The glass panel lifts to release the man inside, but there is no movement from within the capsule.

His hand is limp and warm in hers.

She waits patiently for him, counting the seconds that pass before his waking.

In time he finally stirs, inhaling sharply, a thin sound punctuated by a weak cough that rattles his narrow frame.

He takes another slow breath, then another.

His eyes open—one is blue, the other black.

A low groan rises in his chest as he struggles to sit up.

She greets him with an embrace, drawing his thin shoulders into her arms and holding him tight. He tenses at the touch and pushes back feebly against her.

She lowers him gently to rest within his capsule.

His eyes are wide, wet, and unfocused as they fall on her face.

"It's you."

It's him.

She can barely hear his whisper, but she would recognize his voice anywhere.

He begins to babble, half-mad in his excitement.

"It's you, it's you, I can't believe it's really…"

She smiles.

"How—how did you—" he stutters, glancing frantically around the room. "Where are we?"

She places a palm on his chest to hold him down. It won't do to allow him to exert himself so soon after waking—she knows from experience that he will need time to recover.

"Chell, where are we?"

For a moment she is too struck by the sound of her name on another person's lips to respond. He knows her, he does—but her relief is cut short by his expectant stare.

She points to her mouth and shakes her head.

"What does that—oh." He breathes in through his teeth. "…you can't speak, can you?"

She shakes her head again.

"I'm sorry—" his voice falters. He won't meet her gaze. "No. Not right now. There's time. There will be time, I'll tell you everything, I promise—then you can decide what to do with me."

Chell has no time to ponder his odd wording as he quickly proceeds.

"But right now—right now we have to get moving."

He sits up beneath her hand then hisses in pain, clutching at his leg. A fresh patch of blood has already begun to seep through the fibers of his clothing. She shakes her head and unravels the wrappings on her wrist to tie them tight around the wound.

He goes still beneath her touch and watches her work with a quiet awe.

When she is finished he speaks again.

His voice, though soft, fills the room with warmth.

"Tell me, is—is—" he pauses to breathe, deep and slow, perhaps still faint from either pain or waking. "Is she still… out there?"

Chell nods.

He nods silently in response.

She kneels to take a stray paper from the floor and fishes the chalk out of her pocket. He watches her without blinking, as though convinced she would somehow disappear if he were to look away.

She thinks for a long moment—there are so many things she wants to tell him, to ask him—but decides on two simple words.

She etches the letters carefully onto the paper and holds it up for him to see.

Thank you

His brow creases.

"Th-thank you? For what?"

Chell turns away to scrawl a response, messier this time in her haste to erase the look of worry from his face.

For helping me

The ghost of a smile passes over his lips but quickly fades.

"How did—how did you know that was me?"

This message she writes slowly and with painstaking care.

You're the only one

She pauses, then adds:

It has to be you.

His mouth curls in a silent 'oh' before settling into another smile.

In a few moments he is strong enough to stand. She slides her arm beneath his, maneuvering him toward the edge of the capsule and carefully lifting him to the ground.

His body is feather-light in her arms.

He bares his teeth as his bad leg makes contact with the ground, but she pulls him close, and he leans his weight on her.

"We might—we might need to go slowly. I'm sorry," he admits, then adds quietly:
"…for everything."

She squeezes his chalk-dusted hand in her own as she guides him carefully to the door.

"But it's alright," he continues. "It's going to be alright. You're here and you're safe, and—and we're together now, and—"

She pushes the door open.

"—I know the way out."