He had another nightmare. This one awoke him with chills, yet he was covered in sweat.
He could see her, dying at his hand. Over and over, over and over, each more grotesque than the last. Neurotoxin. Falling into a kilometer-long pit and her body, no longer protected by those boots, crashing with a resounding crunch. Turrets filling her with bullets; her face, with those stardust eyes, mutilated. And him, stuck as a metal ball, unable to even cradle her in his arms.

It was terrifying, knowing the person he once was would have done those things, with little to no remorse. It was terrifying to know he had that within him.

Tears pooled in his eyes as he curled himself in a fetal position. He mustn't cry. That might wake her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to probe him. He wouldn't be able to keep his lips sealed from her stone-cold stare.

For now, all he could do was rest his eyes on the vent in the ceiling.

Wheatley had been awfully quiet, which generally meant something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He poked at his toast with a butter knife, his coffee slowly losing steam. He had sat there for 10 minutes; his eyes were beginning to glaze over.

Chell, after grabbing her own cup of coffee, walked up to the breakfast nook and tilted to the side to be directly in his sight.

"You okay?" she asked.

He jerked up, snapping out of his trance-like state. "Oh yeah, that's me. Totally fine. Tip-top shape. Couldn't be better. In fact, l feel so great, l could... I could build a model train! Build a model train, yeah. Do you think we could find a kit that-"

"Wheatley? Stop," Chell said. "What's really wrong?"

"N-nothing," Wheatley stuttered. She sat down next to him in the booth and put her hand on top of his. Oh, God, she really knew how to get to him, didn't she? He could feel the blood rising in his cheeks. The feeling of his heart beating faster and faster- new yet already familiar with her around -made his hands tremble.

"Tell. Me." She commanded.

He had to. He had to because if he didn't, he would be keeping secrets, and that was something The Old Him would have done, and if he did one thing The Old Him would have done, it was just a slippery slope, and he would end up hurting her again, and oh God, he could not bear the look in her eyes when he betrayed her, couldn't stand to see that look again, and why did all of this have to be so bloody difficult, why couldn't they just build a model train set and not light the fireplace so they had an excuse to snuggle?

"I-I had a nightmare last night." His hands were a blur, they were shaking so quickly. She put her other hand on top of his. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but it just made him more nervous. Hand- holding was not a common occurrence between them.

"It was when I was in charge of Aperture." Chell nodded. Oh, he could feel the waterworks coming. "I kept killing you over and over, each time worst than the last. And-" he was blubbering now "-I was still a core, so I couldn't do anything as you died. I couldn't even hold you." Chell brought her arms around him in an embrace, and he buried his head in her shoulder with a sob.

"It's okay," whispered Chell. "We'll work through this together." She drew a hand through his unkempt blond hair in a motion she hoped was comforting. He was still crying, albeit with less hysterics.

Wheatley could feel his breathing slow. Chell was here. It'd be okay.

Together they'd go, together they'd go.