In late Autumn Chell made a push to get Wheatley outside more. He'd spent most of the Summer trying to figure out the whole 'human body' thing (that and the 'how to make nice with the angry lady standing in front of him' thing), so the surface was still new to him. Chell had taken him on walks through town, and they'd spent a few days across the street picking apples at the farm, but aside from that Wheatley had spent most of his new life indoors. Chell had informed him that during the Winter months it would be too cold to spend much time outside, so he'd better get out while he could.

Wheatley had discovered that reading out on the porch was a nice way to spend time outside (with Chell, and) without the involvement of any physical activity. That's where he and Chell had spent an afternoon full of utter bliss. It was sunny that day, warm but crisp. The Autumn breeze added a refreshing sort of coolness to the air, and made the falling leaves perform an intricate waltz across the sky. Back on the ground Wheatley was curled up on the porch swing with Chell. She was nestled comfortably into his side, her nose buried in a book and one of her considerably shorter legs grazing the ground now and again so the swing lulled back and forth in a calming sort of rhythm.

It was utterly peaceful. And though Wheatley couldn't remember a day this perfect in his life, for some reason, he couldn't seem to enjoy it. He couldn't focus on his book long enough to read a page. Something just didn't feel right. Something was off.

So of course Chell picked up on it.

"You okay?" She asked, glancing up at him as she turned the page of her book. Her gaze barely grazed his, but Wheatley swore he saw a mischievous spark in her eyes.

"Hm?" Wheatley looked around for a moment as if she'd been talking to someone else (Chell had no idea as to who else she could have been talking to) before flashing her an uneasy grin that he tried to play off as cheerful. "Me? Oh sure! I'm good. I am great. A-okay. Right as rain."

He offered a half hearted laugh that he could tell she didn't buy.

"How's your book?" Chell asked softly.

Wheatley cleared his throat a bit too loudly. "Oh, it's um, it's absolutely marvelous. A real page turner."

"Ah." Chell gave a knowing smile. "Is that why you've been on the same page for about five minutes now?"

If he had still been a core Chell would have thought he'd somehow frozen. He sat perfectly still for a second or two before muttering an offhanded comment about being a slow reader.

Chell gave him a look that was caught somewhere between amused and sympathetic.

"Wheatley," She nestled into his side as she hooked an arm around his, and he could tell that he was really in for it now because that was her we're-going-to-have-a-talk voice. "is something wrong?"

"No, no, no! I'm fine, really."

Her tone turned a bit more skeptical. "You're sure?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine!" He wanted to peel her off and run away. "Why do you keep asking?"

"Because you've been very quiet tonight." Chell smiled despite herself. "Which usually means that you're thinking. Which is usually dangerous."

He faked another grin. "Very funny."

"I know." Chell gave an apologetic smile as she nudged his arm. When she spoke again her voice was softer. "But in all seriousness, you can tell me if something is wrong." (Wheatley thought it was quite the contrary. If Chell knew that something was wrong, he had to talk.)

"It's-" Wheatley stopped himself. For the first time in just about as long as he could remember, he didn't want to talk. This was something he didn't want to talk about. "It's silly." He wouldn't allow himself to meet her eyes, despite how badly he wanted to. "I'm being stupid."

At that Chell's voice turned sharp.

"Hey." Gently, but with purpose, she grabbed the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. He couldn't help but notice that the stubborn spark in her eyes had grown to a small blaze. "You are not stupid."

He had recently learned that she would just about fight him over compliments (aimed at her) and insults (aimed at himself).

"Thanks." He gave a sad sort of smile that turned teasing as he tried (and failed) to smooth out his shirt. Chell nudged him again, giving him a serious look, and with that he gave the this-is-all-very-funny act up. "It's just that- for some reason- I feel… really bad tonight. Not like, sick bad. More like… guilty bad." Suddenly ashamed Wheatley tried to shy away from her, but her arm linked around his held him in place. He squirmed. "Really guilty, actually. I don't know why, though. It's not like we've been arguing or I've made you angry- none of the usual stuff that brings it up has been going on. It's been a nice, quiet afternoon. I don't know why this just sprang on me so suddenly."

When he braved a glance at her she was looking towards town. He didn't think she was seeing it, though.

It was all too easy to forget that Chell had been through this before. Though the aftermath that she had faced was certainly not the same as his (her's was harder: she'd been badly hurt, unable to speak, and without anyone who understood what she had been through) she could relate to him more than anyone else. Or at least, he assumed so. Wheatley honestly had no way of knowing how she had handled her return to society, because he had been… elsewhere at the time.

"Emotions are strange things." Chell murmured.

At the sound of her voice something in his chest twisted (as it always did when she spoke) in a way that felt simultaneously terrifying and delightful.

'You have no idea.'

"Sometimes it's hard to change the way you're feeling, even if you don't know why you feel that way. But just so you know," A small, sincere smile tugged at her lips asher eyes met his. "there's no need to feel guilty anymore. You made some mistakes. We both did." Wheatley always felt a wave of relief when she said things like that. It was assurance that she didn't hate him anymore. Maybe she never did to begin with.

"The important thing is that you learned from your mistake and you fixed it. You apologized."

Chell paused, and when he tried to see if she was alright he couldn't help but notice that she was eyeing him rather strangely. Wheatley had spent enough time around her to know that she was giving him a look of calculation. He was about to call her out on it (if he couldn't get away with anything then neither could she) when she traded her testing expression for a smile. Her eyes glittered with happiness when they met his.

Adrenaline mixed with hope as somewhere a hyper little voice informed Wheatley This is important! She's finally going to do it! She's finally going to say it! But no, he knew better. Chell wasn't, was not- going to say-

"I forgive you."

The gentle rocking of the swing slowed to a halt.

Wheatley had waited years (of literally doing nothing but being sorry) to hear Chell say That. He had waited for so long that he'd begun to think that it would never actually happen, and now that it had he had no idea how to react.

It felt a lot like going into overdrive. He was vaguely aware that he had buried his face in the crook of her neck, that he was laughing somewhat hysterically and his face had somehow become wet. He heard someone ask, 'You can cry from being happy?' and someone reply,'There's a first time for everything.' And that was strange it seemed like their voices were getting softer somehow- but he didn't care.

Wheatley was suddenly hit with a sense of elation so strong that it wore him out. For the first time in years the guilt was gone, and nothing in his life had ever felt this perfect. He had never felt such pure happiness.

Or such utter confusion.

Why was it suddenly dark?

Where was Chell?

Wheatley sat up in the darkness to find that he was in his room, alone. The clock on the bedside table informed him that it was two in the morning.

Nothing he had seen was real.

Suddenly his eyes burned and it was nearly impossible to swallow- And he wanted to cry because no, she had Said It, she Forgave him and it was over, it was finally over after three years it was over and you're telling him it wasn't real? Was never real to begin with?

It wasn't real.

He had been back for a week or two. Chell could hardly stand to look at him, wouldn't speak to him, would not forgive him. Would probably never forgive him.

Wheatley had heard of dreams before, and had experienced nightmares for himself. Both were new to him, and here lately he'd been too tired and stressed to experience anything more than darkness.

When the nightmares came he would pull the blankets over his head and tell himself it wasn't real, it wasn't real.

Now he pulled the blankets over his head and sobbed.

He had never once imagined that a dream could feel worse than a nightmare.

Author's Note:

This was a request from Tumblr that I got way too carried away with. XD