Hello! This is (or will be) a very tiny collection of very tiny one-shots. I've been taking some fic requests on tumblr, and these are the results. They'll be Disconnect verse, but not canon to the fic itself unless otherwise stated. First up, a challenge to write something on the non-angsty end of the spectrum. Enjoy!
At first, Wheatley doesn't think there's anything special about the place. The day is hot and sticky and he's tired andhe doesn't understand what was so important that they had to walk all the way out here when it's just a bunch of trees. They've got trees back home, did they really need to come all this way just to see more?
After a moment, however, he sees they're arranged differently, growing in neat rows, their order still discernible through the overgrowth that's presumably resulted from decades of neglect. Like many strange things in the Outside, it doesn't quite make sense to him.
But Chell seems excited and she jogs to one of the trees, hefting herself up on a branch and disappearing into the greenery, before he can ask why they're here. In an instant, there's no trace of her, save for the leaves that rustle and flutter to the ground in her ascent. He's slower to approach, unsure of what she's doing—is she going to make him climb up there with her? That doesn't seem like a good idea. Looking up, he sees her perched comfortably, her shirt a makeshift basket, full of…something.
"Say apple," she calls down to him, releasing her acquisitions to the ground below, laughing as he tries to shield himself from the deluge of fruit. When he recovers, he sees the tree is full of them-red and shiny-and so are the others. Oh. Now he gets it.
A thud signals bare feet hitting the packed dirt and she offers him one, raising another to her lips and taking a bite, clear juice threatening to spill out from the corners of her mouth. He stares at the fruit in his hands, puzzled, before assaulting it like she's doing. It's harder than it looks, for some reason-his teeth scrape against the peel but don't seem to get anywhere. She's already noticed, and gestures for him to hand it over, knife at the ready. A few flashes of silver and the apple is reduced to something slightly more manageable. She returns it to him piece by piece and smiles.
They waste the afternoon, play tag through the rows of trees and laugh when he trips, nap in the shade. She tries to teach him how to navigate the branches to the treetops but they quit after he takes a spill. He eats so many apples he thinks he might puke and her skin against his as they lay in the cool grass is all sticky-sweat but for once he can't bring himself to care.
Things are okay.