A/N: Welcome to the chapter where Chell confronts her father. Here's hoping it's in a family-bonding kind of way, and not in a confront-Darth-Vader kind of way...

2006.
The Ugly Truth.

Despite the late hour of the day, Chell knew her father would still be holed up in the Robotics wing. In recent weeks it seemed that the only time he left the lab was to visit the Artificial Intelligence department next door. The two had merged somewhat since her father had become head of Robotics, to the extent that he was practically running both departments. The stress had added more lines to his increasingly-haggard face, and turned his hair almost entirely grey.

Chell planted herself outside the door to the corridor, her low-level clearance not allowing her to go up to the lab itself. Her dad was a man of routine, and she knew he usually treated himself to a cafeteria coffee around nine o'clock. She gathered her thoughts as she waited, aware that she was embarking on a conversation that she could really do without. Or at least, one that she should be initiating with a full night's sleep and a caffeine hit on her side. Her high heels were sending shooting pains up her ankles, not designed to be worn for such a long amount of time. Her pencil skirt was starting to annoy her too. Not for the first time she wondered why she didn't keep a change of clothes in her office, for all the extra time she spent at the place.

Part time hours, my ass, she thought to herself.

She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept properly. Her worries were spiralling out of control. Emma had recently complained about Chell's lack of presence in the house, resulting in an argument that had upset them both. Chell hated the growing distance between them, but she knew she had to prioritise. Her father came first. Besides, she was still paying her half of the rent. She had to skip a few meals to do it, but she made sure the money went out every month.

Chell covered her mouth as she yawned. Aperture was the last place she wanted to be at nine o'clock on a Friday evening. She needed a hot shower and an evening of mind-numbing TV, but she knew she couldn't just leave. They had come too far, discovered so much about what was really going on. And now she was one conversation away from potentially knowing everything.

Approaching footsteps forced her eyes open, and she stepped away from the wall in anticipation. Sure enough, when the automated door split apart, the halves retracting into the ceiling and floor, her father stood behind it.

"Chell," he said, his greeting sounding surprised, laced with fatigue and a trace of wariness. "What brings you down here?"

They were both too tired for pleasantries. "Dad, we need to talk," she began.

Her father sighed heavily, but managed to keep his tone light. "Sounds ominous. Should I be worried?"

"Maybe," Chell answered truthfully, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Should I?"

"What do you mean?"

Again, she jumped straight to the point. "What are you working on?"

At once, his face lost all its weariness, his open expression giving way to irritation. "You know I can't discuss that with you."

"Yes," she shot back rapidly, "because of my clearance, I know. But hell to that. I need to know–"

"No," he interrupted firmly. Tone softening slightly, he added, "I'm not authorised, Chell, we've been through this. And I'm not about to risk my job, or yours for that matter, over stuff that doesn't–"

Refusing to back down, she cut in with, "I need to know about Wheatley."

The effect was instantaneous. Her father halted in his tirade, his eyes wide, his mouth falling open for a brief moment before he pressed his lips tightly together in disapproval. "What?" he barked curtly.

"Tell me about Wheatley," she repeated calmly, his reaction reassuring her that this time she would get answers.

"Where did you hear that name?" he demanded, his voice quiet, and all the more unnerving for it.

Chell kept her answer short and truthful, not wanting to try his patience any more than was necessary. "From a personality core I met in a corridor the other day."

Her father looked aside in confusion, processing the information. "He's calling himself Wheatley?" he asked, almost to himself.

"Yes," she said. With a soft huff, she snapped, "Dad, what is going on? Why does a robot ball sound exactly like an employee that you argued with thirteen years ago?"

Her dad paused for a moment, looking almost like a deer in the headlights. But then he shook himself, met her gaze and spoke up quietly, "You'd better come in."

"Thank you."

Coffee forgotten, he led the way back down the corridor, his movements edgy and tense. Chell followed grimly, finding his unease infectious. She gave herself a mental kick in the shin, pulling herself together. The probability of the truth being unpleasant was – and had always been – highly likely. She had imagined so many worse-case scenarios that she couldn't believe reality could shock her too much. She really hoped she was wrong on that one, that she'd be pleasantly surprised to find that she had over-reacted. But she doubted it.

With an almost-nervous glance up and down the corridor, her dad swiped his card key and opened the lab door, ushering her inside with hurried movements. It was not the low security one that she'd spent time in as a child. This lab was for more advanced work, something that the location and decor did not fail to put across. Perching on a stool, she watched her father scramble to cover a collection of blueprints that were lying on one of the workbenches. She rolled her eyes. She wasn't interested in catching glimpses of paperwork that she wouldn't be able to understand.

Finally he sat down, his posture still rigid. His demeanour screamed impatience, yet he seemed prepared to talk. Annoyed and wary, perhaps, but prepared.

Not wishing to waste what she was beginning to feel was borrowed time, Chell dived straight in with her first question. "What did you do?" At his air of confusion, she tried to specify, the implications of that long-ago employee's fate making her stomach twist. "Did you really...is that man's...brain now running that sphere?"

"No, nothing like that," he answered, and Chell felt a presumptuous wave of relief. "What you've seen is a digitalised copy of a human personality," her dad explained, a glint of pride lighting his dark eyes.

Chell frowned, trying to understand. "So…he's like a robotic clone or something?"

"Not quite. He doesn't have the real Wheatley's memories or identity."

"Who is the real Wheatley?" she asked, unsure if she really wanted to know.

Her father hesitated before replying, and the heavy feeling of dread returned to her gut. "Darren Wheatley was his name," he told her, glancing briefly at his clasped hands. "He was chosen for the prototype because he had exactly the kind of personality we needed."

"Which was?"

"The most inept, irritating person we could find."

She wrinkled her nose, struggling to follow the logic of the project. "Why would you want to put that kind of personality into a robot?"

"He was built for a very specific purpose," her father told her cagily.

Biting down her rising anger, she burst out, "But he has no purpose! When I stumbled across him he was looking for screaming ghosts! And by the sounds of it he's had plenty more stupid jobs over the years."

"That's true," he confirmed, clearing his throat. "He didn't turn out to be as effective as we'd hoped. We're still not sure what to do with him."

"What was he for?"

"Chell, we've been over this," he sighed, rubbing his tired eyes, "I can't tell you anything."

Almost at the end of her tether, Chell decided to drop the name she knew would hold his attention. "So it's to do with the GLaDOS project?" she said casually.

His gaze shot up, meeting hers, his expression a mixture of shock and alarm. "I don't know how you even know what that is, but you need to stop digging. Right now."

"I can't, Dad," she said, her tone firm. "There's something weird going on here. Doug and I both knew it, that time that Darren Wheatley came to your meeting. And don't think I haven't noticed that you used 'was' not 'is' when you were talking about him," she accused crossly. "That's why he was scared when you were trying to persuade him, isn't it? He knew the...process, whatever it is, was dangerous. Didn't he?" At his continued silence, she slammed her palm down on the workbench beside them, so hard her hand tingled from the impact. "Answer me!"

Her dad jumped a little in his seat. "Yes, he...he was warned that there might be...complications," he muttered. There was a greater edge of guilt to his expression than there had been so far. Then it vanished and his eyes became harder as he rationalised what he had done. "This kind of technology has never been attempted before. Or since. Until we can refine the procedure, we've focused on purely artificial personality cores. Darren Wheatley...didn't survive the process."

As the confirmation of her suspicions sank in, Chell felt her shoulders slump, cold nausea sweeping through her stomach. "So the core is all that's left of him?" she said, thinking out loud. "An entire life and he's just a...metal ball with no memories and no real purpose?"

Her father said nothing, looking away at the organised chaos on the workbench.

Chell's thoughts cleared as something occurred to her. In a surprisingly level voice, she asked, "If he can't remember being Darren, how is he calling himself Wheatley?"

"I have no idea," he said with a shrug. "I can only guess that he overheard the lab boys talking."

Swiftly losing patience with his lack of forthcoming information, and the whole conversation in general, Chell spun out random theories, trying to hit near the mark. "Was Wheatley a prototype because you plan on copying other people's personalities? Is that what GLaDOS is?"

"No, not exactly."

"I'm not moving from here until you tell me what's going on," she growled, folding her arms, jutting her chin out stubbornly.

He sent her a sidelong glance that seemed to be concocted entirely from exhaustion and shame. Taken aback, she softened her tone.

"I'm worried about you, can't you see that?" she spoke up. "I'm worried about what you're mixed up in."

He stared resolutely at the floor for a long few seconds, then lifted his gaze, new clarity lighting his eyes. "Okay," he said with a reluctant nod. "Okay. I'll...I'll tell you. But let me get a cup of coffee first, okay? Can you wait that long?"

Feeling strangely cruel in the face of his fatigue, she regretted her harshness a little. Nodding, she attempted a shaky smile. "Sure."

"Would you like a cup? I was going to get a half decent one from the cafeteria, but I have some instant here."

The warmth and the caffeine sounded appealing, so she made her smile a touch more genuine. "Yes, thank you."

Her father got to his feet, padding over to the kettle by the sink. While it boiled, he set about assembling the granules, milk and sugar in two mugs, while Chell gathered her thoughts and tried hard not to think about what she'd learned. If she had any chance of getting through the rest of her questions, she had to maintain control of her emotions.

"Have you ever really wanted to work here?" her dad asked, shooting the question over his shoulder as he poured the milk. "Or was all this brought on by what you saw when you were ten?"

"I knew something wasn't right and I never forgot it," she told him honestly, raising her voice over the noise of the kettle. "And when I was old enough to take care of myself, you practically disappeared off the face of the Earth, at least according to people who didn't know that you were spending all your time here. When I got here, I ran into Doug again. We quickly realised that we both still had suspicions about what was actually going on here."

He gave a bitter bark of humourless laughter. "I wondered if this was because of Rattmann. You know he has schizophrenia, right?"

"Of course I know that," Chell snapped, her anger spiking once again. "What difference does it make?"

"His mind plays tricks on him."

Clenching her teeth against retorts she knew she'd regret, she spat out a disjointed collection of short sentences. "I know that. But in this instance we're right. And besides, that's what medication is for. He has it under control." Sighing, she tried for a more reasonable tone. "Dad, Aperture is not run like a science facility should be run. I mean, the test subjects alone have a case for–"

"You think other companies are any better?" he interrupted, the resentful edge leaking into his voice once more. "Believe me, Black Mesa is just as bad. They're just better at keeping it under wraps."

Chell shook her head in exasperation. "I don't care about Black Mesa, Dad, I care about you and what you're working on."

He stirred the sugar into their coffee, then made his way back to the workbench, setting a cup down beside her. "Here."

She nodded her thanks, not trusting herself to speak again until she had regained control. Her father took his seat again, wrapping his calloused hands around the heat the mug offered. His gaze was far away as he reflected, but when he spoke his voice was clear and animated.

"GLaDOS is...well, she's the future."

Chell wondered at his use of the word 'she', but held her tongue and waited for him to continue.

"It stands for Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System," he went on. "When she's up and running, she'll be able to run the entire facility. Efficiency will double, the facility will be more environmentally friendly because GLaDOS will have total control over the power usage, and we'll no longer need as many scientists to oversee tests. She'll be able to monitor them all, all at the same time."

"That sounds great, Dad," she said with heavy sarcasm, "but why is it causing you so much trouble?"

"It's a very complex piece of technology, it takes time to refine," he explained defensively. "If it's successful, Lazarus Grey will find his workload halved. You and Marlene might have to look elsewhere for employment."

"You sound pretty pleased about that," she muttered challengingly, taking a tiny sip of her hot drink.

He narrowed his eyes at her, fixing her with a familiar disapproving look. "I've made it no secret that I've never wanted you here. This place is dangerous, Chell."

"Why?" she queried sharply, the word thrown between them like a gauntlet. "There's obviously stuff you're not saying, and I refuse to believe that GLaDOS is as wonderful as you make out."

"There have been...complications," her father admitted, his brow furrowed.

"The kind of complications that occurred when you built Wheatley?"

"In truth...yes, similar circumstances."

More deaths, he meant. Chell closed her eyes briefly, glancing away from him to take a comforting gulp of coffee, composing herself once more.

"Although that was before my time," he continued, "before I joined the project."

"How long has this been in development?" she asked.

Her father took a long sip of his own drink before replying. "It was the last thing Cave Johnson commissioned before he died. He wanted to cheat death by transferring his brain into a computer. Unfortunately, for him, he passed away before it was anywhere near ready. That was the late 80s. The project has been in slow development since."

She frowned at the phrasing. "Why 'slow' development?"

He was looking increasingly uncomfortable at her line of questioning, but Chell was discovering that her earlier sympathy was lessening the more she heard.

"Because," he spoke up, the reluctance leaking into his voice, "the alternative host wasn't completely willing and tried to stall the project where it could be stalled."

"But why–" Her thoughts came up short, side-lined by a sudden realisation as the unbidden image of a woman she had hated as a child popped into her mind. "Oh my god..." she gasped, "it was Caroline, wasn't it?" His expression told her all she needed to know, and her mouth fell open in shock. "You told me she got promoted, but she was CEO! There is no higher role."

"Technically, that wasn't a lie," her father said hurriedly, glancing down at his cup when she shot him a filthy look. "She will, eventually, be in charge of everything."

Chell threw up one hand in exasperation. "But it isn't her, is it? You said Wheatley was just a copy."

"No, it's different. Wheatley is different technology," he insisted, tapping his hand on the workbench for emphasis. In an obstinate, defensive tone, he went on, "It takes precision to remove the memories and keep the personality. With Caroline, everything was transferred: memories, personality, ambition. All of it. Of course, that was fifteen years ago, technology wasn't quite as precise as it is now. GLaDOS is more like a clone, with a completely robotic chassis." With a tired huff, he reconsidered his words. "Or, she was. We've had to repress her memories. She kept…trying to kill us, trying to get revenge for what she calls…the murder of her human self."

Chell's knuckles had gone white where she gripped her mug. "I don't blame her," she murmured, trying to balance her pity for the woman with the dislike she'd felt as a child. "That's…horrific." Inhumane, her mind added silently. She raised her cup once more, the hot, sweet liquid suddenly leaving an unexpected bitter taste in her mouth.

Her dad ran a jaded hand across his forehead. "Unfortunately, she seems to think that killing is the way forward."

Chell's eyes widened in alarm, but she let him go on.

"Every time we activate her, she tries it again." He sighed heavily, shaking his head as if in disapproval at the robot's actions. Actions which, in a kind of twisted logic, seemed almost justified from where Chell was sitting. "Wheatley was built to be an intelligence dampening sphere. We used him to distract GLaDOS from wanting to murder us all."

"I'm guessing it didn't work," Chell said sardonically.

"No, not for long. She found a way to tune out his voice."

The story was leaving a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she knew she had to hear the rest. "What happened?"

"You were there," he said, meeting her gaze briefly for the first time since he'd called a break. "That was Bring Your Daughter To Work Day. She started pumping neurotoxin through the vents."

Chell cast her mind back to that day, which she could remember parts of in clear detail. Air conditioning vent system compromised, the announcement had said, sending hundreds of people flocking to the surface. Despite her young age, she had known that there was more to that than met the eye. She just hadn't been in a position to find out what.

"Oh my god," she whispered, recalling how easily she could have gotten lost in the labyrinthine corridors.

"Honestly, that memory is kind of hazy to me," her dad said, cutting through her reflections. "I was so worried about you. I can't tell you how relieved I was to see you outside with everyone else." He sounded more like the man she'd known, caught up in his memories, and Chell found herself startled at the difference in his persona. "Georgia told me you ran away from the event."

Taken aback, she blinked, processing his comment. "Wait, you knew about that? But you never said… Never mind. So if Doug hadn't found me, I could have died that day?"

"I try not to think about it," he answered swiftly. With a tiny, wry smile, he added, "I think that even at ten years old, you were tenacious enough to find your way out. But..." A shrug and the levity was gone.

Chell bit her lip, trying to reconcile this re-emergence of the caring father she remembered with the taciturn scientist whose story she was listening to. Deep in thought, she drained the rest of her coffee, setting the empty mug back on the workbench.

"So…" she began, reluctantly steering his narrative away from the past, "you're trying to find ways of repressing GLaDOS's desire to...kill us all?"

He nodded, staring down into his cup. The aura of guilt settled uneasily around his shoulders like a shock blanket. "That's the plan."

"Meanwhile you've just left Wheatley to roam the corridors?" Chell said, her words a touch more accusatory than she had intended.

"Well, he's really not a priority right now," her father stated, some of his earlier indifference seeping back into his tone.

She made a snap decision. "Can I have him?"

Her dad glanced up at her in surprise. "Huh?"

"Can I have him?" she repeated.

His eyes narrowed warily. "Chell, if this is some way of...of...paying tribute to that man, then–"

"I think he'd be useful to have around the office," she interjected nonchalantly. "He can take messages to people."

"Right," he muttered, seeming thoroughly unconvinced, but, fortunately, not especially bothered. "Well, sure, I guess. If that's what you want, but he's programmed to make bad decisions, you know."

"He won't be making any decisions," she said stubbornly. "He'll be following my orders."

"Okay," he conceded dubiously. "I'll send him down to you in the morning."

She nodded with more politeness than seemed necessary. "Thank you."

He gave her a curt nod in return, and silence fell between them as Chell once again collected her thoughts, running through everything she'd learned. She yawned widely, covering her mouth with her hand, and gave a cursory glance at her watch.

"Tired?" her dad asked casually.

"I'm fine," she found herself snapping.

Another awkward period of hush fell. Chell sighed, the weight of her knowledge pressing down on her shoulders.

"How can you do it, Dad?" she asked at length, vaguely impressed that she'd held that particular question back for so long.

His lips pursed, and she surmised that he was biting his tongue against a retort. She seized the opportunity to continue her outburst.

"How can you get involved in stuff that people have been murdered for? I...I can't get my head around it. I just...can't. That's not who I thought you were."

She watched his face contort at the sound of her disappointment and horror. But when he spoke again, it was in the same fervent, almost delusional tone that he'd used when speaking about GLaDOS. She was quickly growing to hate it.

"I...I have no way of justifying myself to you," he declared, sounding equal parts defensive and remorseful, and unsure which he really was. "It just...it draws you in. The progress we're making, the theories that are becoming reality, it's...exhilarating. No other company has even gotten close to where we are in the artificial intelligence field."

"For good reason!" she exclaimed heatedly.

"There are always casualties when making breakthroughs like this," he argued. "Look at Marie Curie, or–"

"Don't you dare draw that kind of comparison, there is no excuse for what Aperture has done…what you are doing." Her anger was broken up by another yawn, but she determinedly kept going. "People are dying. And you don't even seem to care."

"I can't afford to care," he shot back harshly. "I'm a scientist. I get things done."

Chell blinked back the tears that gathered at his words, too incensed to let herself cry.

"What happened to you?" she said pleadingly. "You've been down here too long, the man I knew would never be as cold as you're being right now." She did not hold back on her hurt and disillusionment, letting ample amounts of both bleed through as she spoke. "The man who adopted me, who raised me, would never stand for this. The man who once helped me nurse a sick bird back to health when it flew into our kitchen window would care. I…" Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. "I look at you and I don't recognise you anymore."

For a moment a picture of dismay passed over his face, but it was soon replaced by aggravation. "I'm not looking for approval from you or from anyone."

"Just as well," she spat, "because you'll never have it."

Reaching out with a shaky hand, he placed his mug on the bench. Calmly, matter-of-factly, he asked, "You care about some of the people that work here, don't you?"

Chell looked at him incredulously, her expression full of more contempt than she truly felt. The room gave a sudden lurch and she blinked in confusion. Calm down, she ordered herself.

"What sort of question is that?" she said with annoyance. "Of course I do."

He sat back, folding his arms, eyebrows raised inquisitively. "What do you think will happen to them if you take your little story to the papers? Huh? What do you think will happen to me, or to Marlene, or to Hannah? Or Doug?"

She clenched her teeth as he dropped names, not amused to have her associates used as an argument. "Dad, I'm going to say this as many times as it takes for it to sink in. People. Are. Dying...Needlessly," she growled, separating each word. "Do people's jobs really matter more than that?"

He shook his head, glancing away. "You are so naive." The statement wasn't spoken with as much venom as it could have been, but came out sounding rather sad instead.

Chell pulled a face. "Better that than..."

Her father cut her off. "So you really would do it, then? Go to the papers?"

"I will," she corrected, annoyed that he sounded more curious than concerned, irritated that he was not treating it with the seriousness it deserved. But there was no real malice to her irritation. She was too tired for that, her anger becoming lost in a sudden haze of fatigue.

"I'm sorry," her dad muttered aloud, out of the blue. His voice was edged with regret, his expression pained.

"I'm sorry too," she replied simply.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to earn your forgiveness," he went on, as if she hadn't spoken, "and pretty soon it won't matter, but...I am so sorry, honey." He met her gaze with guilt-ridden eyes and she felt a trickle of cold suspicion travel the length of her spine.

"What do you mean it won't matter?" she asked, trying hard not to panic, hoping there would be something in his manner that would tell her she was wrong. "Why wouldn't it..."

He looked away, glancing inevitably towards her empty mug.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, torn between screaming in outrage and bursting into tears. "You've...you've drugged me, haven't you?"

"A concoction of short-term memory loss drugs, plus a sedative," he rattled off monotonously, staring fixedly at the mug. "You'll be fine in an hour or so, but you won't remember the last few hours." Finally, he tore his gaze away, settling it on her face. He looked mortified, but resigned. "I...I had to. I'm sorry, but you can't know any of this. It's for your own good."

The tears spilled onto her cheeks and she blindly stumbled to her feet. "You..." she began, the remainder of the sentence getting lost in the overwhelming desire to shut her eyes and rest. She blinked rapidly as a wave of dizziness threatened to send her crashing to the floor. Giving herself a shake, she started for the door.

"Where are you going?" her father asked hesitantly, genuine concern coming a little too late.

"To the break room," Chell snapped stubbornly. "If I'm going to...pass out…" She fought off another bout of dizziness. "…I at least want to do it on a couch."

He gave a huff of annoyance at her attitude. "You won't make it that far, sit down."

Through clenched teeth, she muttered, "Yes. I. Will."

She reached the door and yanked the handle, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes open.

A final trio of defeated words hit her back as she left. "I'm sorry, Chell."

"Not…enough," she shot over her shoulder, not bothering to see the impact it made. She slammed the door shut behind her and started down the corridor, running her hand along the wall for balance. The fog of exhaustion was clouding her thoughts at an alarming rate, and she struggled to stay upright and awake. Blur after blur of white coats passed her, not one of them stopping to ask if she was all right. Most likely they thought she was tipsy, having started the weekend early. The CEO's assistant's assistant was not worth their notice.

Stop getting distracted. Remember! You have to remember!

Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and she bit her tongue, trying to focus on the dull pain. She used the resulting burst of wakefulness to get through the automatic door into the main corridor, half walking, half running for a few feet before she was required to slow down. The lethargy was making her dizzy again, and she pressed her palms to the cool, mottled surface of the wall. There was another white blur in her peripheral vision, and a vaguely familiar sound. Running footsteps.

The blur got bigger, the steps got louder, and then there was a supporting arm across her back, a steady hand gripping her shoulder.

"Chell! Chell, it's okay, I've got you."

Doug.

I'm okay now, she thought hazily, letting her eyes drift blissfully closed. But…have to remember.

Groggily, she forced her eyes open, trying to focus on Doug's openly concerned face. "Doug. I...found out so much. But...drugged. People...dying." Her sentences wouldn't come out right, and she frowned in frustration. Didn't her body realise how important this was?

"It's okay," he told her soothingly, squeezing her shoulder.

But it wasn't okay. "No," she insisted, blinking. "Need to...tell you. Before...forget."

He shook his head, his eyes full of earnest reassurance. "Don't worry, I heard everything." His voice was quietly confident, and it was almost enough to convince her, but it seemed so improbable, even to her drug-fogged mind.

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"I'll explain it when you wake up," Doug promised. "Don't worry. I've got you, you're okay. You're okay."

Left with no choice but to believe him, Chell gave in to the invading fatigue and slumped in his arms, unconscious before he even gathered his wits enough to keep her from hitting the floor.

Doug stumbled slightly under her sudden weight as her knees gave way. Awkwardly he scooped her up in a clumsy classic lift.

"Movies always make this look so easy," he grumbled under his breath, shifting her so her head rested more comfortably on his shoulder.

He made his way back down the corridor, wondering what he was going to say to his co-workers if they happened to see them. It was slow going. Chell was by no means an overly heavy burden, but Doug was not an athletic man.

When he made it back to the ASHPD lab, he realised that he needed to swipe his card to open the door. Keeping a firm grip around Chell's shoulders, he carefully lowered her feet to the floor, struggling not to drop her as he ran the card through the reader. He pushed the door open with one hand, then gathered her into his arms again, making sure not to knock her head on the doorframe as they passed through it. Kicking the door shut behind them, Doug elbowed the light switch, flooding the lab with sickly, bright light. With ungainly movements, he knelt down in the clear patch of floor, lowering Chell to the scratchy carpet tiles. He let her head rest awkwardly on his knee as he struggled briefly to tug off his lab coat. Rolling it up into a vague pillow shape, he carefully placed it under her head, brushing loose strands of hair out of her face. As an afterthought, he pulled off her uncomfortable-looking shoes, then sat back against the wall to get his breath back.

You're really not hero material, are you? he thought to himself. He gave a silent huff of ironic laughter. Really not.

He sighed, pressing his fingertips to his tired, gritty eyes. It was looking unlikely that he'd get home tonight. He was thankful for his foresight in keeping spare shirts and underwear in an empty drawer. Nobody had noticed that he'd been wearing the same tie for almost a week.

Doug glanced over at his workbench, at the nearly-completed ASHPD model that he was constructing, and wondered if he could focus enough to try and figure out what wasn't working. It was difficult, trying to cram updated versions of the old technology into a device that was a third of the size. The old quantum tunneller had been a huge, cumbersome thing that required the user to wear a heavy backpack. It had been clumsy and impractical, and had severely limited what could be achieved in the testing chambers. The new handheld version was easier to use, although not quite as light and streamlined as he'd been hoping to make it. The only problem was it didn't work.

He leaned his head back against the wall, accepting that he probably wasn't going to get any work done. There were things he could be doing. He had several sheets of data to enter on the computer, but that was a dull, laborious task. Lazarus Grey insisted on every single thing being recorded on the server, presumably so that GLaDOS would be fully informed when she was activated. He wasn't so forthcoming with the information, of course, at least, not to the lower-ranking scientists, but Doug had read between the lines as he'd listened to Simon talking to Chell.

He needed to finish the portal gun. It was likely he'd earn a promotion if he did, and then he could get involved in the GLaDOS project. As their friendship grew, Henry was a bit more liberal with information than he probably should have been, but even he had his limits on what he would tell. Doug needed to get on it himself. Only then could he find a way to make it safe, or shut it down. Either one would suit him.

Troubled, he glanced down at the unconscious woman at his feet. Chell was dead to the world. Doug felt a flare of anger that her own father would drug her against her will rather than let her know the truth about his work. Aperture had a way of turning people into delusional obsessives.

She looked peaceful, at least, almost serene. Her hair splayed out like a dark halo, her arms loosely by her sides, as if thinking about reaching out. Her pose would make a good painting, he thought idly. He shut the thought down. It seemed in poor taste, considering everything that had gone on that evening.

Shifting away from the wall, Doug reached carefully into the breast pocket of Chell's blouse, removing the tiny microphone he'd planted there earlier. He remembered gripping her shoulders, telling her that everything would be okay. She'd never noticed the mic falling into her pocket. He felt guilty for not telling her, but he'd been afraid that her awareness of it would give it away. He'd apologise when she woke up, although he suspected that she'd understand.

He pulled the receiver and recording device from his own pocket, thankful that he'd thought to record the conversation. He'd thought that it might be useful as evidence sometime in the future. That he'd need to use it for Chell herself because she'd ended up dosed with a memory loss drug had, unsurprisingly, never occurred to him. It would be much easier for Chell to listen to it than for him to try and relay everything himself. That was not a conversation that he wanted to have, but he knew she would need some explanation. She would be extremely disoriented when she woke up.

With a sigh, Doug leaned back against the wall again, closing his eyes. A nap was just what he needed to clear his thoughts and refresh his overworked brain, but he knew it was wishful thinking. There was no way that his overworked brain was going to let him sleep, even though it would be in its best interest. Simply closing his eyes and pretending that he could sleep wasn't going to cut it.

Inwardly swearing, he sat forward again, scrambling to his feet. With another apprehensive glance back at Chell, he pulled his tattered Art Therapy book off its shelf, flicking through the pages until he found an exercise he hadn't yet done. Sitting down at the bench, he pulled a piece of scrap paper towards him, plucked a pencil from the pot on the table and started to draw.

A/N: Father-daughter bonding fail.