Wheatley accepted her invitation without a second thought. The outside world scared him, and he had a creeping fear, as he stood on her porch for what he thought would be the last time, that he didn't have a chance out there on his own. He knew nothing about the surface world. He'd wrung his hands together as he looked out to the endless wheat and had felt and overpowering relief when she asked him to stay. He didn't know how to thank her – felt he never would be able to – for not turning him out into a world in which he would surely die. It would have been all he deserved, he knew, and by the way Chell – that was her name! Chell! – by the way she didn't talk to him sometimes, he figured she knew it, too. Of course she knew it, he thought dismally one day as she made a run to the city. She wouldn't be back for hours, she'd told him not to worry, because she was coming back. And she'd given him that sad smile that spread all the way from the curves of her lips to her tired eyes.

She was always so tired; he was watching her from the other side of the room, fidgeting. The thought had struck him earlier in the day: she was tired because of him. She was worn out and she didn't want to be doing this, to be taking care of him like a child.

She pitied him.

That was it; pity. It had given him an odd tightness in his chest and made him avoid her gaze. She didn't want him there. She didn't want to trust him or give him a second chance. But she wasn't a monster. She wouldn't – or perhaps couldn't – abandon him in the impossibly vast world that would kill him in an instant. It hurt him in a way he hadn't thought it would. Two years, he'd spent in space, literally doing nothing but thinking about her. He'd shut down the majority of his functions to conserve power, and all that had been left was conscious thought, memories and emotion. He'd spent two years thinking about what he did to her, how he'd apologize, and here they were, only because she pitied him.

He was making her life difficult, again.

He wrapped his arms around himself and brought his knees to his chest, curled up on the chair across from her. She sat there with a small bowl of rabbit broth in her hands and a piece of bread. She sometimes ate in the living room – Wheatley disliked the kitchen, for quite a long time. The cool tiles reminded him too much of the laboratories, and though he'd gotten used to the ceramic that covered everything in the small room, staying in the living room had become something of a habit between them. However, that night, both were silent.

"You okay?" she asked, abruptly.

"Me?" he stuttered, just as sudden, surprised by her talking to him. "I'm fine. Right as rain, never been better!"

She drained the bowl and set it aside. "No you're not. What's on your mind?"

He shook his head violently. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing on my mind whatsoever." He frowned when he saw her chuckle. A little rude, if you ask him…

She stood and walked over to him, sitting on the arm of the chair. Her fingers ran through his hair and he felt himself relax. He closed his eyes and hummed softly, leaning into her touch. It was a physical connection and even that small gesture calmed him. The hand dropped to his shoulder and he could feel her pull him into a hug. "I know it's hard," she said softly, "but you're doing great. It'll all get easier, I promise."

He sighed, moving over and pulling her with him, so they were sitting side by side. "Thank you, but it's not that," he said, placing her hands in her lap.

"Then what?"

Wheatley bit down on his lip – a rather painful practice he'd picked up from her. "I just… I really appreciate it, all of it. Because, I know you certainly, ah, didn't anticipate taking care of me like this, and – and you've done a spectacular job and you could have just kicked me out, and you didn't. And I'm sorry because I know I'm the last person you want to be with everyday, and it would be so much easier for you if you'd just let me go, and…" his speech slowed, "…and I wasn't actually supposed to… say that last bit…" he redirected his gaze to his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He'd specifically avoided the topic for months, knowing that one wrong move could very well land him alone in the wheat field.

She smiled and lifted his face so he would look at her. "If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have asked you to stay."

He raised a hand to his face to cover hers. He could never get over how much smaller her hands were than his, and how much more delicate. Yet this was the powerhouse of a woman who had taken Aperture by storm. "Oh, luv," he mumbled. "You don't have to pretend. I know why I'm here."

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "Why?" she asked.

"Pity." Was his simple, hushed answer.

"Pity," she repeated, holding his gaze steady as he tried to turn away.

"I'm sorry," he averted his eyes. "I'm sorry, because I know you don't want me here. I know I should leave, but I…" he shuddered and moved her hand from his cheek. "I just can't bring myself to go." He swallowed hard.

"Wheatley," she said sternly, "I don't want you to go. I want you here, I really do, I – look at me-" He forced himself to look down, meeting her concerned gaze. "After everything that happened, I'm so glad that you're safe; I want to try again. Can we?" she asked. "I want to forget any of that ever happened and I want you to be happy, too." She studied his face; he studied hers and saw the most outright, honest emotion he'd ever seen on her. He pressed his lips together and nodded, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her into his own hug.

The hours passed and they remained together, nestled comfortably against one another. The way she didn't flinch or pull away reassured Wheatley that what she'd told him was truth. She wanted him there; he could tell by the way she held him close and rubbed her cheek against his neck when they hugged and never once tensed against his touch.

He held her with one arm constantly slung around her waist, pinning her to him, the other twisting and rubbing her dark chestnut hair between his fingers. She had her hand over his on her waist as her breathing steadied in sleep. He didn't dare move for fear of waking her but, after a moment, he relaxed. It was an odd feeling, and he wasn't sure what it was for a moment.

Happiness.

A smile crept onto his lips.

Happiness. Oh, sure, he's been happy before. But this…

He let out a soft chuckle and pressed his cheek against hers.

This.

This was perfect.