Doug loves the night sky. He is enamoured by the fog escaping his lips when he breathes out into the dark, crisp air. Every star above is a reminder of how he is now free. The lights can turn off now; are able to. Everything is right in these moments.
Chell, try as she may, can't shake the dreadful feeling of looking up at it. She presses her head against her pillow, trying to drown out every possibility that she'll catch a glimpse of silver out her bedroom window.
Too many late nights (sometimes flowing into early mornings,) have been spent strained, with knees hugged up to her face. Fingernails leaving crescent moon shaped indents in her arms from holding too tight. Black hair sticking in curls to the back of her neck, drenched in cold sweat. If she could just focus on these sensations for long enough, she could spin herself out of this spiral. Will you calm down? It's just a rock. You know, I've never seen a human so scared of something so harmless before. It's not even a rock capable of hurting you, I'm sure someone has died due to rock-related blunt force trauma before. Of course, that would be impossible in your situation considering this specific pebble is approximately two hundred and forty thousand miles away from your current location. Not even a moron could come to your conclusion, that this is a circumstance worthy of a breakdown.
Luckily her roommate has his own experience with irrational fears.
In the beginning of their time together, each was quite apprehensive of the other. Doors were shut tight and locked at night. Hands and eyes were kept to oneself, and words were seldom spoken- in Chell's case, not at all. Doug initially felt it was a fault of his own that she refused to speak to him. (In his mind, Chell was not capable of being at fault. She hadn't yet proven otherwise.) But slowly he put the pieces together and realized perhaps she was just more comfortable this way, unrelated to his ideas that she held against him a grudge for his actions.
He came to grips with her means of communication being mostly body language. Eventually her eyes would start to steal glances, or roll sarcastically, or be lifted by a smile. Later hands would hesitantly wander, sinewy fingers brushing bruised knuckles in expression of solidarity.
After months of quiet consideration, she would begin to speak in small sentences. Her inflection was crackled from a lack of use. Doug never minded. His own voice was scratchy like a broken record, and stuttered like one too.
Around the same time, she employed the equally intermittent, slightly more preferable use of sign language. She had learned a bit of it due to her parent’s attempts at trying to express herself when she was younger. She had always been almost entirely mute, to her peers’ dismay. Doug tried his hardest to be a good student for her. Some of their more pleasant moments arose from the back and forth of him questioning what a sign meant or how to make the motion, and Chell obliging his inquiries. He liked being able to communicate with her in a way that seemed to be far less taxing than speaking. Sometimes she got frustrated. Chell is not a very welcoming person. But she isn’t off-putting more than she is untouchable. Her own guard was always up, and yet she could see right through any facade you tried to clamber to hide behind. It’s exhausting. Sometimes Doug felt guilty for getting worn out by her. Something tells him she probably felt the same way about him.
Ultimately Chell liked to stay quiet, it was her natural state of being. The moments in which she decided to talk would seem random to anyone who didn’t know her well enough to be able to tell that it tended to be when she had the most energy. Doug’s favorite was when she laughed. Whenever she was too amused by something to keep her walls up, it’d come out in a short, breathy chuckle. Her slate blue eyes looked softer then. Her smile in these moments could light up a room. And because of the harsh, cool-toned way Doug saw things, it often did.
❂
Night-time was not particularly easy. Doug had always struggled with nightmares, but since escaping Aperture they had grown to be even more lucid. It was frustrating enough having to cope with the undesirable parts of being alive and haunted by his experiences there during the day, but not being able to rest even when he was unconscious drove him up the wall.
Some particularly feverish nights could be characterized by a ubiquitous static, vivid blue and black and red ants clouding his mind every time he tried to close his eyes. This was to mention nothing of the things that would appear in the corner of his room when they were open. Or the auditory hallucinations he was all too familiar with that naturally, did not stop once the sun went down. He felt as if he were in a constant battle of wanting to crawl out of his skin versus laying motionless in hopes that if he could achieve stillness for long enough, there’d be a chance he would feel safe enough to fall asleep.
He quickly grew sick of that room. Maybe it was unreasonable to believe that a space's very energy could be tainted, but he could only wake up ill-rested and aching so many times before starting to feel that something was off about it. Trying to sleep in there felt like trying to sleep knowing a turret was just around the corner. Eventually, on a night after Chell had clicked her door closed for the evening, he dragged his blankets out of the accursed room and into the living area, onto the couch. He knew, of course, that simply changing locations would not stop the loud ticking and gears shifting that never seemed to wind down when he was trying to rest, but a change of scenery sounded nice. That, and he wasn’t ready for the only alternative option he could think of, which would be disturbing his roommate. Doug would much rather suffer alone than bother her. He figured he had put her through enough already. As much as he enjoyed her company now that they were on friendlier terms, he preferred not to overstep. He was aware that he was.. a handful, to say the least. This guilt kept him from doing many things, opting to instead make himself as small as possible when she was around.
Chell didn’t comment on his bedsheets being strewn across the old, dithered green couch the following morning. Instead placing herself at the adjacent kitchen table. Their housing was modest, a small kitchen, dining area, and a seating area all within one square room. A closet and the door to Doug’s bedroom were placed on the walls, as well as a hallway containing access to Chell’s room, one small bathroom, and at the end, the front door. Doug was hunkered down on the couch scribbling away at something with his back against an armrest. Almost half a year of living in town (..Already? They could have sworn they came tumbling out of that wheat field only a couple weeks ago.) had made possible the ability to have small luxuries like pads of paper, because of the jobs that provided them. Doug had the day off today, but Chell would be leaving in an hour.
Chell skimmed over the newspaper that she struggled to understand how such a small town could afford to have, while a pot of coffee brewed over on the counter. It was old as all hell but worked well enough for her to be able to pour two cups for her and her companion, whose own companion cube was leaned up against the sofa. As she made her way over she took care not to set the mugs on his cube, but rather on the ground. Doug didn’t seem to like using it in that way so she didn’t either.
As strange as his hang-ups about the memento had seemed at first, she came to the conclusion that she cared more about his well-being than his occasionally odd choice of coping mechanisms. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own.
She could hardly tell if Doug had noticed her presence before she placed the drink on the ground next to him, and seated herself across from him on the couch. He tucked his feet closer to himself at her arrival, and glanced up at her with an air of being mildly perturbed. It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed her, (despite being enraptured enough what he was doing for it to have potentially slipped his mind,) in fact he always perked up at the sound of her door unlocking and sleepy footsteps trailing out of her room, (he was almost as perceptive as Chell herself) but rather he still wasn’t quite used to her willingness to take up space around him. She knew when to back off and allow Doug his personal bubble, but had no issue and actually seemed to enjoy hanging out around him.
Many times they had started out the door for an outing, Chell fully intending to speed-walk independently to her destination, then seeming to change her mind and backtracking to invite him to lace his fingers with hers as they walked to wherever they were headed.
The reality of the situation is that over the months they had found themselves somewhat tied at the hip. Who’s to say if they would have hit it off had their paths not been forcibly crossed and intertwined as it were, but regardless their shared experiences and unique differences drew them together in a way they hadn’t expected. As careful as they were with each other, even now still learning which boundaries not to cross, there was a certain kind of solace in being the only two surviving humans from the Aperture disaster. Quantum entanglement, if you will.
Chell smiled in her usual slight way, and settled into the couch crossing her arms lightly, cup clutched in one hand. Their radio droned on in the background. Today was a sunny one, streaks of light pouring in through two small windows.
“Ah, good morning.” Doug looked up at her. “And thank you.” He leaned the sketchpad against his lap and bent over to pick up his coffee, taking a sip off of it. It was about Spring now so the warmth it provided was well met. He typically forgot things like breakfast nowadays, opting to wait until lunch, but Chell never forgot a morning ritual and took it in stride to rope him into it. He was grateful for her thoughtfulness, although little did she know he had already been awake for hours.
In a common, comfortable moment of silence Chell looked out the window behind him for a moment before setting her drink aside.
“What are you working on?” She signed. Doug shuffled in his seat. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a bunch of nonsense.” He shook his head briefly. “I had this weird dream last night, there was a painting on the wall that I think I did. It was really specific, I’ve been trying to capture it all morning.” He admitted.
Another couple of signs. “Can I see?”
He looked down at the marks on the paper, and decided today he’s fine with it. He wasn’t always in the mood for sharing his art, as his work didn’t seem very palatable to others in his eyes, but Chell already had a history with finding his art whether it was of his volition or not. So he might as well just show her. She always seemed to get a kick out of it. “Uhm, sure. They’re a little.. weird, Nothing you haven’t seen before.” He mumbled.
She scooted closer, they huddled together. Chell swore her head was close enough to his chest she could hear his heart beating between his ribs. Sometimes he really did remind her of some sort of small animal whose heart might beat out of its chest, or feel compelled to leap away from the situation at hand at any given moment. She did her best to make him feel safe around her, but ultimately sometimes had to do the equivalent of inching closer to a deer in hopes it wouldn’t be too startled and run away. Silently she looked over the drawings, brushing her hand against the corner of the page in interest. She really did think his art was fascinating, it was always hauntingly captivating whenever she came across it on those sickly white wall panels. Even if it scared her a little sometimes, too. Chell was not really an artistic person before she met Doug. It was an omnipresent thing in her life as it is anyone’s and had dabbled in photography at some point, but it never fully occurred to her how deep the roots of art as a form of self expression could go. Doug’s art was an extension of himself, and it was pretty wonderful to watch in motion.
This specific page was full of many different takes on the concept from his dream he had mentioned. Some sort of figure with his usual style of expressive lines encapsulating it, almost like a bramble bush around them. Pops of a dull raspberry type color and cerulean blue were interwoven in the form, created by broad motions of the wrist using old colored pencils he had found in a co-op shop a couple months ago. He loved those things.
“I don’t remember if it’s supposed to be someone specific.” He commented as she looked the pictures over. Doug couldn’t help making defensive comments, out of a sort of obligation to make sense of what she was looking at. Frankly she was content just getting to see them at all, but never minded the insight into his method.
She ran an inquisitive finger along one of the swirling lines on the paper. Briefly resting her head on his shoulder before shooting back up, suddenly realizing she was going to be late for work. How long had they been sat there like that? Her coffee was cold.
She glanced at Doug urgently, and then tilted her head as if in apology.
“Oh god I forgot! Sorry for keeping you.” Doug felt just as bad for occupying her as she apparently did for having to leave so soon. Sometimes they didn’t see each other much in a day. “It’s fine, go.” He added reassuringly.
The stocky woman rose to her feet and stretched her arms above her head before disappearing back into her bedroom, only to pop out a minute later wearing work clothes and pulling on a boot. One of the many ways the machinations of their captor had stayed with them was in the fact Chell had never removed her Aperture Science Advanced Knee Replacements. She was very conflicted about them. On one hand, she resented the fact that she always carried with her a physical reminder of times past. Metal and bolts welded onto her leg and a permanent spring in her step. But she never felt she had the time to get them removed, let alone try to explain to a doctor exactly what they were. Many times she mulled over the idea of ripping them out herself, but each time decided it would be too risky. So for now, there on her legs they stayed. She hated to admit she had also just grown used to them.
After grabbing her coat and keys Chell reappeared back in front of him, giving a quick wave as a goodbye. “Have a good day.” He said, and called “Bye.” as she was gone out the door.
Doug collapsed his head between his knees. He could never help the sunburst in his chest that sparked when she did things like that.
He wished he could just leave her alone, but he liked her far too much. He embarrassed himself with these feelings. She was only being normal. But nobody had really tried to understand his point of view like she does. No one wants to.
But she does, and god if he doesn’t resign himself to that sometimes.
❂
The first two nights spent on the couch went well enough, drifting off to sleep after only about half an hour of tossing and turning instead of the usual ungodly amount. The third was broken up by the onset of needing to get up and pace around the living room in the dark trying to clear his head for about an hour. Or maybe it was two? Time didn’t exactly feel linear lately, he thought. A single day could either feel as if it dragged on twice as long as it should have, or that it was over before he could fully wake up. The fourth night was spent much the same way as the last, except now for whatever reason it seemed necessary to go and sit in the corner for an extended period of time. He worried Chell could probably hear whatever he was muttering about but wasn’t exactly in the state of mind to be able to help it.
He couldn’t think of the last time it was this bad since when he was sleeping under dark metal walkways tucked up on a cardboard mattress in a nest of open cans. Something was not right, and he pretended he did not know how to fix it.
On the fifth night he was racked with anxiety. Some sort of incessant ticking noise, like the sound of a timed test button, was coming from a place in the room he couldn’t identify. He was safe, sitting in their apartment, alive. So why did he feel dread creeping up his back like a laser searching for its target? Why was there a pit in his stomach, when there weren’t any pits of acid nearby to warrant it? Exasperation abounded these feelings. He tried laying in every position possible. Lengthways, sitting up, feet here, head there. Eventually he found himself laying upside down with his head hanging off the sofa. He shifted to meet the gaze of his companion cube, The humor of its pink heart made him break a tired chuckle. What was he doing? Doug wondered if Chell was ever just as restless.
Chell. There it is, that idea again. There will never be a proper time for it in his mind. But tonight, out of desperation and a touch of delirium, it seemed like the only remaining option.
Slowly, as if moving through water, he hoisted himself upright. Slipped his feet onto the cold floor. It was always cold in here. The building had central heating but strangely enough no manual way to activate it. It turned on at random intervals. The two had made a game of it, rejoicing whenever it clicked on, and feigning mock horror when it shut off.
He wandered toward her room. His autopilot confidence was wicked away once he reached her door which, he had noticed, hadn't been locked the last few days. He assumed it was not out of any particular reason, although couldn’t help having suspicions.
He felt like a creep standing there outside, wringing and rolling his hands and trying to convince himself this wasn’t a terrible idea. There was a digital readout clock on the kitchen counter that he checked before entering the hallway, which read 11:58PM. 11:59PM. 12:00AM. The time passed, out of his vision. There was a chance she might still be awake. But why would she want an intruder? Doug fell down a rabbit hole and got stuck in one that made him wonder if they were even friends or if he had simply imagined it. He stood in this manner, rocking back and forth on the edges of his feet, for yet another string of minutes that felt like hours. His hand hovered above the door handle. It was either this or going back to sit amidst the chaos again. At the crest of a burst of decisiveness, he took a deep breath and rapped on the door twice. A moment passed. His savior, she knocked back.
He opened the door slightly. Lit by the dim bulb of her bedside table lamp, there she was. Chell sat on her bed with her legs folded. There was a book set next to her. He didn’t really have any reason to know what she got up to in here and felt more than a little invasive. Her room was like entering a bubble where the raging river seemed to slow. She sat in an aura of warm energy completely contrasting that of his own room. His brain had convinced him that she’d be unhappy to see him, but Chell’s expression was neutral and attentive, her head tilted faintly towards him.
It was at this moment he realized that he was so preoccupied with thinking about how he could possibly justify coming in here, he hadn’t had time to conduct his usual playing out of the conversation in his mind beforehand. A million thoughts raced across his head. He had no idea what to say.
“Can I come in?” He managed to spit out. This was the first of many times Chell would see his frail figure hanging in her door-frame. She nodded. He dragged himself in and shut the door. The energy in the room was tangible, heavy was the air between them as she stared, waiting. “Sorry. I just- I don’t know.” He heard himself say. She could hear it in his voice that he had been going through something. He would’ve been surprised to know how often his thoughts were written into his tone of voice. She always noticed.
Chell patted the spot on the bed, across from her. Not too close. She thought he looked very light, planting himself on the blanket, barely making a sound. “I can’t sleep.” He spoke. Chell shifted and looked at him thoughtfully. She didn’t know exactly what he wanted her to do about that. Maybe she felt there was nothing she could do yet other than just being there right now. “It’s gotten worse lately. I keep having these dreams where I’m back there. It just never ends. I don’t know what to do.” He looked into some far off place for a second, then out the window. The moon was filled out tonight. He knew better than to comment on it. The lunar cycle was something that appeared often in his drawings, the ones he omitted showing to Chell. Something about the familiar shapes had always resonated with him. The symbol used to be often found littered in the margins of his college science homework, or scribbled on placemats when his parents dared to take him into restaurants. He had always had a habit of leaving things behind wherever he went. Markings on the table, crumpled up pieces of paper. A standard issue stapler deconstructed because he was curious how the springs worked, left messily on his desk.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked silently. He hesitated. “I don’t know, not really.” Somehow he’s avoided making eye contact the entire time, his eyes were always hiding somewhere else out of shame. He didn’t know what he expected from bombarding her like this. Taking up space on her bed. He didn’t know what it was he wanted, only that the want for something existed.
After a while, she acquiesced. She’ll go first. Took a deep breath before beginning. “I have these dreams sometimes. I’m always back inside, running down some hallway, or being led down maze-like tunnels into the stomach of it. Sometimes she’s there.” She paused for a moment, catching herself. She was always there. “I mean, sometimes she talks in them. She’s always trying to kill me with some trap, or I’m locked in a chamber and can’t get out..” She stopped again. Doug gazed at her wistfully, this time Chell being the one who looked down at the blanket. He assumed she was finished until she added one last thing. “One time she was.. nice. I think I was annoyed at that, but she kept saying all this stuff, as if she hadn’t ever hurt anyone, and she didn’t want to hurt me. I could stay as long as I wanted. I think she was in love with me.” She had said it so bluntly, he was taken aback. Doug furrowed his brow. She looked so far away from the moment they were presently in. “That last part,” He began without really thinking, “..Was that part of the dream?”
As surreal as that night felt, he had asked the question in earnest. It had always been apparent that Chell had complicated feelings about GLaDOS. His were complicated too, in a different way. Doug was not naive like the other scientists who regarded her as some kind of twisted puppet. A cold, dead machine that was if anything, nothing more than a parody of a human. Of course she was one, a machine, but she was also something infinitely more complex. Not something, but someone. Someone who was hurt. She was a human trapped in something that was incapable of breathing out her sorrows into the cold, as they were wont to do. Thickets of wires and lines of code prevented her from even being able to process such feelings amongst the constant stream of distractions violating her already compromised mind. And in some way, he couldn’t deny he related to that. It made him feel sick.
“You had to have been there. Something changed when she heard those old recordings. Like she remembered who she was, and I found out there even is a ‘Who she was’. I don’t think she could have killed me even if she wanted to after that. Really.” She was not talking about the dream anymore. He did not mean to, but he apparently looked jarred. “I’m not kidding.” She added, not out of frustration but out of desperation to share her revelation with him. “She set me free.” Her words were drawn out and soaked in disbelief, as if it had just dawned on her the true absurdity of what happened.
“You set us free.” He corrected.
Regardless of the part of him that knew that, of course GLaDOS had a human side, he was far too tired to listen to what he took as praise for the person behind why he could not do so much as sleep at night. Chell wasn’t dumb. She was maybe even the smartest, most resourceful person he’d ever known. But it scared him the almost caring way she spoke of GLaDOS, on occasion. Maybe it was just that the sight of colleagues severed limbs discarded on the floor and crushed between metal panels wasn’t something seared into her mind as it was his. Maybe, she had never been plagued by the paranoia that she had not properly scraped all the congealed blood belonging to someone she once knew off the bottom of her sneakers. Quite possibly she had never laid awake during a simulated night cycle wondering if at any moment, she would be found and brutally dismembered.
Apples to oranges, Doug. Snap out of it.
Perhaps Chell had just accepted the inevitably of GLaDOS’ actions in a way he could not, for whatever reason. Second hand accounts of her journey into the deepest parts of the facility were never quite enough to make it clear to him.
She clearly looked bristled. but decided it’d be better to calm down. She averted her eyes over to where the ground hits the wall. “I’m sorry. But you don’t give yourself enough credit.” He said softly. Doug didn’t want to have to reminisce about what transpired within those walls. And he didn’t want Chell to have to either. She acknowledged his sentiment, but responded with “You have to admit it was weird.” “Yeah. It was.”
This is how it went for her, it came in waves. For weeks she would be fine. On a typical morning she woke up, went to work, focused on her job, then came home and followed her evening routine. She would help Doug prepare dinner, laughing and talking about some story from the day, then a few hours later retreated to bed. She went through the motions. She could live a normal life now. And yet, in the little spaces that lived in the lulls of the day, something hindered her. That lurking presence would bleed into more and more of her actions, until it finally caught her and she was forced to deal with the fact she could not simply push it down, power on through the days without processing what happened. When your body has been put through something like that, used for something you never asked for, that lonely feeling does not immediately dissipate once you have left. It stays with you. Like a trace amount of poison that runs through your bloodstream, whether you feel it or not. When the wave is washing over her she copes by indulging in analyzing it. Trying to make sense of the things she had to go through. Maybe if she looked hard enough. she could find a reason.
GLaDOS really did haunt her. Chell could never keep herself from thinking about what might have been. What was, briefly. She humors herself by imagining that the AI might have some sort of procedure in place now that bars her from thinking about Chell, in case she ever pondered the same things. At the same time, she had never resented anyone more. Never had anyone imbued in her the same rage that She made her embody. Contradictory emotions seemed to turn up at every corner when she thought about her past. Which now that she’s thinking about it, didn’t really seem that long ago anymore. Funny how that happens when the wounds reopen and it feels fresh again, rehashed. Like it was only yesterday.
It was just last Summer she broke out of that shed and felt the sunlight on her face for the first time in heaven only knows how long. Ran her fingers through the dry grass.
Chell realizes that she’s essentially commandeered this entire conversation. The wake carries her back now, and the heavy energy they’ve cultivated seems to fall away with the tide. They’re too tired to continue like this. There was a minute or two of only quietness before she decided to scoot over, making a place for him right next to her. He crawled up and rested his back against her headboard. Chell rested her head on her knees.
“Do you ever have good dreams?” She asks. “Sometimes. But not very often. It’s been a while since the last one.” He responds.
“What happens in them?” She wonders aloud. “Well, I’m never in the lab.” He laughed. “Usually I’m either somewhere around the apartment or outdoors in the sun. Although I’ve had good dreams that were equally strange as the nightmares, too, not that I can remember any right now. Usually the cube is there.” He enjoyed talking about cheerful things. However, there is one thing that slips out before he could catch it.
“And usually you’re in them.” Chell’s interest was immediately piqued, she lifted her head to lean back against the pillow. “And what am I doing in these dreams?” She smirks. “God, I don’t know!” He laughed again. Defeat was wrought across his face, clearly he hadn’t meant to say that much. Although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t take a little delight in her reaction. “You’re.. Standing there. And you’re happy. Sometimes we’re in the kitchen and again we’re just. Talking. Doing normal things. How am I supposed to explain what happens in a dream?” She smiles, and it’s infectious. The digital clock in the other room ticks by. They spent the rest of the night sitting and talking about whatever came to mind, one topic flowing into another, broken up only by fits of laughter or Chell shifting to rest her chin on her knees again.
“Doug, I have work in the morning.” She conceded, but not before 2am had come and gone. “So do I.” He chuckled as Chell broke into a yawn. “I should get back to bed.” He said, and maneuvered to swing his legs onto the ground. Back to the warzone. To his surprise, she grabbed his hand before he could get up. She didn’t say a word. He sat back down.
When he met her gaze he noticed that there wasn’t anything in front of her eyes to keep him from looking in. It’s just Chell, in all her raw serenity. She wants something like he does. It’s the first time she’s betrayed that and didn’t want to hide it.
Slowly he slipped back into her bed. She reached across him to turn off the light. For a while they laid flat on their backs, looking up at the ceiling. Moonlight painted the room in a fuzzy haze. The covers rustled against themselves as Chell turned and nestled into him. As startled as he was to look down and find her so close, he somehow did not feel the familiar apprehension that often told him to run. Hesitant and with shaky breath, he laid a hand over her ribcage. He worried he was going too far, reading too much into it, but Chell did not appear to mind. Doug’s presence was a comforting one. He hid his face into her dark mess of hair, holding her tighter. The only sound other than the hum of power lines inside the walls was of their gentle breathing in and out. The rise and fall of her chest next to his carried him off to sleep. As he fell into a gracious dreamless slumber, he wondered how it was possible they were really here. Alive, and lying peacefully next to each other. It was defiance in and of itself. Once you have had the misfortune of entering Aperture, you were bound to never leave. But they had escaped. It was something wonderful, and they had no greater desire than to share that fondness with each other. Start something new. They were getting back at everyone who had wronged them just by existing within this moment.
Doug woke up the next morning teetering on the edge of the bed, Chell having taken up most of the mattress at some point during the night. He rolled over to face her and caught her as she was stirring awake. So it had been real. She grinned at the sight of his weary face. He smiled in return and brushed part of her long, messy bangs behind her ear.
In a world that was so unfamiliar, Doug Rattmann and Chell [REDACTED] felt like they had always known each other. The creases under her tired eyes matched his own, and next to his body she had found a home.