored into him. He had a life outside of work, he thought. It was a sad one, but it was his. Having a baby to take care of for who-knows-how-long was no more a thing he wanted than Caroline did. Worse, it was meant to be a punishment, the task of caring for another man's child. Disappointing, given he'd had a relatively high regard for Mr. Johnson until very recently. Though honestly, there was no way around it. He'd screwed up. What he'd said before about "going out with a group" was silly – he had no other friends, not really. Caroline was the only one who even came close.
He finally looked back at her and grumbled: "I don't know how long that check will last."
Caroline nodded: "I'll pay for whatever you need. For however long."
"A-and you have to visit," Doug added, ears burning again. "Whenever the time comes, I'm not handing her off to a complete stranger."
She failed to keep herself from smiling: "Understood, Dr. Ramón."
She put out one hand, and he hesitated but took it firmly, shaking it.
"What's this 'project's' name, anyway?" he asked jokingly, desperately trying to hide the fact that he was starting to shiver.
Caroline made a guilty face, shrugging: "Her birth certificate just says 'Baby Girl'."
Doug scratched at his chin, trying not to judge too harshly. He'd never heard of a parent not naming their child.
"What about Marianne?" he asked.
"Marianne?" Caroline repeated, then smirked. "That's my mother's name."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"You said it during an icebreaker once."
"And you remembered?"
He had no excuse. He nodded awkwardly. She smiled and looked over toward the box where the baby slept soundly.
"Marianne. I think that suits her fine."