Author's note: This aren't in chronological order and all take place in the Sing Nightingale world

Sick:

Wheatley knows he's terrible in a crisis. He knows he's prone to panic and overreacting. He's wishy-washy when he should be decisive, and decisive about things that shouldn't even be considered an option. He tries not to dwell on it.

But not Chell. Oh no, she's calm in the face of danger, absolute in her actions and she always seems to know the right thing to do. He admires her tremendously for these traits.

He's learning however, the even kick-ass heroines are not always infallible - as the current argument they're having in the flat's kitchen is showing.

"Chell. You have the flu. We both know you have the flu because you showed me those papers the doctor gave you when you went yesterday. Those same papers say you need fluids, rest and to eat. None of which you are doing. Not one! I am capable of tiding up the kitchen and washing dishes. You know I am. You're being ridiculous."

He says all of this from the end of the kitchen, his arms folded, face scowling trying to impress on her the gravity of the situation.

"So seriously, put the dish down and go to bed! Or at least go sit at the table and have some tea."

Chell, pale and shivering, turns from her place at the sink to scowl back at him. She'll do whatever she pleases, thank you very much, but the effect is ruined when her vision grays out and her knees refuse to hold her weight anymore.

From what seem seems like the end of a long hallway, she hears Wheatley cry out "Chell!"

Less than 30 seconds later, when she's able to focus properly, she finds herself in Wheatley's arms, being clasped against his chest as he determinedly carries her to her room. While she's surprised at her location, she's not surprised to hear her savior muttering angrily.

"Okay. That's it. Enough is enough. Of all the stubborn...mule-headed...man alive lady!" Wheatley uses his foot to push open her bedroom door from where it rests against the jamb. Balancing her against him with one arm, he quickly yanks back her bed-covers and stacks her pillows against the headboard. He gingerly lowers her the bed so she's sitting against the pillows before pulling the covers back up and tucking them around her hips. Bracing his hands on the headboard on either side of her, Wheatley leans down, effectively caging her in.

"Right. So here's what's going to happen. Unless you want me to drag you to the hospital, you're to stay in bed. I will bring you some food and some hot tea, which you'll eat all of, and then you're going to stay here and rest."

Chell is impressed. There's not a single waver or stutter to Wheatley's voice. His jaw is set and he means what he says. But before she can start to worry if "corrupted Wheatley" is back, she sees the vulnerability and concern creep into his gaze. "Please? Please Love," he asks softly.

Wearily, Chell nods. She hates to admit it, but that bout of lightheaded-ness scared her. (She refuses to use the word "fainted", even in her own mind).

"Alright then. I'm going to back in a few minutes," Wheatley says, seemingly dazed by his own bravado and heads for the kitchen.

Chell can hear him puttering around in there, and true to his word, he appears in her room five minutes later. He's carrying a tray that contains two pieces of buttered toast, an orange, a mug of hot tea and the paperback novel she's been reading. He carefully sets it on her lap.

"I'm going to come check on you in half an hour, and I better find that you've eaten all that food, Miss Stubborn," Wheatley says, but he says with it affection, like when he calls her "Love."

Chell gives a small smile and nods, and Wheatley leaves her to get started.

When he comes back, he sees the tray on her nightstand, the plate empty except for an orange peel and the mug drained. Chell is slumped down in the bed, asleep with her book face down on her chest.

If she were awake to see it, Chell's breath would catch to see the look of protectiveness that's on Wheatley's face right now. After he takes a moment to just look at her, Wheatley picks up her paperback, careful to mark her spot with her bookmark, before squeezing it on the nightstand. He arranges the covers so they're more securely around her shoulders and allows himself the indulgence of running a palm down her blanket covered arm before he heads back out with the tray. He turns off the light and closes the door as he goes.

As he loads the dishwasher and moves on to wiping down the counters Wheatley thinks about what happened earlier. He can't believe he acted that way. It wasn't that he hadn't been scared. He had been terrified. Bloody hell, he's still scared. But at the time, that feeling had been blotted out by the need to catch her and take care of her. He's still feeling the need to take care of her and keep her safe.

Wheatley's pretty sure if this had happened a few months ago, he would have just worked himself into a catatonic panic, or would have actively made things much worse. Maybe he's getting better at this whole "being human business" Wheatley muses to himself. Or maybe he's just found something….or someone he really cares about and is important to him?

That thought makes his heart race, and as he dumps the crumbs he's swept off the counter into the trash, he decides he's done thinking about it for the day and ambles to the den to watch some telly. He keeps the volume low enough though that he can hear any noises Chell might make from her room to get his attention.

When Chell wakes several hours later, she has to admit to herself that she does feel a lot better. She wonders how Wheatley fared while she's been napping. She hopes that he hasn't been stressing too much.

The low sound of the television leads her into the den, where she finds him stretched out the length of the couch, his head lolled back against the arm, his mouth open with gentle snores. Amused, she just shakes her head at him. At least it seems like he didn't worry too much.

Chell starts to untangle the afghan he's managed knot around his body when he wakes with a small start. "Hey, what are you doing out of – oh! You look a lot better Love."

Sitting up, he lightly pulls her down next to him by her arms so he can get a better look at her. His spindly fingers support her chin as he tips her head this way and that to check her color.

"Just because you're on the mend doesn't mean you can overdo it now," he scolds her, still holding on to her face. "I'd hate to have to get tough with you again lady."

Chell rolls her eyes and gives a mocking salute. Wheatley opens his mouth to protest her abuse of sarcasm when she suddenly grabs his hand that's under her face, threads her fingers through his and kisses the tip of his nose. Instantly Wheatley's entire demeanor gentles. "You scared me," he murmurs, as his thumb strokes right below her knuckles. "I….I don't like it when you're not feeling well. I don't,…I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

He looks almost guilty about his admission, like he's crossed a line he feels he doesn't have any business being near. Chell feels a warm tingle zap down her spine. She never though this gangling idiot would be anything more than just a responsibility to her. Someone to look after because she had to. She was wrong. Somewhere along the line they had become friends. Friends on the edge of something else. Something…meaningful.

Before she can think too much more about it, Chell throws her arms around his shoulders and gives him a good squeeze while she kisses him on the cheek. She hopes he understands it's her way of saying "sorry I scared you and you did a great job taking care of me." She thinks from the way he sighs and burrows into her that he gets her message.

He finally eases back after a minute and rubs her arms. "How 'bout I get you a glass of water and we watch some of those black and white movies you like so much until you get sleepy again? I can throw together some sandwiches for us as well. What do you think? Sound good?"

Happily, Chell nods. As she watches him shuffle back to the kitchen, she decides she'll ponder out what's happening between them when she's back on her feet. For now she's going to enjoy something for the first time – the luxury of having a good friend take care of her.