At this time, Rick is not having that issue. He is striding to Wheatley's office with all the force of a bull with a target in mind, or rather, a specific goal. That being reaching Wheatley as quickly as possible without breaking into a full-on run. He is unusually focused as he makes his way through the corridors and down through the residential area, stopping only once he has reached the door to the office to announce his presence with a knock.
The knock receives a startlingly immediate response, and not at all a pleasant sounding one. The voice is distinctly Wheatley's, but the tone is sharp, and he doesn't even bother checking to see who's there. "Not taking any visitors right now, mate."
"It's Rick!" the scientist calls; undeterred, but not unshaken by the harshness of that tone. It doesn't sound right. It isn't Wheatley, yet the voice can belong to no one else. It makes Rick feel ill at ease, oddly out of his element. "C'mon, Wheatley, open up."
"I said I'm not taking any bloody visitors," Wheatley retorts, tone not softening in the least when Rick identifies himself. It's arguable that he actually processed the greeting at all.
Rick sighs. He puts his fingertips to the door and punches in the passcode with his thumb. "C'mon, Wheatley, don't be like this. I'm comin' in to check on you, I understand you're not doin' so hot."
"Get lost, Rick," the other man snarls from beyond the door. At least that's confirmation that he's aware enough to know who he's talking to, not that it's a lot of comfort. "I don't need anybody else babysitting me."
"I ain't coming to babysit, I'm coming to make sure you're doin' all right." Rick replies as he lets himself in.
"Sounds like the same thing." The room is dark; the lights are off. Only the computer monitor casts its glow on the room's occupant, who is leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head and one leg folded over the other. The way the light catches his eyes highlights the blue of them. "And I don't need either."
"Wheatley, you've always been one of the nicest guys I've ever known," Rick says as he approaches, a knot in his belly. "You know nobody's here to hurt you or nothin'."
"Well, thanks for that," Wheatley says, his cold gaze snapping from the middle distance to Rick. "But I didn't ask. Reckon least you could do is listen when I talk, right? Get out."
Rick draws in a shaky breath. He neither wants to leave nor to agitate Wheatley and make things worse. He doesn't know how to handle this. He doesn't know what to do.
"Hey, I'm listening," he assures him, showing his palms in surrender and stepping backward. "And I see you don't need me to check up on ya. What's gotcha so upset, though? Something, uh, happen, buddy?"
"Right, sure sounds like it." His arms have unfolded, hands now on the armrests of his seat, and it looks like to come nearer to him would be a grave error indeed. "Clearly I am not in the mood to talk about it."
"OK, fair enough," Rick says assuagingly. "Anything I can do?"
"Did Chell put you up to this?" He counters instead of giving an answer. "Sending you in here after me? Because neither of you think I can take care of myself?"
"No, ain't got nothing to do with Chell," Rick answers honestly, shrugging nonthreateningly. "I just wanted to see you."
"Don't patronize me, mate," Wheatley retorts sharply, his anger not to be deterred. "What did you want to see me for?"
Rick keeps his cool the best he can. "You're my friend, isn't that enough?"
"Oh, fuck off with that." The more Rick tries to be soothing and level headed, the more Wheatley sounds like he's looking for a fight. "I know what you're about. Can't a man relax in peace?"
Rick sighs, standing down. It is so frustrating to be so powerless. "Sure, sure you can. I'm sorry I bothered you."
"No, you know what? I bet you are. You selfish man. You only want one thing from me, I'm not dumb enough not to notice." Now he is on the offensive, sitting up with a devil of a look in his eye.
This catches Rick completely by surprise. "I, er... What?" He was almost out the door, unprepared for a second wind, and if this was no longer about him or Chell caring about Wheatley, then he couldn't guess what else the other man could be talking about.
"You're kidding me, aren't you? I know what you're about." Wheatley gives a clipped, humorless laugh. He's leaning forward in his seat, gripping the arm rest with one hand and gesturing with the other. It's possible for Rick to identify some of the gestures as signs. "Never understand what makes me so irresistible to you. I get I'm something of a looker, but aren't lots of people? Is that all there is to it? God knows it's not my glowing personality."
Rick's face reddens. He takes a step back into the room, the door behind him still closed. "No, that's not all there is to it at all!" he protests, feeling like he's putting his head too close to an oven. "Wheatley, you're as cute and thoughtful as they come."
"If you're looking to sleep with a body, the least you can do is be honest about it, love." He signs along with the last word, but it isn't the word love, or a word Rick knows- the finger sign for an X tapped twice to his cheek. "I'd appreciate it."
The reddening deepens, until Rick's cheeks are the colour of beets. They feel so hot that Rick could swear that he had burned them after all. "I've been honest with you," he manages. "I don't just want that, I want to, you know, do all that kinda thing with you. Going out under the the stars and holding hands, all of it. I just thought you weren't into me."
"God, you make yourself sound like such a romantic. You greet people by saying hello gorgeous; that's basically the antithesis of romantic." It's so unreal to hear him talking like that. Does any of this reflect what he normally thinks, or is it all just his altered state?
It's so hard to say in the moment. Naturally, it could really just be the drugs talking, but what it's just his honest feelings coming out uninhibited? Rick has honestly never felt so ashamed of himself before. It's strange and ugly, leaving him exposed and open.
"No harm's meant by it," he tells Wheatley. "It's just flirtin', it's all in good fun. I really don't mean to hurt anybody. What, are you... I dunno, does it upset you? What're you after? That I should stop doin' it to you, or stop doin' it to other people?"
"You're as blind as they bloody come. I don't know; what do you expect me to say here? That I'm actually madly jealous of you? I have bigger fucking things on my mind, you know? Haven't I? Not that you would know." His voice is full of biting venom, anger like this man shouldn't be capable of.
Rick swallows and shakes his head. "All I know is you got drugs in your veins and a twin sister to take care of, and that bastard Johnson ain't lettin' you out for air. At this point, I've got no idea what you think of me anymore and honestly, you're right, it really isn't important."
Wheatley's lip curls in undisguised agitation. His nails leave marks in the armrest. "Course she ran off and started telling people first thing, didn't she? Did she just- immediately tell you everything she knew?"
"No, Wheatley, we've known something was up!" Rick cries. He could kick himself for his misstep, but there's no retaking it now. Damn him, damn it all, damn Cave Johnson most of all. He just hopes Wheatley doesn't assume that he knows about where he got the drugs from. "Chell's not tellin' nobody nothin'!"
Wheatley laughs, and the mirthless sound bleeds into his words. "You're such a bloody terrible liar! You really do think I'm a moron, don't you? You didn't just casually assume drugs were involved, did you, mate? Neil and Paris too, I'm betting?"
"Wheatley, why don't you go back to your relaxin'?" Rick says, his voice strained, taking a step back towards the door again.
"Here I thought you wanted to talk to me," Wheatley says. He seems to dare Rick to leave. "Why don't you come have a seat?"
Rick feels like a cricket in a spider's web; bigger and stronger than the spider, but no less trapped and no less helpless against its venom. He furrows his brow anxiously. "I thought you didn't want to talk to me."
"Who said I do now?" Wheatley counters, lifting his chin challengingly.
Rick lifts his hands to either side of his head, palm up in a gesture of surrender. He comes over to sit, his heart pounding in his chest.
Slowly, Wheatley sits back, eyes as fixed as a cat on Rick. "What else did she tell you?"
Rick sighs. "That's honestly 'bout it. She was hidin' out scared and I let her know I was a friend. To both of you." It wasn't really a lie, just a convenient omission of Neil's and Paris's roles in this. If he could just leave them out of the conversation, that was two people he wasn't accidentally throwing under the bus, anyway, which meant that they stood a chance of not being treated as suspects by Wheatley.
"You're full of it," Wheatley says coldly, more and more frustrated by the other man's attempts at pacifism.
"What? It's true. She was scared and I knew you. She needed help." Rick insists. "She told me you were takin' this drug."
Wheatley looks away, perhaps briefly entertaining guilt, or perhaps just too angry to retort at first. "Am I just being paranoid? I know you're leaving things out on purpose. I don't like being talked about at the best of times."
Rick affects a worried, apologetic smile. "I know, Wheats. But that's all the story there is."
"Then tell me another one," Wheatley says, looking back at Rick.
"Sure. What about?" Rick asks, searching in the dark.
"Are you going to tell me what you were hoping to accomplish by coming in here with a guy you knew was on drugs?"
"I was just tryin' to check on you, scout's honour."
"Look." This is said with such a serious inflection, and his eyes are so rich and blue, that it almost sounds like Wheatley is supposed to sound. "I am interested in exactly two things right now, and neither of them have the first bit to do with honor."
"I..." Rick doesn't want to hazard the first guess as to what those two things might be, and so he doesn't. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Wheatley affirms, not looking away from Rick for a moment. "Crazy, isn't it? The whole point is for me to work better, but I don't feel like working at all. I just want to punch somebody over the railing. And now that I've talked about it a bit, I'm pretty warm to the notion of you bedding me. That's two, yeah?"
There's this feeling like all the air has just been sucked out of the room, making it impossible to breathe and causing Rick's ears to pop like when an airplane gains altitude. Rick has never been in an airplane. He's barely even been out of this state. He's never felt gravity suddenly change its properties the way it's doing right now, making him heavy and sluggish. He's never had the world miles below him before this moment.
"Oh... yeah." he says, almost a murmur. It's unlike him, the perpetual flirt. This is what he's wanted to hear but not remotely how he wanted to hear it, or when, and context makes the words sound sickening, phrasing makes them dirty.
He's a little confused about it, too. A moment ago Wheatley seemed disgusted with Rick for wanting to have sex with him. Now he says he wants him to? Even what with Wheatley being on drugs, it's enough to give a man whiplash.
Wheatley's body language has changed in that respect, too- he's sitting back, legs apart, leaning his elbow on one of the armrests of his chair. It's as if his whole personality has changed. Of course, in a way, it has. There's that devil of a look in his eye again.
"What'll it be, love?" He makes that sign again, with the X tapped against his cheek.
Any other day, Rick would have been on his knees by now. This isn't any other day.
"What's that sign?" he asks instead, gesturing loosely at Wheatley's hand.
"Means stop wasting my time and do all the dirty things you've always wanted to do to me," Wheatley says impatiently, tilting his head slightly. "Can't be that difficult to translate."
Rick's mouth goes dry. He never could have imagined Wheatley talking like this, and to hear him actually saying these words sounds surreal. There's a strange way that the word 'dirty' resonates, too, as if it reflects on his feelings instead of just being a way of sounding sexy. Just one more wrong thing about this whole wrong situation. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
He shakes his head. "Look, I... I'm sorry, Wheats, I just can't do that as it is. I'mma just leave you 'lone to clear your head for a bit, OK? I'll bring you some food and coffee."
"Are you kidding me?" The other man sounds incredulous almost to the point of disgusted. "Now is when you decide to be all concerned about what you can't do? Give me a break, why don't you? This is what you wanted from me. Suddenly you're not interested. Why the hell wouldn't you be interested?"
"Cuz you're outta yer mind on meth!" Rick answers, a little horrified. "You make it sound like I've harassed you, Wheats, give me a little credit!"
Wheatley doesn't give him credit, or an inch; he leans forward threateningly, like he's angling more towards the idea of fighting again. "Now's when you choose to care? Now's when you let it bother you? You didn't even notice before Chell told you. How the fuck do you not notice a body is on drugs? It took her all of a day to figure it out! Does it even bother you now outside of the fact that you think you're above sleeping with me because of it?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I do not think I'm above sleeping with you, don't get it into your head I think I'm too good or somethin', you just ain't sober!" Rick protests, reeling before the onslaught of these heavy accusations. "I don't... know what to tell you. I knew somethin' was wrong, and I have been tryin' to understand, I just... I mean, you're right, I should've realized or done something, I, I really had no idea!"
"You're goddamn right you should have realized! But did it even make a difference to you?" Wheatley makes a broad, dismissive gesture with both arms. "Get out, then, if you're not interested in what I'm offering, because I have nothing else to offer."
"It... It does make a difference," Rick says as he starts towards the door, still facing Wheatley. "For what it's worth, Wheatley, I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry." This said, he turns around and continues out of the office.
Wheatley grips the armrests of his chair and doesn't say anything, but as soon as the door shuts behind Rick, there is the sound of something smashing into it and shattering, followed by an incoherent cry of frustration and anger.
Rick gasps and flinches. He naturally wheels around to look behind him, but of course he can't see or do anything about this terrible expression of impotent rage. His heart twists in his chest, and he hurries away.
He feels responsible for this mess, as Wheatley has made him so, and he has accepted it. The weight is crushing.
It has been a long time that Rick's worked here, but suddenly the whole facility seems off, like he's lost in an unfamiliar place or time. Does Wheatley really blame him? If so, is he right to? Shouldn't Rick have realized what he was going through?
He'd known that something was wrong, he'd known that Wheatley was keeping too much to himself, that he just wasn't available, that he seemed so much more irritable with him, with Paris— even with Neil. He wasn't acting right, he wasn't acting like himself, and Rick had just let that blow right past him. They all had a lot more work to do since the GLaDOS project got good and started up, and he supposed he'd chalked it up to that. New scientists coming in, Mr. Johnson refusing to hire anybody to help Wheatley out; hell, Rick's had his own hands pretty full on account of Aperture's "bold new direction." He just doesn't know anymore how he didn't see it.
This place seems hellish and labyrinthine, like it doesn't have an exit; only secrets, lies, and manipulation.
These thoughts consume Rick as his feet carry him where they will carry him. How could they not have realized what was going on with Wheatley? How could he not have realized what was going on with Wheatley, claiming as he does to be so infatuated with him, and moreover, being such close friends? Is it really his fault?
He's out of the residential sector before he actually realizes it, back in the flat grey hallways leading up to the test tracks where he and Paris and Neil are all currently stationed.
It's muscle memory that takes him where it will, and he allows it to without mind. As far as scientists working for an insidious, cutting-edge corporation go, he is a surprisingly simple man. His thoughts consume him now, and he can only concentrate on his horrible dilemma. Is it his fault? Well whose else can it be? He can't pawn it off on Paris and Neil, nor indeed Wheatley, who accepted the stuff from someone he'd thought he could trust. And yes, it is Cave Johnson's fault, damn that man to the fire, but Rick should have noticed, he should have known.
"Rick? Oh, gosh, you startled me!" Neil is standing suddenly in front of Rick, one hand lifted to his chest, amber eyes wide. Rick entered one of the testing labs without even realizing it; it's a relatively small room, containing desks and computers and workbenches, with a window on one side overlooking a test chamber. "I kind of thought you weren't coming back to work. How's Wheatley? Did you see him?"
Rick blinks as if he's only just now seeing Neil, which in a way he is. He sighs and shakes his head with a groan. "Mnnh... He ain't doing great. How's things here? You still got Chell?"
"Yeah; she's down with Paris in the test chamber, he's checking out the paint job they did in there," Neil replies, gesturing towards the observation window. "But tell me about Wheatley. What did he say?"
Rick smiles, melancholy in his eyes despite the sincerity of it. "I'm glad we're all gettin' along," he says, which comes out as a sigh. He reaches up and scratches his beard awkwardly, frustratedly. "He ain't himself. Ain't himself at all. He's so angry, so aggressive... he blames me for not knowing somethin' was wrong... He's so messed up right now."
"Oh. Oh, Rick..." Neil reaches out as if to put a hand on Rick's shoulder, but stops just short, a comforting but not physical gesture. "You know it's nothing you did. It's up to us to help him, but you're not to blame. You know that, don't you?"
Rick shrugs, trying to affect a nonchalant expression. It's eating him up inside. He doesn't know what to believe. "Eh, yeah..." he says noncommittally.
This seems to satisfy Neil, however, who nods and retracts his hand. "Good. We'll work this out somehow. I bet if we can just figure out why he can't go back up to the surface and help him out there, Chell will be able to take care of the rest."
"You're right. It's our responsibility now to get our buddy topside and outta here for good," Rick concludes, folding his arms for effect. He gets a little rejuvenated by the resolution; it's exactly the sort of mission statement he needs.
"That's right!" Neil says encouragingly, snapping his fingers. He hesitates, and then, a moment later, continues in a slightly more subdued tone. "Do you think maybe... we should leave too? It's just a job, I guess. But lately it's really different. Not so simple."
Rick takes this question passionately, using the soundproof nature of the room to his advantage as he makes his case. "Hell yeah I do! I think all five of us need to hightail before you, me, n' Paris end up like Wheatley, and Chell ends up without a brother. We've got options! We can go someplace else, even if the pay ain't as good! We can take up teachin' if worse comes to worst. But... if it comes down to it, I don't know about you, I'll consider it a success if we can just get the Dynamic Duo out."
"Maybe Black Mesa is hiring," Neil jokes, chuckling nervously. "But- you're right, though. I was just supposed to be working with the moon rocks. I didn't sign on for any of this, the worrying about my friends, the drugs, whatever the heck is ever going on with the GLaDOS project- oh. Do you think I should... I mean, maybe I should talk to Virgil about it, too."
Rick frowns, and he takes a hand from the crook of his arm to scratch just above his beard. His hesitation shows on his face before he shakes his head. "I don't know... What if he raises a stink about it?"
Neil seems less sure in the face of Rick's doubt. "I'm not so sure he would. I don't wanna go telling him about Wheatley or anything, but if there's bad stuff happening- maybe he and Mel should be packing up too."
"I know you're friends with the guy, but... d'you think he'll believe us over Mr. Johnson?" Rick asks, softening a little.
"I don't know," Neil admits, but he does so with redoubled conviction. "But I should at least tell him about it if we're all about to fly into an asteroid belt. And let him make his own decision."
That makes sense, coming from Neil, and Rick decides that it's better not to argue the finer points of abandoning a friend when that's exactly what he's in the middle of trying to avoid. "Yeah, alright. Just as long as he doesn't suspect about us or Wheatey."
"Yeah. Okay," Neil says. He doesn't sound like he was planning on saying anything pertaining to Wheatley anyway, and he fidgets with his keychain. "I'll talk to him in a bit, then."
"Good man," Rick replies, and goes to give Neil a hearty pat on the shoulder. He stops his hand before it can make contact and shoves it into his pocket instead, making like he had no intention of touching the other man.
As he withdraws his hand, Neil gives him a warm, appreciative smile. They are a strange group. But they understand each other.
"I'm gonna see if Paris and Chell are still down there," Neil says, sliding the keychain in his pocket, and moving towards the observation window.
"Sounds like a plan," Rick agrees, heading over to a desk and sitting down. He isn't gonna get any work done, of course, but this feels right in the moment. He sighs heavily and lets his face fall onto the keyboard.
"Looks like Chell is gone," Neil remarks thoughtfully. "Paris is coming up. Wonder where she headed off to?"
Rick's head jerks up off of the keys before they can leave squares on his skin. "What? Chell's not with 'im?"
"Nope. I guess she left while we were talking, or maybe just before you got here." Pause. "I hope she didn't go to see Wheatley, if he's still in such a bad way."
"Yeah, I hope so, too!" Rick exclaims, getting up and out of his seat fast enough to send the whole chair whizzing backwards. In great, quick strides, he makes for the door without another word, like a man possessed on the hunt for that missing girl.
Neil hurries over in a state of alarm, actually running to block Rick from leaving. "Rick, wait. She's a really smart lady! I don't think she'd go doing anything rash. Even if she did go see Wheatley, you might just make things worse if you barge in on them."
Rick's face and ears heat up, the last time he'd barged in on Wheatley still painfully recent and painfully fresh. He doesn't quite look at Neil, as he stops and breathes hotly.
"But what'f I can still stop 'er?"
"I... I don't know. It's hard to know. Why don't we ask Paris if he knows where she went?" Now Neil moves to the door, poking his head out in the hopes of seeing their friend coming up from the test track.
Paris, of course, is still on his way up, and it isn't long before he comes into view, muttering to himself about something or another.
Behind Neil, Rick brushes back his lab coat and puts his hands firmly on his hips as he watches Neil blocking the only exit, his face still markedly redder than usual. He presses his lips to one side.
"Paris," Neil greets immediately, and without preamble, jumps right in. "Where's Chell? Did she say where she was headed? Is she going back to her brother? Because Rick said he's not doing so great right now."
Paris shook his head. "No, no, she's going to scope out a way to the surface. I warned her to be careful, and asked her to allow one of us to accompany her, but she insisted that she travel alone to draw less attention."
"And you just let 'er?" Rick demands, seething.
"What else was I meant to do?" Paris asks, shrugging. Unafraid of the larger, stronger man, for he has no need to fear his ire. "I couldn't very well detain her against her will, now could I? I tried to reason with her, but she refused to listen."
"You know how Wheatley can be when he puts his head to something. Any twin of his is bound to be even worse," Neil points out gently. "She still has her phone, doesn't she? Do we have her number?"
Paris nods. "I asked for it before she left. She was reluctant, but I got her to understand how important it is."
"Well, that's good anyway." Rick sulks.
"See? She can get in touch with us if she needs us, and the other way round, too." Neil says soothingly. "Paris, could you text us that number?"
"Certainly, I shall do so now," Paris agrees. It only takes him a moment to follow through.
Even knowing what it is, Rick still checks his own phone, almost compulsively. Paris rolls his eyes at him but doesn't comment on it.
Neil smiles at the both of them, but it's a smile heavy with nerves. He doesn't know Chell well enough to know that she really knows what she's doing. He just knows they can't stop her.
Chell is on her way back towards the elevators right now. She isn't sure yet what approach they could take; they can't exactly drag Wheatley to the lift without somebody noticing; he would fight unless they could pacify him or knock him out, and she's already learned firsthand that the possibility exists of meeting Cave Johnson along the way, however great or slim that may be. She isn't really sure what she's even looking for at this point, but she looks anyway.
The idea of forcing Wheatley to go anywhere in the state he's in is laughable, and knocking him out sounds well and good until one considers how to then carry a whole unconscious man to an elevator without being noticed. Nobody bothers her as she makes her way to the crossroads she first emerged into, but when she tries to enter the elevator lobby, the transparent door proves to be locked tight.
It definitely wasn't locked before.
Oh. Chell doesn't like the look of this, a thrill of fear racing up her spine as he gives the door one more push, as if this time it might open. She'd been right to come back and check; it would have been a disaster to come back here with Wheatley expecting the door to be open. The glass probably wouldn't break as easily as the broken door outside, and there are definitely security measures to keep somebody from getting out who isn't meant to.
Most importantly, it tells Chell in no uncertain terms that somebody is onto her, and she doesn't need to guess who.
"You look lost."
There's somebody standing behind her, talking in a song sweet voice, a perfect white brow lifted almost in disinterest.
Chell draws in a deep breath before slowly turning around to face the other woman, drawing her phone out yet again as she does. She feels her heart beating in her throat.
GLaDOS doesn't even look angry or smug. Her golden lips are set in a slight, idle frown, and her golden eyes look on in vague interest- or, the one that isn't hidden by her hair. "Chell Rattmann."
Chell feels a shiver at hearing GLaDOS say her full name. It's only to be expected she should know her surname, but for her to say it without Chell ever having told it to her gives the unnaturally beautiful woman the appearance almost of being all-knowing. She nods deeply to her.
"Hello, ma'am," Chell's phone reads.
"What are you doing? Those elevators haven't worked in months." It's a lie. Chell knows it's a lie, and GLaDOS knows that Chell knows it's a lie.
Chell frowns slightly at this. "I didn't know."
"Didn't you." It's not a question. GLaDOS strides closer, to stand beside Chell, and delicately touches the access panel with the tips of her fingers. "Were you leaving already? I would miss you."
"Would you?" Chell's phone asks casually, lacking any of the intent that tone should convey.
GLaDOS gives a slight smile, but doesn't answer this question. "Why are you even down here? Does he mean that much to you?"
Chell presses her lips together. Though she hesitates, her expression is firm. She nods.
"Why?" The imposing woman asks, lifting her chin slightly. "Much as I look, I can't find one single redeeming quality."
Chell wrinkles her nose in a snarl, like an outraged dog. She gestures to herself and then makes a sweeping motion to indicate all of herself.
"Use your words," GLaDOS says, smug in spite of her cool carriage.
This Chell does not allow to get under her skin. She has lived her whole life mute; of course she's heard this sort of thing before. Besides that, it is an insult against her. She relaxes her expression, though her blue eyes remain steely, and she types her answer on her phone.
"All due respect, you simply haven't looked hard enough."
GLaDOS watches Chell type with a striking patience; she doesn't fidget, doesn't look away, but observes as if the other was speaking aloud. Her expression barely changes as the words come from the phone. "Clearly, you have to look very, very hard."
Chell rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "What I mean is that you haven't looked at all. You aren't the kind of person who sees good in people, are you, GLaDOS?"
"It doesn't get you far, looking for things that aren't there," GLaDOS says coolly. "You looked for the best in your brother, and he repaid you by developing a drug habit and an attitude problem."
Chell frowns, but with worry rather than anger this time. "Tell me: why would Aperture want one of its employees to be taking drugs?"
"Who says Aperture wants that?" Comes the ready retort. "Just because happens doesn't mean it's desirable."
"Because you are more than aware of it and you don't do anything about it." Chell just as readily counters, wishing that her reader app could convey some real emotion, passion to put the extra force behind her words. As it stands, she has to rely on her body language for that. "It makes him work harder, after all."
"That's true. I suppose it just worked out in a positive way for us." The elegant woman is unapologetic, unswayed by Chell's passion. "You should honestly take advantage of the situation and get a new one."
"In the real world, you don't just replace people like appliances." GLaDOS's carelessness is starting to get on Chell's nerves, but she keeps herself steady. "Why else would I come?'
"How should I know? You're the dangerous, mute lunatic, not me." She tilts her head, assessing Chell. "Still... a dangerous, mute lunatic with conviction."
Chell nods sternly. "I only have one thing that I want."
"Right... to keep the moron safe." A moment's pause. "Maybe I can help you with that."
Chell turns her head slightly, eyeing GLaDOS with distrust. "What's the catch?"
GLaDOS smiles. "I do have ulterior motives. But they don't entail a particular catch for you. I am still going to say you owe me a favor, however."
Chell presses her lips together and knits her brow. She nods and gives GLaDOS a long, assessing look before going back to the phone. "As long as this gets him out, I'll do whatever you want."
"Good. First I'll have to find out why he doesn't have surface clearance," GLaDOS says. She has a certain air of always being in control. "That won't be hard. Just do me a big favor and keep from causing any trouble while I do it, alright?"
Chell nods affirmatively, although she has some pretty sizable reservations as to what reasons could convince GLaDOS to go from hating her to wanting to help her. Of course, she could have just been reading her wrong; GLaDOS seems like a driven woman above all else.
"Understood."
"Good. By the way, you're being reassigned." The topic is changed so smoothly that it sounds like part of the same thought.
Chell blinks and draws back. She almost doesn't remember she needs to use her phone to answer at first, her hands extending outward and to the sides before her, palms up, in a gesture that is more universally understood than most signs. Then it hits her, and her thumb slides across the screen to voice it as, "What?"
"I said, you're being reassigned." GLaDOS says deliberately. "You didn't think Mr. Johnson would let a position he didn't even authorize stay filled, did you?"
Chell sighs and shakes her head. "Guess not."
"You're lucky he likes you, or you wouldn't even be here anymore." A slight shake of the head, as if perhaps she thinks Chell shouldn't be here. Likely. "Anyway, you've been selected for the testing initiative."
The testing initiative! Chell recognizes the words at once. Wheatley had had some very strong opinions about that, whatever it was. This, and its anonymity make it large and intimidating, yet perhaps it is the answer to at least some of Chell's questions. She nods.
"What is the testing initivative?"
"An initiative for testing," GLaDOS replies, as though this explains everything. Then she makes a little noise like she can't believe she has to explain this, and goes into an explanation that sounds downright scripted. She reads it as if off a teleprompter. "Good test subjects are hard to come by. So we use you, employee of Aperture Laboratories, instead. We are always coming up with the latest in high tech innovations of science- and innovations need to be put through their paces before they can actually be used. That's where you come in. Congratulations, you've been selected to be a pioneer on the very edge of progress. Be advised that accepting this offer is mandatory as outlined in your employee contract, and refusal may result in immediate termination. Aperture is not liable for any injuries, death, major illnesses, or minor inconveniences incurred as a result of testing."
This introduction was not remotely what Chell had been expecting in response to her question, and it caught her very much by surprise. Her expression was frozen for a long moment, like a computer on standby, and then she went through the process of waking herself from it; very short, but it feels like it takes forever. It ends with her remembering how to write.
"Right, so... product testing."
"Sure." GLaDOS says, as if the description Chell has given it is woefully insufficient. "We have a number of projects, but the primary one we're testing right now is- well, with all the time you spend around Rattmann and his disturbing group of friends, I'm sure one of them have told you already. Wait, no, you're Rattmann too. With all the time you spend around the moron."
Chell frowns in irritation at the insult and shakes her head. She does have an idea, now that GLaDOS presents it to her, and realizes that the testing initiative must be a way of getting employees to volunteer to try things like that device which Chell had been helping to check the testing room for less than an hour ago. It sounds a miraculous device, from what little she's heard of it, and the young woman isn't sure that it will or can work, but Paris and Neil had seemed very confident in the thing, and she is inclined to believe them.
GLaDOS seems terribly inconvenienced. "I suppose any sister of his can't be relied on to pay much attention. I am referring to the Aperture Hand-held Portal Device. You'll be required to use it to make your way through various... simple puzzles."
Chell nods, still with a bit of a frown on her face. Yes, she gets it. She's just tired of having Wheatley be insulted right to her face.
"Glad to know you aren't both totally simple," GLaDOS says, tiringly enough. "I'll escort you to the test track and get you started."
Chell sighs frustratedly, but agrees all the same, stepping a bit closer to GLaDOS with an expectant look, waiting for the pale woman to guide the way.
It seems like a long walk, with GLaDOS's heels clicking against the floor - concrete, grate, tile, or whatever the floor becomes, nothing causes even the slightest falter in her graceful stride. "You might have seen part of the testing track already, from the outside. Portions of this track in particular come very close and even intersect with the residential area."
Chell nods. She can't help but to get swept up in the way GLaDOS walks, admiring her grace and elegance in spite of herself. Though she'd initially very much disliked her for trying to keep her out of Aperture, and indeed still is very much irritated with her for her rude words towards her and especially her brother, there is something about the almost otherworldly beauty of the white-haired woman that makes it difficult for Chell to harbor any genuine resentment towards her.
"Hopefully, this will keep you busy for awhile. I'll stay for awhile, and come check on you in the evening when your shift is over." GLaDOS continues, glancing back at Chell. If she notices the way the other woman is observing her, she doesn't say anything about it, although she does spend a few moments watching in return before looking ahead again.
Chell's lips quirk almost into a smile, but she doesn't say anything in return. She feels scrutinized in a way she can't quite explain. Maybe it's just that her observations are making her feel exposed.
GLaDOS leads her more or less back the way she'd come from, though not exactly to the same place. Seems like the test tracks extend pretty far, and wind to a lot of different places in the facility; it's pretty amazing to think how big the facility itself must be.
Chell can only imagine; the main building looked impressive from the outside, yet it encompasses only a very small portion of the facility itself. The rest extends further underground than she can possibly guess, filling a wide space in what she's heard was a salt mine or something like it. The residential area alone contains rows upon rows of chambers the size of hotel rooms, and to look up is to see machinery, catwalks, and segmented walls extending for what feels like forever.
"Here we go," She says, stopping in front of a door and putting her fingertips on the access panel. It slides open for her at once, into an observation room much like the one Neil and Paris had shown her. This one, however, does not contain Neil and Paris.
Chell straightens her back as the door opens, not presuming to walk past GLaDOS but rather staying where she is until prompted otherwise. If she were honest, she's a little nervous. She has no idea who or what she's about to be confronted with.
GLaDOS puts a hand on the small of Chell's back and gives her a gentle push into the room. "Get in there. Dr. Arachne will show you what you need to do. And she's trained in working with feral animals, so you should get along fine."
Chell glares at her, although the touch is surprising enough that that's all she can do.
She heads straight over to Dr. Arachne instead of bothering with GLaDOS any further, ready to find out what exactly she'll be doing for the test. She expects it will have a lot to do with firing the portal device to make sure it works. (But maybe it will also involve animals somehow?)
GLaDOS watches the scientist receive Chell, hands folded behind her back and gaze cold and analytical.
Dr. Arachne is GLaDOS's visual antithesis, dark from her head to her feet, and clearly human in her dimples and slightly messy hair. There's something unnerving about her anyway, though, something difficult to pin down exactly. Maybe it's the drop earrings made to look like little spiders. "Oh, are you a new subject?"
Chell nods and has her phone introduce her. "Chell Rattmann," the reader says. Then, the young woman offers her free hand.
"Dr. Phoebe Archne." Dr. Arachne shakes Chell's hand, and then holds her own out for the phone. "I'm afraid you can't have that anymore until the testing is over. I'll put it in a locker for you."
Chell gives her an anxious look, but, well, it's not as if she can protest, and besides, she isn't going to need it during the test. She turns the phone off and hands it over compliantly.
The woman takes Chell's phone- her voice in this place -and carries it in those long, careful fingers to place it in a lock box, which is tucked away in a file cabinet. "There we go. It'll be safe in there. While I'm here, are there any other things you're carrying? No unauthorized items are allowed on the test tracks. That includes, but is not limited to, spiders and medical implants."
Spiders? That seems rather out of place— regardless of the scientist's name. Chell nods, having brought nothing else. Perhaps it was a lack of foresight on her part, but to have brought anything else into Aperture would really only have been a hindrance, particularly when she'd needed to change into the jumpsuit.
"Good. Be aware that any contraband- including spiders and medical implants -will be destroyed on contact with the material emancipation grill. This is for your own safety." Something about destroying medical implants on contact doesn't sound especially safe. "Were you assigned to the Portal device?"
"Yes," says GLaDOS, who hasn't moved from her place beside the door. "Nothing spider-related, I'm afraid, Dr. Arachne."
"Pity," says Dr. Arachne, seeming a little less comfortable to realize GLaDOS is still there. "Well, Chell- come meet the Portal device."
Chell glances back at GLaDOS with relief almost tangible. Then she looks to Dr. Arachne with a gesture of agreement, starting to become nervously excited about this in spite of everything that's been happening down here.
The thing in question is sleek and white, though not nearly as bright as the white that GLaDOS is. One end of it has an opening to fire from, complete with little black claws. The other end has an opening for a person to insert their arm.
"There's a lot of people working on this project," says GLaDOS, "and a few different versions of the device."
"But this is the most successful and the most spider-resistant," Dr. Arachne says at once, not wanting to appear outdone.
"Disclaimer: tests for spider resistance have not yet been run for the Portal device," GLaDOS retorts coolly. "It is, however, not waterproof."
Chell reaches out to accept it with tremendous care, her eyes sweeping over it as if she could read its every secret if she only looks at it intently enough. She slips it over her arm, and is pleased by the secure, yet comfortable fit as her hand curls into a fist over the grip. She supports the front with her other hand, and takes a moment to get a feel for the weight and the shape of it. There is something very right about this.
It reacts, lights on the side and the end giving off a gentle glow, the little claws flexing. GLaDOS looks at Chell with a strange sort of expression. "...Please proceed into the first test chamber."
Virgil groans and steps back from his work, leaning his head back as he brings a hand up to smooth his hair. They're stretching him so thin these days it's no wonder he's started to lose weight. He feels like any day now he's going to have a breakdown and they'll have to send a technician up for him. Isn't he too important for this kind of treatment? Doesn't he have better things to fix a server when he's the top expert on the transference technology?
It wouldn't be quite so bad if he didn't have to come all the way down here for it. True, the highly impressive Portal project is mostly run in the lower levels, but by and by, the whole place seems somehow unwelcoming compared to where he normally works.
The door opens, and somebody comes in behind him. Likely maintenance.
Virgil doesn't turn around. He needs the time to adjust his collar and his attitude, to make himself look presentable so that he can keep up that air of professionalism that he has created for himself, the standard that his post demands. He's also kind of hoping that, whoever it is, they'll walk on by without addressing him.
The person comes closer to him, until their smaller presence is right behind him, not quite invading his personal space. So much for them leaving him alone. Suddenly hands cover his eyes from behind, and a pleasant voice asks, "guess who?"
Virgil gasps softly, and then he exhales again, as if releasing that gasp again, and all of the tension and pain in his body along with it. His posture relaxes, and a smile creeps across his lips. "Oh! Hmm... Give me a clue."
She laughs, a sound like a bell, so light and full of affection. Her voice has a gentle Southern inflection, charmingly American. "Okay, clue. Hmmm. Well, you didn't have lunch with me."
"Oh, I really wish I could have," Virgil replies, sounding regretful as much as apologetic, "But I'll make it up to you tonight."
"Will you now?" She gives an interested hum, her hands sliding down to his shoulders. In this slightly shifted position, she guides him to turn around to face her. "Tempting notion."
His arms move naturally with the movement to wrap around her waist as Virgil is turned, and his eyes soften the moment they set upon her face. His shoulders slope, and even in this wretched place, overworked, he feels like he is home.
"Tempting enough for you to take me up on it?" he asks flirtatiously.
Mel's arms slide up around his neck, her smile softening at his flirting, shifting a little closer in the loose embrace. "Could be. Depends what exactly you're offerin'."
"How's dinner? We can pick a movie, order in, my treat," Virgil offers, warm and hopeful.
"As if I would ever say no to that," Mel says with a little laugh, and she leans up to kiss him.
Virgil meets this with gentle enthusiasm, humming softly and pulling her to himself as their lips meet. For a moment, it's as if his every problem is far away, and even Aperture itself does not exist; there is only the two of them.
Mel makes a soft, happy sound against Virgil's lips, hugging him a little tighter. When the kiss breaks, she's a little red in the face, like when she's been running. "You're such a sweet kisser."
Virgil chuckles, deep in his chest. "That's because of you." he answers, and lightly touches the tip of Mel's nose with his fingertip.
She turns away from the touch playfully, and then moves to kiss his hand instead. "I have some real fine news to share, too!"
"Do you?" Virgil is intrigued by this, brightening up. Were he a dog, his ears would have raised. "What might that be, Mel?"
"You think I'd just tell you? After you didn't even have lunch with me?" She shakes her head. "Absolutely not. You can wait until dinner. Maybe I'll tell you after you romance me proper."
Virgil pouts his lower lip exaggeratedly. "That's not fair, I couldn't help being assigned down here," he says in a mock sulk. Then he smiles again, and, dropping the tone, says "Ah well, I'll just have to kiss the truth out of you," which he punctuates by kissing her cheek, jaw, and neck.
"Oh!" She says, more in delight than in surprise, holding him tighter and leaning her head back to accommodate. "That's cheatin', you absolute rascal. Now I'm definitely not telling you."
"I think you already weren't going to tell me until dinner," Virgil says slyly, his lips brushing her neck.
"I wasn't and I'm not," Mel says, her toes curling in pleasure. "But that doesn't make this not cheatin'. Now come off it, you're going to make me late going back to work."
"Well... OK, I suppose we can't have that," Virgil says agreeably, leaning back up again. He still has his arms around her, though, and he gives her another tender, appreciative smile before letting her go. "Thank you for paying me a visit, Mel."
"You know there's nowhere I'd rather be," she replies, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "Although at some point in the near future I'd like us to be somewhere that's not so far underground."
"Maybe so, yeah," Virgil says, not dismissively. He says this more like it's an idea he's entertained before, but has reservations about, since he is very proud of his work. Where else but Aperture could he perform such important work? Maybe there is some smaller, less corporatized facility he could find to work for topside, though. He supposes he'll have to give it some thought, once the GLaDOS project has concluded.
"There's better places for us. And test subject isn't exactly the path I hoped my career would take," she argues gently, persuasively. "Besides, I'd love to move back a little closer to home, if you-"
"Oh- uh. Am I interrupting?" Neil has just come through the door, and looks not just awkward, but also embarrassed, like a deer that's just walked into somebody else's very personal headlight.
"Oh, nah..." Virgil feels a touch of warmth in his cheeks. "It's, um, you're fine." He looks at Mel. "You make a compelling case, but if you want to get back to work on time— and I've really got to get back to it, too— we'll have to carry on this conversation tonight. OK? I love you."
"You're right," she says, and she punctuates this with a last kiss on the cheek before she pulls away. "Don't do anything you don't have to do. I love you too."
Moving through the door, she pauses to give Neil a smile and greeting, which he returns a little nervously.
Virgil gives this little wave after her that consists of raising his hand and opening his fingers briefly. As she leaves, his smile is already fading away.
He clears his throat and puts his hands on his hips while he straightens himself, trying again to look professional. "So, Neil. What can I do for you?"
"Hey," Neil says as he approaches, glancing back briefly over his shoulder- maybe out of a sense of awkwardness, or maybe just to make sure Mel is really gone. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. This was just the only opportunity I had to come and talk to you. Paris and Rick are covering me. I just had to talk to you."
He seems to try not to get fixated on the word talk, or the fact that he said it twice, but he mutters it under his breath a moment later.
Virgil's brow knits. "What about?" he asks, paying no mind to this. His only concern is that Neil apparently needed to come and have a word with him badly enough to leave his station and get his friends to cover him— not to mention that said friends did it, in spite of their personal feelings towards the lanky Norwegian.
"Um, were you guys talking about moving when I came in?" Neil asks, in that rambling, word-over-word way he talks. "That's kind of actually relevant. But if you guys are planning on moving anyway then I guess it's not... important? But if you're on the fence about it, definitely move."
"Why?" Virgil asks suspiciously, feeling a chill to the air that absolutely was not there before. There's something oppressive about this conversation, as if it's a shadow of doom bearing down on the both of them, and he has no idea why.
"Just something me and the guys were talking about. So I was kind of worrying. And I wanted to let you know." The answer is lame, a dam holding back the flood of the truth that wants so much to rush from Neil. He's not good at keeping secrets.
"Know what? Neil, what are you getting at?" Virgil asks, stepping closer to him with increasing urgency in his voice.
"It's just. Um. Aperture has been kind of weird for a little while, hasn't it?" Neil says, a bit flighty in his answer. "We just weren't thinking it was a great place to hang around anymore. Haven't you thought so?"
"I... well, yes, actually, now that you mention it. But what are you talking about specifically?" Virgil presses, getting closer still.
"Well..." Neil moves back a step, a little alarmed by the sudden proximity. "You know. They've been overworking everybody a lot. For one thing. Even you always seem more stressed out nowadays than before."
Virgil adjusts his tie self-consciously. He wonders if Neil notices the weight thing, or the dark circles under his eyes. "Yes, but we have been trying to meet a certain deadline with the GLaDOS project, you know..."
"Really?" Something suddenly seems to occur to Neil. "Oh, have you been- I mean, did they give you something, too?"
Virgil pales slightly. "Give me something?"
"Yeah. You know. Just. Something. Nonspecific. Did they give you something." He's rambling.
"Could you be a bit less nonspecific?"
"You know! Just, uh, anything they might have given you. For work."
"Neil, be straight with me! What are they giving people?" Virgil whispers harshly, reclaiming the space between them. "What is going on in this place?"
"Meth?" Neil asks loudly, intimidated, and then immediately claps his hands over his mouth.
"Meth!" Virgil echoes in horror, putting his hands abruptly on the sides of Neil's shoulders. "That— of course, that explains so much! But who's giving the scientists meth?"
Neil squeaks through his hands, and then mumbles through them. It is impossible to tell what he's saying.
"Come on, Neil, this is important!" Virgil urges. "I hadn't realized— does anybody else know yet? OK, this is really really bad. I need to finish my work but if people are taking meth to get the job done... Oh no, does Mr. Johnson know about this?"
Neil's hands lower from his mouth at once. "No! I mean, yes, he knows, but no, don't say anything to him. I mean, he might know. Or doesn't know. I don't know. Maybe. You should really be worrying about you and Mel."
"Neil, level with me here. You think more's going on then the weird hours and the drugs, don't you?" Virgil asks, his voice low and conspiratory.
Neil's own voice lowers to match. "I guess? I guess! There's a lot that seems weird about this place. Even the testing initiative. Doesn't the GLaDOS project?"
"Yes, that's why I'm so interested!" Virgil confirms excitedly, "Things are definitely odd with the project."
Neil's tone becomes more anxious and hurried. "That's not what I mean! I mean weird in the bad way! Is it true GLaDOS used to be Caroline McLain?"
Virgil freezes. "Well, I... Yes. Everyone knows that." There's horror creeping up on him now, like maybe it wasn't an accident that Caroline had died or something. Like there are so many things going on that he's never questioned before, and this whole meth thing is just the turning point for seeing what was there all along. "Why...?"
His caution emboldens Neil. "I mean, isn't it weird that she just suddenly happened to end up on her deathbed just when the GLaDOS project needed a human subject? Haven't you ever thought about that?"
Virgil glances around anxiously, brows knitted, and leans even closer. "You've got a point. I've never dared to think of it!"
"And the project was practically made for her! Just look at the finalized model you guys ended up with!" Neil is probably saying way more than he meant to say, but he's saying it with energy. "Everybody knows she doesn't like Mr. Johnson- but when did she ever have a problem with him before, besides saying he's overbearing?"
"Oh God, oh this is terrible, if what you're saying is true, then— but it can't be, can it?" Virgil hisses, deeply and visibly distraught.
"I don't know! It's not my place to know! I've been avoiding knowing! But now I'm thinking I want to get out of here, and so are Rick and Paris, as soon as we can bring Chell and Wheatley. And I think you and Mel should too!"
Virgil exhales audibly and shakily. He releases Neil and stands upright again. "Right. Right. We have to, um... my God, Neil, what about the project? Where's the human subject going to come from this time?" Alarm and urgency grow with every word, and he's shoving both his hands into his hair by the end of it. He jerks them down in a sudden motion, then, stopping chest-level with curled fingers as if imploring Neil to give him the answers he suddenly desperately needs.
As soon as Neil is released, he moves back a little, seeming relieved not to be touched anymore. However, this is far outweighed by his continued alarm. "I don't know! That's what I'm saying!"
"I don't either!" Virgil whispers urgently. "But I need to know! I need answers, this is too important, to me, to Aperture, to heaven only knows who else!"
"But how do you intend on getting those answers?" The idea seems to scare him.
"I'll use my clearance," Virgil answers. "I'll see what I can learn."
"Oh. Oh, maybe you shouldn't do that." Neil frets, rubbing his shoulders self-consciously. "I don't know, Virgil. Maybe it's not our place to challenge these things. Didn't Mel just say not to do anything you don't have to? That's probably good advice."
Virgil's cheeks heat. "You have a point, but... listen, I've been pouring everything that I have into this project. If there's drugs and foul play sullying it, I want to know."
"And do what with that information?" Neil cries.
"I don't know!" Virgil throws his hands up in despair. "I can't stand the idea that my work is being used like this!"
Neil moves as if he's going to push Virgil's hands down, but doesn't. "Maybe you should just cut your losses and leave, then! Go to the police or something! Be realistic, it's not like you can just go to Mr. Johnson and tell him that bad stuff is going on in Aperture!"
"Even if I were to go to the police, I'd still need proof that this was happening," Virgil insists. "Otherwise, it'll sound like some science fiction fairy tale! I can't very well go to the station complaining that they're stuffing people into robots, especially if I start claiming they are possibly murdering the people first!"
"I just think that maybe whatever you're planning is probably a terrible idea!" He looks like he's regretting entering into this conversation in the first place.
"But I can't just ignore this!" Virgil protests, shaking his head.
"But maybe you should! You've gotta worry about yourself sometimes, Virgil! I mean, this might be actual crime going on. You can't just sweep in like a lone vigilante and expect that to end well!"
"I'm not going to do that, I'm going to see what I can find out and then if I come up with evidence I'm going to take it to the police," Virgil answers. "And I'm going to get out of here, just like you."
"I don't know..." Neil says nervously, though clearly he isn't getting far with his attempts to dissuade Virgil.
"What's not to know? You wanted me to know something was wrong, and you've done it, you've opened my eyes to this mess! Tell the truth, I've suspected, I just... Well, it doesn't matter. Thank you, Neil."
"...Yeah," he said finally, his expression falling. "Um, be careful."
"Of course I'll be careful," Virgil says, patting Neil's shoulder. "Won't do anything I don't have to do."
So fretful is Neil that he considers the touch a secondary concern right now. But he nods, and he slips back towards the door. "I need to get back, then. Take care."
"Yeah, take care, Neil." Virgil returns, with a wave much like the one he'd given Mel, only even smaller.