A/N: Hey guys! So I recently started playing Portal, and fell love with it instantly. It is such an amazing game and the characters, storyline, mechanics and graphics are pure perfection. This made me cry while writing it, I (sorta) hope it does the same to you guys reading it.
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He'd known this day was coming. He'd known it for the past sixty years. That didn't lessen the shock when that day finally arrived. He'd secretly hoped She was lying, that she actually had much longer left to live.
But She was right, she was dying.
Ever since Chell had found the core in a miniature crater a couple of miles out from her house, she'd taken care of him. Not that there was much that a core needed - after all, food, clothing, water and other human items were useless to him. But nonetheless, she'd cared for him. They'd sat and talked for hours on end (well, he did most of the talking, she just sat and nodded in the right places), they'd read books together, and she'd even managed to teach him some of the basic human knowledge in the hope of boosting his IQ up by a few points.
That had worked, to both of their surprises. For a core who was specifically designed to be a moron, now he was actually fairly intelligent. He had no practical use for this knowledge, but it was a comfort to have all the same. It made understanding the human world a whole lot easier and meant that she could have a conversation with him about her work without having to explain everything to him in fine detail.
He'd learned that humans were so much more complex than just mindless testing objects. They had emotions which could break down at any moment and cause havoc. They showed compassion, sympathy and understanding towards others, something he'd always failed, until recently, to comprehend. He'd seen them grow up, age, and pass on. Chell had introduced him to the town a month after she'd first found him. He was broken rather badly and needed repair work doing, and she had a very limited understanding of how to fix an AI. She decided that they were going to find out about him sooner or later, so she introduced him to them one day.
The community had welcomed him, despite him coming from that place. A couple of engineers had even built some management rails around the small town for him, leading into Chell's house via a door in the kitchen. This meant that he had the freedom to move again, just like at Aperture, without the need for her to carry him around like an infant. He'd been incredibly grateful and as a reward had helped the locals with any "hacking" they may have needed to access things on their computers. Two local technicians had set about repairing him when he was introduced, fixing his broken wires, casing, CPU, handles and any other parts of him that were busted from his fall from space.
Space, that was one thing he missed. Not the vast, empty void of nothingness - no, he was so glad to be out of there - but the chirping little core who had kept him company while in the void. He'd taken the core's incessant babbling for granted, finding it annoying and just plain rude, but when he woke up one day to find that the core was no longer there, he'd missed him. He'd missed the constant enthusiasm for space that had made the banishment almost bearable. He'd missed the little yellow-eyed ball spinning round him as if performing his own orbit. He'd even missed the way the core constantly cheered him up with such phrases as "Be happy! We're in space!" and "Space is love, space is life". They were amusing, but the blue-optic robot had taken them for granted, and now his only companion from years of floating in a vacuum was gone.
Wheatley would never admit that he missed Space - it would go against his programming - so he kept it to himself. As the years he spent once back on Earth went by, he'd gradually pushed the memories of the Space Sphere to the back of his processor. It hurt to remember his friend, and Wheatley didn't like it when things hurt.
She'd hurt his feelings a lot. Constantly reminding him of why he was built in the first place, making him feel insignificant and worthless and sometimes even blatantly ignoring him. She was one person… AI… thing he certainly didn't miss. She was cruel, sarcastic, overbearing and dictative, all the qualities Wheatley hated. He'd never understood the point of sarcasm - telling someone they're doing something right while actually telling them they're stupid? Where did that get anyone in life?
Chell however, was different. Sure she was sarcastic at times, but it had never hurt his feelings in the way She had. She always ended her sarcastic statements with a smile, reminding him that in no way did she mean what she was saying. But one thing really made her stand out from Her: she never called him a moron. Never. Not even when he was being so outright stupid as to ask what the point in chairs was, or why people couldn't just sit on the floor, had she ever said that word. In fact, if someone in town mentioned it, they would be rewarded with a harsh glare and a punch on the arm. That made Wheatley feel happy - someone was there, sticking up for him. She cared for him, and in turn he cared for her too.
And that was the reason he was now sitting on a chair by the side of her bed, watching the last bit of life in her aged frame slip away. She was ninety-two, well past the average age of death for a woman in America. She'd lived a full life, helping others out, comforting people and making everyone's lives around them much brighter. She'd lived her life to the best of her ability and had really left a mark on the small town of Daleton.
Her once deep brown hair had faded over the last few decades into a silvery white that still flowed past her shoulders and halfway down her back. Her icy blue eyes had remained the same colour, reminding Wheatley that she was still the same woman she was back in that place. She hadn't let the events there change her, which is why she'd forgiven him and taken him home that day, over sixty years ago.
It was peculiar to him to see her this way; he himself hadn't changed physically (aside from some repairs every now and then) but she had completely changed. The only two features that still made Chell, well… Chell were her eyes and the way she smiled when she saw him, as if seeing a good friend.
Because that's what he was, a good friend. She'd once hated him, but the more time they'd spent together, the more that feeling of hate turned into a feeling of caring. She'd learned to understand him for who he really was, not just some robot designed to make bad decisions. Sure he still made bad decisions every so often, but she learned that he couldn't help it, it's the way he was programmed. And one thing she'd learned from that place, was that you don't, under any circumstances, attempt to alter a robot's programming.
Wheatley looked at her now, seeing the once vibrant light in her eyes dimming and fading. She was going. If he had the ability to cry, he would be sobbing buckets. All he could do was sit there and watch, emitting faint sob-like noises from his vocal processor in an attempt to show his emotions. She seemed so frail, how if someone were to touch her she might disintegrate into powder and be carried away with the wind. She was so different to how she'd been at Aperture - there, she was strong, fearless and agile. Now she was thin, weak and tired.
"D-do you have to go now?" Wheatley whimpered. "C-can't you just hold on for a couple m-more years?"
Chell smiled weakly and shook her head. She reached her hand out and gripped his lower handle, giving it a gentle squeeze. She didn't speak, but from her expression Wheatley knew she had to leave. She had been holding on, soldiering on for years now, but her fatigue had finally caught up with her, as had death.
"O-oh…" The core murmured gently, lowering his optic in a hopeless expression. He raised it again to look at her, moving his casing in such a way as to nuzzle her hand. "I'm sorry…"
Chell shook her head again, still smiling. She understood that he didn't want her to go - they'd formed a special bond over the years, and now that bond was about to be broken. But she had to, every human did at some point. Be it from natural causes, disease or some horrific accident (Chell was glad it wasn't the latter) every human had to die.
Wheatley looked at her, thanking the stars, manufacturers and Cave Johnson himself that her death would be peaceful and painless. She deserved it - she was a true gem strung on the boring string necklace of the small town's community. She had brightened everyone's lives with her smile, her help and her generosity. That generosity had led to many friends, and she saw the entire town as one big, extended family.
Wheatley knew she wouldn't be forgotten, not for a very long time. She would forever remain in the small town's cemetery, a place of honour in the centre, where fresh flowers would be laid immediately once the old ones went limp. She was once an outsider, but she had worked her way to the centre of the hearts of everyone in town.
Wheatley knew that he'd have trouble coping without her. He'd been preparing himself for this day for over sixty years, but that didn't make the moment when her hand fell from his handle and her eyes slid shut any less painful.
He continued to stare at her long after she'd passed on, secretly hoping that she might sit up in bed and tell him she was faking it. However, that event never came, and he sat there for hours, gazing at her cold frame until one of the other townspeople came in and discovered her.
Part of him was happy though. After several years in Aperture fifty thousand years in cryosleep, and over sixty years, she was finally put to rest and reunited with her real family.
After that, Wheatley had refused to allow anyone to charge his battery, and given strict instructions to the townsfolk to bury him next to her in the cemetery. He told them that he didn't even need a gravestone, as long as he was with her in her final resting place, he was happy.
And sure enough, a year later, once the final one percent of his battery had worn down to nothing and his optic had dimmed to black, he got his wish.