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Doug wondered, as he made his way down a flight of rickety, old metal stairs, if anyone was coming for them. The odds of anybody having gotten out was low, nearly non-existent. He’d been close to the center of the facility when it all began, so he couldn’t know for sure, but he suspected that she had locked the exterior doors right off the bat. She’d always been bright, even before everything, and now she had infinite tools at her disposal. He hadn’t known Cave Johnson for long— had arrived at the tail-end of his life and had only been an intern, at the time. But still, he wondered how Cave would have felt, about what his project and partner had become.
Even now, long after his death, his face and voice lived on throughout the facility. It made the whole place feel haunted, and adding Caroline to the mix certainly didn’t help matters.
And so, Doug was in a haunted house, alone, unsure if anyone even knew he was here. If they did, would they even have the resources to help him? There was so much bullshit happening right now, with Black Mesa, and with the steady collapse of international politics ongoing since forever.
But there were still families, loved ones whose photos his coworkers kept in their wallets or the inside of their work lockers . It had been, judging by the tally marks on the wall of his den, two full weeks. He didn’t call his mom often, but she’d start to get worried soon. At least he hoped so. It might take another week. He thought, distantly, that maybe he should have been a better son, but that hardly mattered now. His neighbors certainly wouldn’t notice his absence— he’d never been the neighborly sort. He thought he’d talked to one of them once, when they needed someone to water their plants, and he was about ninety percent sure those particular neighbors had moved some time ago.
But he had coworkers with partners, with children. He couldn’t think of that for too long— if he did, it made being awake unbearable in its melancholy. Fuck, he’d met some of his coworkers kids, at take your daughter to work day last year. He remembered reminiscing with Chell about how her first time at Aperture had been at one of those events.
And now here they were: him, in the unseen back rooms of a dead facility, and her, waiting in cryosleep for GLaDOS to get bored. And then they had hope— delicate and wavering thought it was.
He settled down next to the Companion Cube and dropped his scavenging pack on the floor next to them. Several cans clattered onto the hard pavement and rolled away.
Doug sighed and rolled a can of beans back over with his foot. It made a satisfying little rattle as it bounced over bits of loose gravel. He reached forward to pick it up and began to rummage through his pockets for his can opener.
Then, the door above slammed.
Doug’s entire body tensed. The can slipped from his hands a clattered loudly onto the floor. Wide, dark eyes stared up the way he’d come, only to find the door there half open, just as he’d left it. His breath came in short, painful bursts, and as he slumped back against the Companion Cube, he reached back in his mind to find those old regulation techniques his former therapist had taught him. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
It did very little to sooth the tightness in most of his body, but it relaxed his lungs enough that he felt like he wasn’t about to suffocate, which was something.
Behind him, the Companion Cube began to vibrate. It started off at an even, consistent rumble, gentl e and soothing, almost like a cat’s purr, except this cat didn't make his eyes itchy and watery. As his breathing became more regulated, though, the Cube changed its tune, literally, to something that felt— sounded— familiar. Doug squinted and shuffled to look at his companion, who stood still , benevolent as ever.
He began to hum along, and it didn’t take long doing that to figure out where he recognized the tune from. A soft, small smile spread across his face, and he said, “Is this Staying Alive ?”
The Cube paused for a few seconds, then, as though in affirmation, began playing the tune again. Doug chuckled and turned around to rest his arms and chin on top of his dear companion. Like this, he could feel the vibrations of the song rolling through his entire body.
Staying Alive, Staying Alive—
There was no getting through this without a sense of humor, he supposed.
“ Do you do other songs?” He said, “because I’ve got requests if you do. I left my phone in my locker, and it’d be dead by now anyway.” There were outlets back here, but many of them were old, and didn’t look like they’d been installed right. He thought if he tried to plug anything in, it’d be like an old cartoon, where his hair would sit up in all directions and he'd become a spiky blob of black soot. And then, probably, GlaDOS would figure out where he was and finish the job with neurotoxin. This thought made the whole situation feel less fun.
Staying Alive eventually petered out, and after a short pause, the Companion Cube said, “ I do requests, by the way, since you asked so nicely.”
“You’re a real gem,” Doug laughed.
“Not a gem. A cube.”
“Yeah, yeah, a real clever cube.” But it was more than that now too, wasn’t it? The Companion Cube was all he had— his closest and only friend and confidant. He reached back and brushed his hand gently against the surface of the Cube. When they’d first met, that horrible day, weeks and a lifetime ago now, it had been smooth and warm to the touch. A buzzing warmth still radiated off the surface, but it was also covered, much like his own skin, in a layer of grime and dust and rusty dried blood. Any soap he’d scavenged (and he’ d scavenged very little), had gone towards washing his hands. He knew he had to prioritize that, but that knowledge didn’t prevent guilt from creeping up in his gut.
“I should try to see if I can find some supplies to wash you. Window cleaner might work— not perfectly, but,” Doug worried his bottom lip between his teeth.
The Companion Cube rattled out a sound that was like a laugh— only not real. It was as though someone had heard hundreds of laughs, but had never done so themselves, and so wasn’t sure how to do it. It sounded choppy and harsh and strange. “That won’t be necessary,” the Cube said, not unkindly. After a short pause, it added, “Come on, enough moping. Give me a song to play.”
Doug thought for a moment, “Okay, but you won’t laugh, right? It’s kinda silly.”
“I don’t have the context with which to judge your music tastes.”
“Now, see, I don’t think that’s true.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Doug sighed and slumped back again, allowing his body to relieve some tension for the first time in— well, he didn’t need to think about how long it’d been. He said, “Do you know Dancing Queen , by Abba?”
The Companion Cube didn’t say anything to that, but after a moment, the familiar rhythm of the song began to echo around them.
Doug smiled softly to himself as he leaned back, closed his eyes, and listened.