I don't own Valve, Portal 2, or any of the characters.

Well, hello there. This is my first fic. It takes place two years after Portal 2 (So it contains spoilers) and is told from both Wheatley's and Chell's point of view. I don't like Human!Wheatley (oh, who am I kidding, I HATE Human!Wheatley) or NotMute!Chell very much, so I'm sticking with good old Core!Wheatley x Mute!Chell. The purpose of this chapter is to explains how Chell has intimate and profound feelings for Wheatley, so it's going to be a bit mushy. Don't worry, the chapters that follow won't be as bad! This chapter will also contain A WHOLE DARN LOT of flashbacks and dreams. I'm not going to tell you when the POVs switch, so you're going to have to figure that out yourself. ;) And I apologize if any of the chapters are too short. Please read and review. Hope you enjoy.

Stock·holm syn·drome

noun

1. feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.

Chapter 1: The Dark Side of the Moon

"Okay... Alright... I've got an idea, but it is bloody dangerous. Here we go..."

I stare confusedly into the darkness. It's pitch black and I have no sense of where I am, since all I can see is the dim glow of Wheatley's blue ocular. All I can do is clutch my portal gun and hope the metal walkway doesn't fall out from underneath me or something equally crazy. Anything could happen here in Aperture. I wait for Wheatley to tell me his "bloody dangerous" idea. But he doesn't tell, he just acts.

"GAAAA!" Wheatley screams as a light flicks on. I jump back, startled by his outburst. There is a bright light coming from the core's optic. But why the scream?

"They told me that if I ever turned this flashlight on, I would DIE!" he exclaims suddenly. "They told me that about everything! I don't even know why they bother giving me this stuff if they don't want me to use it! It's pointless! Mad!" I laugh to myself as I listen to his rambling, watching him slide along his management rail as he leads me along. I shake my head and smile widely up at the core. I seriously doubt the little guy would suffer such a consequence for simply turning on a light. Wheatley turns back to look at me. The white beam of light from his optic is blinding. It's too bright...

My eyes snap open, but I quickly scrunch them closed again as the morning sunlight burns my eyes. The alarm clock on my bedside table blares loudly, but I ignore it. I don't want to get up today. My blurry eyes can barely pick out the red numbers on the clock. 6:30 A.M. I continue to ignore the screeching of the clock. I'm just so tired. I roll over so I face away from the clock and tuck the sheets tightly around me. After a while, I somehow manage to fall back into light sleep.

"Holmes vs. Moriarty... Aristotle vs. MASHY-SPIKE-PLATE!" Wheatley's voice yells.

THUD! goes the deadly plate of spikes against the wall, only inches from my body.

I gasp, startling myself awake. I reach out and my fingers meet the cold metal at the bottom of my bed. I blink several times, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the lighting. Once I can see, I realize I am on the floor. I must have rolled off the bed in my sleep. I've noticed that I move around a lot in my sleep, especially during nightmares. I've had a lot of those lately. And the same core has been the star of the show in all my dreams, whether good or bad. Wheatley.

It seems eerily silent. Wasn't the alarm on before? I think. I glance over at the clock. 7:00 already?! I'll be late for work! It's only then that I remember that today is Saturday. I must have forgotten to turn off my alarm for the weekend. I stand up and slip on my navy blue bathrobe over my colorful, spotty pajamas. The fuzzy sleeves of the robe warm up my cold arms. I shuffle into the kitchen and fill up a glass of cool water. Then I put a piece of bread in the toaster and sit down at the table to wait, taking a sip of water. I look over at the Companion Cube, which sits in the corner of the room, then start to think about my dreams. I can imagine the little core now, his blue optic shining down on me, his bottom plate pulled up in his version of a smile. His adorable British voice as he says something..

But I quickly snap out of it, remembering Wheatley's other half. The part of him that tried to kill me with a mashy spike plate. I know very well I can't just ignore the fact that he'd tried to murder me. And several times. Emotions are always tumbling inside me, one half knowing all the terrible things he'd done to me, but one half knowing he was the only kind of friend I've ever had. I must be insane to even consider him a friend after what he's done to me. Oh well. I can live with insanity. A loud DING! from the toaster interrupts my thoughts. Sloppily, I smear jelly on the toasted bread and scarf down my breakfast in less than five minutes. I flip open my silver laptop and open up the journal I've been keeping on Word. There, I describe my dreams. Looking through my past entries, I begin to notice the subject of my writing is always Wheatley, nothing else. I feel so sad, imagining him up there in space... He's probably so tired of floating around aimlessly. I let out a huge yawn. I'm tired too. I collapse on the larger of the two dark gray couches in my living room. I want to sleep, yet I am a little bit afraid of what I might find there. But finally, I let sleep claim me.

I'm lying on my bed. Everything in my room is a soft white instead of the dark colors it usually is. The window is open, and outside I can hear birdsong. A soft breeze blows, rippling the white curtains. I hold Wheatley in my arms. I press my face up against his front and he nuzzles me lovingly with his optic. I lean in and kiss his optic plate. "Oh. That tickles, luv." he says quietly, with a trace of a laugh. "But in a good way. Could you do that again?" I smile and nuzzle his side with my nose and kiss him again. "Oh, that's wonderful." I giggle and spot a blank notepad and pen lying on the beside table. I pick it up along with the pen lying beside it, which is about the only thing black in the room. "What're you doing, luv?" Wheatley asks, trying to get a look at what I'm writing. I love you, Wheatley. I scribble quickly, and add a heart for good measure. I show it to him. as I kneel on the bed. Wheatley nuzzles my knee with his faceplate. "You know - You know what?" he says, looking up at me. "I love you too." His bottom shutter is pulled up in a smile. I smile back at him and lean down a place a soft kiss on his top. He wiggles his handles in pleasure and I laugh, grabbing him up in my arms and rubbing my face against his side. My heart is bursting with love and happiness. I hope this never ends.

Yes, even though he had tried to kill me (many times) I still liked him. Loved him, actually. I had fallen in love with the rambling core not long after he had awoken me from cyrosleep. It was hard not to. He was so amusing to listen to as he rambled on about little things of no importance. Endearingly funny as he slid along his management rail, telling me random little stories. A feeling of laughter always bubbled up within me whenever I was around him. I could list everything that I loved about him, but that would take a while.

I wake, a warm and positive feeling spreading through me from head to toe. But then I immediately feel depression. I know very well this could never happen. Or could it? Would Wheatley have realized what he had done was wrong by now? He'd had two years now to think of it. Two years... Alone and cold...

"GRAB ME GRAB ME GRAAAAB ME!"

I remember his desperate voice as the claw knocked him out of my hands, sending him spiraling out into space.

And it made me feel alone too. The lack of Wheatley's presence had torn a gaping hole in my heart. Suddenly, all the sadness from his betrayal and his banishment to space decides to come forward and I begin to cry, which I never do. I had tried to hold it in, but I just can't stand not having him around anymore. Tears flow out of my eyes like a waterfall. I sob, shaking as I do, then give the companion cube an evil glare. It's not a companion. It's just a stupid piece of matter. It was nothing like Wheatley. He was a true companion. I would do anything to have him back. And yes, I do admit I have feelings for him.

I make a sudden decision. I was going to bring him back. Well, maybe. I was going to go find him. And if he still despised me, I'd leave him there, stuck in permanent orbit around the moon for all eternity. I'd be heartbroken, of course. But I was willing to take the chance that he still loathed me. Because if he didn't, the reward would be far greater than the pain I'd feel. I'm going to do this. I think. I'm going to rescue Wheatley. And I know exactly how to do it. I sniffle and wipe away my tears, then grab the laptop and set it on the table in front of the couch. Then I plop down on the couch. I turn on the TV and look through shows I've recorded from the science channel. Soon I find exactly what I'm looking for: A documentary on NASA space equipment, with a big chunk of the show focusing on the spacesuit. I hit the play button, the open the laptop and start researching the spacesuit. Orders are placed on Amazon and ebay. I'm going to go to the moon. And I'm going to bring him back, if he doesn't still hate me. But I won't give up hope. Never, ever before had I given up on anything, even when I was deep inside Aperture, fighting for my life. And I'm not going to start now. I look through the window up at the moon and make a silent vow to my mechanical friend.

I'm coming for you, Wheatley. I promise.

"Space. Space. Cold. Dark." the Space Core rambled miserably on and on. "Earth. Wanna go back to Earth. Wanna go back. Earth."

"I want to go back too." I whisper to myself. "It's a bloody good place, isn't it?" I ask the Space Core, not really expecting a response.

"Earth. Earth." he mumbles longingly. "Wanna go back. Good place. Gooood, goood place." I take that as yes. As we orbit slowly around the moon, I watch the other personality core. His barred yellow optic stays focused on the earth, but glances at me every once in a while. Suddenly, he begins another conversation with his nonexistent father. "Dad, wanna go back to Earth." he complains. "No, son, you are space. Best at space." he replies to himself in a deep voice. "Really? Best at space?" he squeals in his normal, high-pitched voice. "Yes, son. You are always best at space." he says in the same baritone voice as before. "Yaaaaaaay!" the other core screeches, spinning in circles happily. He'll be back to moaning about Earth in a while, but I still envy how easily he cheers himself up. It's been two years now and I still don't feel even a slight trace of happiness.

Do I even deserve to feel that emotion? I wonder. No. I was tyrant. Terrible. Horrible. Bossy. Monstrous. This punishment isn't half what I deserve. Though I would like a chance to apologize to the girl. What was her name again? Oh, how could I forget her name after all we'd been through? Wait, I remember now. The file said her name was Chell. Nice name, I guess. Better than little old Wheatley, anyway. Back on the subject, uh... All I want is a chance to apologize to Chell. Just a chance. Then you can send me back to space, kill me, send me to android hell... Oh, I don't care. Like I said, all I want is a chance. I don't even know if she's still alive. It's not out of the question that She killed Chell after being put back in control. I don't even have any hope anymore. And it's not like I'm going find a way to get back to Earth. Humans stopped sending ships up here way back in 2013. Apparently humans thought they'd discovered everything about the moon. Occasionally we'll pass an old, dilapidated satellite, but none of them work anymore. I'm just going to spend all eternity up here, floating silently. Well, it's not always completely quiet. I've never been one to like silence. Filling the void with a voice always made me feel a little less alone. But over these two years, I've grown quieter. The Space Core fills the emptiness with jibberish about Earth and space, but even he is silent sometimes, growing less talkative as time wears on. I don't try to talk when that happens. I simply let silence reign. Maybe it's a way of punishing myself. The silence only reminds me of my situation. Or maybe it's because I have nothing to say. No, that's a lie. I always have more thoughts than I can keep track of. Maybe it's simply because there's no need to say it all out loud when I can simply keep it inside. I don't even practice my apologies out loud anymore. They always sound better in my head. Honestly, I don't know why I stay this quiet. I think the most likely reason is that it's all just part of going insane. Two years stuck drifting here in space with a corrupted core who can only point out the obvious has really taken its toll on me. My thoughts tumble over one another, getting jumbled up until they're just a confused, paranoid mess. I feel as if I don't even know who I am anymore. That's another lie. Of course I know who I am. I'm a liar, for one. I'm a monster, a cheater, a terrible friend, and a robot created to be an idiot. I was dumb enough to betray my only surviving friend, to stab her in the back. I'm foolish. And maybe She was right when She told me I was a moron. Am I a moron? I'm not even sure anymore. I used to know with absolute certainty that everyone who called me a moron was wrong. Now, that fact has come to be the last scrap of self esteem I have left. I'm too tired to hold onto it anymore. So now I let it go, watch it spiral away into the vast blackness of space like a piece of paper fluttering down to Earth. I am a moron. Just a worthless, failed project made by the scientists to try to control Her. And I failed, just like everyone else. I don't know why they ever expected anything of me. And putting me in charge of the test subjects in cyrosleep? Biggest mistake they'd ever made. I killed all ten thousand of them with my negligence. I wonder why they didn't just throw me down the incinerator after I'd failed my purpose, I really do wonder why. Probably short on robots to do their jobs for them or something. I was probably the last resort, being the Intelligence Dampening Sphere and all. Well, they're dumber than I am if they thought I'd do a good job! I tuck my handles inward and let a out a mechanical-sounding sigh. I look back at the planet that used to be my home. The edge of the Earth begins to disappear as we orbit around to the dark side of the moon.