"It is quite lovely out, isn't it?" Wheatley said. Beside him, Chell's face was lit by a comfortable smile. She nodded in response to his observation.

It was indeed a lovely day - sun shining, light breeze going, the scent of freshly cut grass in the air, the whole nine yards. Well, Wheatley thought, they weren't in anybody's yard, much less nine of them, but it did bear a resemblance minus the fences and vegetable gardens. The air was infused by the sounds of other families talking and laughing, dogs barking, birds singing, and ducks splashing in the pond around which they were walking. The vernal equinox had signaled the beginning of spring and everybody wanted a taste. It was the quintessential picturesque day to be out and about with one's family.

Wheatley felt content and stolen glances at Chell revealed that she was in better spirits as well. The exhaustion he had noted in her features earlier was still there, but now it was muted, overwritten by an air of relief and her own contentment, leaving Wheatley to wonder why he had not suggested this idea sooner. Maybe because it had been a bit colder even a few weeks ago and both he and Chell were still learning to walk the precarious tightropes of parenthood. That could be part of it. Either way, they were here now, and they were all comfortable.

Upon arriving at the park, there had been a short dispute between them as to who would be carrying Charlie before they both agreed on taking turns. Currently it was Wheatley's turn, and even though the baby was wrapped up securely against him, he still felt the need to support him with at least one of his arms, just in case. He caught Chell eyeing him from time to time, gaze somewhere between affectionate and watchful, which prompted him to check the straps (again) and adjust his hold (again). You could never be too careful with a human infant, namely their human infant.

In between these frequent baby security checks, Wheatley was regaling Chell with a blow-by-blow account of his earlier trip to the store. It thrilled him that she felt comforted by his long-winded recounts of everything, which encouraged him to do it more, which she enjoyed more, which encouraged him to do it even more, until the symbiosis between them condensed down to a point where Wheatley was talking nearly non-stop.

"Let's see, I picked up the potatoes, got a nice big bag of those, checked them all to make sure none had any of those little nubs growing out of them, no green spots, not too squishy either - nice, clean, firm set of potatoes-" - he accentuated this description by making quick grabbing movements with his hands, as if test-squishing something - "-put those into the basket. Got some nice-looking carrots, gotta have those, good for your eyes, or so they say - need those to be sharp at all times, right, luv?"

Wheatley glanced over at Chell, a gesture he often made with hardly any conscious thought, to make sure that she was still listening and had not tuned him out. The warmth of her simper and the way her silvery eyes shone was proof to him that she was still his audience. He relaxed.

Before Chell, hardly anybody would give him the time of day. Any time he would speak, even if it was about something important - especially if it was something important, like how he thought they really ought to invest in better ventilation or some kind of gas mask because if there was ever an accident with the neurotoxin, they would all be doomed (well, he wouldn't, but all the humans and other fully organic beings sure would be) - all he would receive was a scoff and a pair of rolled eyes along with a never-ending string of excuses as to why that person had somewhere else to be in a sudden hurry. Even if he was gullible enough (in retrospect) to accept their verbal excuses for their rapid departure, he always, always noticed the rolled eyes. Perhaps he was far too keen at noticing that one action because he employed it himself with some frequency, especially when being lectured by one of his bosses (especially that Jerry, the fat-headed know-it-all). At least he was too polite to point it out... but that didn't mean he didn't notice or that it did not serve to further stoke his resentment towards everyone and everything around him.

But Chell never did any of that. If they had all given him nothing but bitterness, then she had been the one to cleanse his palate and make distant those rotten feelings. She was always attentive, always listening, and the only times she rolled her eyes at him were in times of jest, when it was obvious to both of them that it was being done in good humor. It was never done with malicious intent. And she was so keen on picking up on his nuances - better than he was at picking up on them himself - in most cases, she would be able to pull him back out of his own internal loop of self-degradation before he got too far into it. It was never a good thing when that happened and it was something Wheatley fought against nearly every day, truly struggled with sometimes, if for no other reason than to do it for her. And for Charlie, now, as well. Especially for Charlie.

"So after the carrots," he continued upon receiving a small supportive smile from his girlfriend, "I made my way over to the aisle with all the canned meats and boxed meals. I had just picked out the canned tuna that you asked for - the one with bits of those spicy peppers in it - and was putting it into my basket when this lady comes up to me and asks me if I could help her get the Tuna Helper off from the top shelf. It's always the top shelf with these people, always the very top- and that's really strange, if you ask me, people asking for things on the top shelf. If they're so short that they can't reach things on the top shelf, shouldn't they carry like, a ladder or a pole vault pole around or something? And, and why do they even have shelves that go up that high? Most people are pretty short and they buy things that are at eye-level anyway, right? It's true, it's a marketing gimmick, I saw it on this program the other day. And then that makes me think about things on the bottom shelves. Why don't they put stuff down there that is specifically marketed towards short people? You know, like midgets? Maybe give them their own sorta cereal or something, loaded up with- with- with- vitamins and such that might help them grow a bit faster or something. Might help them sell it better, anyway."

An airy, puffy sort of noise from Chell drew his attention. She was grinning, amused. This fueled Wheatley further along.

"Anyway, I helped the lady with the Tuna Helper and said, 'Who's being helped - you-' - you as in her - '-or the tuna?'. She laughed and said 'Thank you for helping both me and the tuna'. And then she - get this - she took out a piece of paper and wrote her phone number on it and said to call her some time if I ever needed help with something. Which is weird because I don't really need help with anything. So I asked her that- asked her what kinds of things she could help me with, and then she said she could help me with lots of things. I asked her to elaborate, because I'm understandably very confused at this point. Does she mean help with moving furniture, filing taxes, cleaning our apartment - what? She gave me some weird look and said to call if I wanted to hook up, and then I asked her 'Hook up to what?'. I mean, I'm not at the lab anymore, nothing to hook up with out here, is there? And why would I be needing to hook up to anything anyway? There aren't any doors or anything around that need hacking. Then she laughed, like she thought I was being funny, and clarified by asking if I wanted to hook up with her. I know! Mad, right? Especially since I'm pretty sure she's human and incapable of hooking up to anything at all. And then she gave me another weird look and walked off. All that over a box of Tuna Helper!" Exasperated, Wheatley threw his arms into the air and shook his head before returning them to supporting his son and stroking the soft, thin, dark-colored peach-fuzz on top of his head. "Overall, she seemed pretty daft to me and the whole interaction was just downright bizarre. And on top of all that, she wrote her number down on some old scrap piece of paper. Who does that? She should at least have some kind of business card or something, you would think, if she's offering services, even though she wasn't very clear on what they were. Very unprofessional. Don't understand what all the mystery was about. Chucked the paper straight into the recycling bin on my way out. We're not going to be wasting our time and money on someone who puts such a lazy effort into their business - isn't that right, Charlie? And your mum thinks something is funny, perhaps she will care to explain?"

Chell merely pressed her lips together and tilted them upwards in that smirky way that made Wheatley smirk back at her, even if he had no idea why she was smirking at him in the first place. She pulled her texting device out of her pocket, typed up a message, and showed it to him. Wheatley blanched.

"She- Sh-she what?!" he blurted, spluttering in both his surprise and abhorrence, "W-Why would she-..? How did she-..? All I did was help her get a box of bloody Tuna Helper off a shelf!" And then something else dawned on him, more horrible than the clarification he had just received, "Y-You don't think that I would-... seriously, you don't think-.."

At this, Chell shook her head emphatically and reached up to place a kiss on his burning cheek. She gave him a stern sort of look, one accompanied by a light-hearted smile, to show that she was not upset or worried. Wheatley wanted to relax, wanted to take her response at face value, but he still felt terribly anxious in light of the new information. Chell didn't really think he would ever take someone up on that kind of offer, did she? Such a thing had never even crossed his mind. Truthfully, he had never been even remotely interested in any humans until she came along, and even then he hadn't been aware of his own feelings until after he had come so close to losing her. After that, he never wanted to let her go again. Even letting her out of his sight was sometimes painful for him, even though he had learned to allow her plenty of space.

"Well," he muttered, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him, "I'm, I'm glad you don't think that I would, because I never, ever-... You're the only one, especially since-.. since-.. well, you know." He felt Chell's gentle touch as his arm, giving him a couple of comforting, gentle pats before slipping her hand into his, lacing their fingers and giving a soft squeeze. Wheatley felt the tightness that had threatened to take over him begin to loosen, a feeling which dissipated even more when he looked down at his small son, who sat nestled warmly against his torso, gazing up at him with his wonderfully blue eyes. "And Charlie..." was all he said, unable to think of what else to say for once and feeling that was enough anyway.

"Er, anyway," he began again, subdued, swinging their joined hands a little in an attempt to alleviate the tension he had unwittingly created, "So-.. after that, like I said, I tossed the paper and- and came straight home. And now here we are, walking around. These wrap things are pretty nifty, eh? Keeps him all nice and snuggled right up against you - once you get it tied up right, anyway. Look at him, he really likes it right there."

The little lad seemed to be particularly fond of having his head right above where Wheatley's core ran and hummed away, as if he received comfort from listening to it. Truth be told, Wheatley was particularly fond of it too, having his son right there. It made him feel important to have this little creature who needed him so much clinging to him with such pure trust. It made him feel more important than he had ever felt, even more than he had felt while plugged into the mainframe - in fact, that was a rather diminutive feeling in comparison. Everything about being plugged into the mainframe - his sense of importance, his sense of power, his sense of being respected, of being in control - had been bastardized, truncated, utterly false in comparison to the real thing. The mainframe didn't even register within the same ballpark and so Wheatley cast the thought aside almost as soon as it manifested.

He loved the way Charlie would stare up at him, quietly, as if trying to figure him out. This was not something Wheatley typically enjoyed - others staring at him and picking him apart - but he found that with Charlie he did not mind. Wheatley was proud of the way his son seemed to be so observant of his surroundings, drinking it all in with those ever-curious eyes, trying to figure it all out, dissecting the world and feeding it through a telescopic lens that Wheatley knew he never be capable of doing himself with the same level of patience by sheer virtue of the way his own brain had been tampered with. He sometimes caught himself feeling stung over the realization of all that had been taken from him - hell, he tried hard not to think about that, although it sometimes came over him without any warning - but overall he was so proud of his son, prouder than he had ever been of anything ever before, it was hard to hold onto anything else. It was such a wonderful, warm feeling, his chest swelled and felt like it would lift him as high as the clouds, maybe even as far up as outer space. Who could have ever guessed that Wheatley, the Intelligence Dampening Android, the moron built specifically to make an idiot out of the greatest mind ever built, had created something so incredible, so remarkable, so brilliant, it completely overshadowed anything any of those supposedly genius scientists had ever created. It was a constant delightful surprise to Wheatley and nothing could ever take that away from him, not even the scientists who had all but ruined him.

Babies, he had learned, were a science of their own. Trying to figure out what exactly they wanted or needed could sometimes be a challenge even if their needs were primarily limited to one of three things - food, excreting, and sleep. Charlie was calm for the most part, but the little guy knew absolutely nothing of pretense, especially when he was hungry. Luckily, Wheatley had learned the early warning signs where that was concerned.

"Ah, he seems to be looking for you, luv," Wheatley said when the baby suddenly began squirming around more and sucking on his fist. "Should we head on back over-...?" He gestured over at the spot they had taken under a large oak tree and together he and Chell made their way back over to it.

Upon arriving, Wheatley cooed softly at his son as he began to become more worked up, "I know, I know, you're hungry. Let's get you out of here." It took some fiddling with the wrap before he was able to be safely extricated. "Here you go, kiddo, go get your fill," Wheatley said as he handed him over to Chell, who immediately laid down on their blanket and began feeding the baby from her breast.

Wheatley heard a sigh of relief escape Chell the moment the baby latched on. She had her head propped up in her hand, which was propped up by her elbow against the ground. He watched the two of them watching each other, feeling warm and happy inside. Life was good and the day truly was perfect.

"Hey, while you're busy with that, I'll go ahead and get your lunch out," he said, moving over to their cooler and picking out the materials they had brought along for her lunch - the aforementioned canned tuna, some lettuce, tomato, and, of course, the bread on which it would all be assembled.

He was just bringing it over to her, noticing along the way that she was on the verge of falling asleep right there and resigning himself to sitting guard while she and the baby rested, when he heard footsteps approaching, followed shortly thereafter by the grating sound of someone clearing their throat.

"Excuse me."

Wheatley looked up, sandwich in hand, to see a blonde woman who appeared to be in her forties standing there just at the edge of their blanket and looking rather perturbed and red in the face.

"Uhhh..." he said, looking around for a moment, confused, before looking back to her, "You're excused?"

The woman scoffed, "Do you have to do that out in the open where everyone can see?"

Wheatley blinked, "Er-... do what? Eat lunch?"

The woman scoffed again and this time rolled her eyes, a gesture which immediately put him on guard, "No, I'm talking about her-" The woman stabbed a finger in the direction of a very surprised Chell, who no longer looked like she was about to fall asleep, "-doing that right there, in the middle of the park, in the middle of the day. It's very rude and disgusting."

This did not help Wheatley understand in the least. "...Laying down is rude and disgusting?"

"Oh my God," the woman breathed, though Wheatley still heard and became even more bothered. What the heck did this woman want? "No, I'm talking about- about her having her boobs all hanging out like that, in public. For God's sake, there are children around!"

Wheatley's face scrunched up even more. It was obvious to him that yes, there were children around, but what was not obvious to him was why this had anything to do with his girlfriend feeding their infant child and why it was bothering this noisy woman so much. He was totally, helplessly lost and so he looked to Chell for help. And then he felt his core drop into where his guts used to be.

Her face was doing that scrunchy thing too, only it was more red and to Wheatley she looked-... embarrassed? Angered? Something in between? She looked the way he used to feel after being chastised by one of his coworkers. Why should she be feeling that way? It was a nice day, they were minding their own business, not hurting anyone, and this woman had decided out of the blue to come ruin it. For what reason? Anger flashed through him, hot and prickly and sudden as a sandstorm.

"Look, I don't quite get what you're getting at or- or why you seem to be so upset, but of course she has to have one of her- one of her, one of them out because the baby is hungry. It's not like he can eat through her shirt, yeah? Why don't you go back over- over to wherever you came from and-.."

"This is a public space! She needs to cover up or do that in one of the bathrooms over there," the crazed woman spat, flailing an arm in the rough direction of one of the bathroom pavilions, "She is distracting my sons and my husband!"

"Ah," Wheatley said, finally beginning to understand. He looked over to where a bulky sort of man and a pair of teenage boys sat at a picnic table, all three of whom suddenly appeared to be quite interested in their red-and-white checkered tablecloth. "Well, I can see why it might be a bit distracting for him - they are quite lovely, aren't they? But honestly, they're for feeding the baby, not for random people to stare at, and if your husband is hungry, maybe he should have packed some sandwiches or something. Breast milk isn't really for adults and I don't think-.."

Wheatley watched as the red in the woman's face deepened another shade, turning an alarming shade of purple. He was just beginning to wonder if he should have someone call an ambulance for her, when she all but shrieked, "You're an idiot! You cover up or else I'll call the police on you for indecent exposure!"

It was at that moment that Wheatley felt that static tingle coursing through him at an alarming rate. He began to feel faint, spots of light popping before his eyes. Panicked, he knew what was coming and had no way of stopping it. He barely got out, "Wait-" before he felt the breath leave his artificial lungs and his vision go from black to white and then back to normal, only this time, he was looking through his own eyes, but not his eyes. It was more like he was feeling everything, all of his senses, projected straight into the essence of him.

Both the rude woman and Chell looked on in disbelief while all this was happening, watched as Wheatley swayed on his ungainly feet like a drunken giraffe, the tuna sandwich falling from his loosened grip and landing with a wet, messy splop on the blanket. Chell was in the process of dislodging the baby from her breast and covering up - much to his discontent, for he began to advertise his displeasure by crying - before Wheatley suddenly balanced himself back out by throwing his arms out wide, for a moment resembling a caricature of a scarecrow minus the straw hat.

He teetered. He tottered. He was quiet for a moment.

And then he woke back up.