Part Sixty-Two. The Moron

'allo, luv.

Good morning, luv!

What's that there you're doing, luv?

Oi, c'mere, luv, have a look at this!

Phrases that have run through my head, over and over and over again, only this time, it doesn't echo inside of my mind. It was real. It wasn't a memory. It wasn't wishful thinking. It was real.

It can't be real. That's impossible. It must be a memory. It must have been wishful thinking. It can't be real.

"Gladys?"

That defies chance. It really does. But it can't be him. It can't be. I must be imagining it.

No. I'm afraid I'm imagining it. I'm afraid it really is all in my head, and I'm going to turn around with the hope that it's real, and I'm going to have to face the reality that I made it up. There's nothing worse than believing in something and then discovering that it doesn't exist.

So I tell myself that it wasn't real, it was only a strangely vivid memory, and there's nothing there, and I'm just casually looking behind me –

Oh my God.

It was real.

"Hey," says Wheatley, swinging back and forth a little. "How're you holding up?"

"You're alive," I say, and it's literally all I can think of to say. I am in shock. I can't think of anything else except for that probability-defying fact. That Wheatley is alive, and he's really talking to me again, and he really is here, and I didn't imagine it like I've been doing all this time.

He shrugs and nods. "Yeah, someone did mention that I, uh, that I was dead, there, for a bit, but uh, yeah. I'm alive. Didn't know I was dead, really. Not so bad. Considering. They said it was a, uh, a corrupted file, or something. Dunno. Wasn't listening. I kept asking them where you were, since uh, since I was wondering, but uh, no one'd tell me! Rude, isn't it? I have no idea where the heck I was, but uh, it was quite shabby, it was, don't think I was in here at all. And hey, where'd all these humans come from? Are they test subjects? They're test subjects, aren't they. No, no they can't be test subjects, else they wouldn't've fixed me up, there." He squints at me. "You're being awfully quiet. Is something the matter?"

"You're alive," is all I can say. I can't get over it. I can't believe that I just heard him ramble on and on like he always does. God, how I've missed that.

"Yeah. We went over that already. Didn't we? Mm… yeah, yep we did. I am… alive, most definitely alive. Oh. Hang on. You… don't want me to be alive, do you. You're disappointed. You were… you liked that I was dead, is that it? Probably. Probably it was that. I'm just bothering you now, aren't I. Okay, got it. Shutting up… now. Or maybe not now. Seems a bit too soon, seeing as I've been dead, and all. Here, I… I'll go find someone else to talk to." He looks down at the floor for a few seconds, then he actually turns around.

"No!"

He freezes, then comes back to face me. "No?"

"I've missed you," I say desperately, afraid that he really does think I wanted him dead and I do want him to leave. He comes a little closer.

"You have? Then… why'd you let me stay dead? You could've fixed that corrupted file yourself, I know you could."

"Because I… thought it wouldn't be right to… to take you out of heaven."

He shakes his chassis slowly.

"Luv, that was… terribly thoughtful of you. Very considerate. But it's not much of a heaven if you're not there, now is it? I'd've been happy to come back here."

"So you made it, then?"

Wheatley shrugs, blinking a few times. "Dunno. Might've. I don't think they let you remember, else there'd be none of that whole faith requirement! Then ev'ryone'd get in. But if I did get in, I talked to the god of AI for you. Promise. Don't remember doing it, but I did. If. I was in fact there. And I'm sure he agreed with me, because, well, why wouldn't he? No good reason, really. You can't help the way you were made. Can't be blamed for the way you think, now, can you?" He swings back and forth again. "But yeah. If I ever, uh, if I ever die again, eh, just, just start me back up again. I won't mind. I'm sure heaven's a nice place and all that, but uh, don't want to be there if you aren't. Sounds boring. Probably lonely too, since I dunno how many AI there are up there. None, probably. How long've I been gone, anyway?"

"A year," I tell him, only it somehow comes out as "too long". He looks at me concernedly.

"… too long, Gladys?"

"A year," I actually say this time, looking away. "I meant to say a year."

"I dunno," he muses. "I rather think you meant to say what you said in the first place. Usually how it goes, innit? Oi! I know what it's called, I know what it's called… you mentioned it, it's, uh… uh… a um… a Freudian slide! That's what it's called. Where you say what you really mean, without doing it um, doing it on purpose."

"A Freudian slip," I correct him, almost automatically, because I really don't care what he calls it, as long as he keeps talking. I need to hear his voice.

"Ahhh. I was close, though, pretty close. Freudian slide sounds kind of like a dance, actually. That's what the patients did when he was uh, when he was analysing them! They did the Freudian slide… slid right off the couch, they did. Ohhh yes, I can see it now. All of them Freudian sliding. Right onto the floor. Because there was nowhere else to slide to. Oi, he should've put a pool at the end of the couch! A little pool, so they could slide in there! They could've gone for a nice swim while he was doing his analysing! That'd've been therapeutic, right Gladys? 'Cause swimming is good for humans, and so is, is talking 'bout their problems, and uh, and doing both at the same time, well, that'd be mental! They'd get better so much faster, wouldn't they! Oi, I should patent this. I'd be famous, I would. I'd call it the… the… uh… hm. I dunno, actually. I'll think about it. Come up with something clever." He frowns again. "Are you… are you all right? You sure I'm not bothering you? I feel like I am, 'cause uh, 'cause you're not telling me to shut up, or saying I can't uh, can't patent that, or um, or anything else like you usually say. I can go away, you know. You don't have to be polite or anything, and let me stay. I mean, I'd prefer to stay, obviously, but uh, if you're um, if you don't want me to, well, I can go. It's alright. It's fine, it's all fine, I can uh, I can leave for a bit, uh -"

"I love you, Wheatley," I say, while I still can. While I am still feeling vulnerable, while the words are still strong inside my head and I have the ability to say them. I know it's very, very odd for me to just say something like that out of the blue, but… I never thought I would see him again. "Don't… don't go. Don't leave me alone again. You don't know what it's like here without you." God, I will sit here and listen to you talk about nothing all day. Just talk to me. Remind me how your voice echoes inside this room, how it feels to receive it in my microphones instead of artificially inside my head. I want to hear you move. I want to hear you exist.

He suddenly looks terribly sad, and his voice confirms it. It is very soft and very gentle, as if he's afraid the sound of it will damage me, somehow. "This was terribly hard on you, wasn't it."

"Yes." I try not to be ashamed. There's no reason to be, and yet I feel that way anyway. I'm the greatest supercomputer ever built. I shouldn't need external hardware to make me feel complete. But he's more than external hardware, he's like a program I can't do without, and I honestly don't know how I got through all this time and came out relatively intact. "I've missed you."

"It's okay, luv," he says, and he comes and leans up on my core with his upper handle so that his optic is all I can see. "It's okay."

"I love you so much." I don't know if he's heard me, because I can barely hear myself and I am in fact not certain whether or not I've actually said it.

"I know," he says, and I can hardly hear him now, but it's all right. Everything's going to be all right now, everything is going to be perfect, because Wheatley is back. Wheatley is back, and I don't have to miss him anymore. I don't have to wish I could hear his voice, or have him near me, because from now on, all I have to do is ask. "You don't have to worry, Gladys. You're not alone anymore. I'm here now."

I press my optic into his chassis, so I can remember how warm and familiar he is, and God, it hurts so much to have him when I finally accepted he was gone forever. I would never trade them. But this is not easy. "It's okay," he whispers, moving so that he can snuggle me and that hurts terribly as well but I need it too much to care. "It's okay, luv. Ev'rything's alright."

I can't believe he's back. All this evidence and some part of me is still saying this is wrong, that none of this is real… but maybe that's the part that keeps me angry and bitter. The part that wouldn't let me stop being depressed. I have to ignore it, because he is here and this is real, and I can be happy again. I have everything back. Everything.

"Hi Dad!" Caroline shouts, startling us enough to disengage and look towards the doorway, and with that they rush towards each other, having one of those bizarre, violent shoving matches. "I missed you, Dad!"

"I hope so," he teases. "Else I wouldn't've made much of an impression on you, would I? Oi, what's that you got there? That's… that's not a crack, is it? It was the humans, wasn't it. They hurt you, didn't they. Who was it, Carrie? I'll beat them up for you. Make sure they uh, they appreciate just who they're dealing with. Hm. Maybe I should actually tell them your mum'll be dealing with them. That'd be a lot more effective, I bet. More frightening. I'm not that threatening, but her! Yep, so tell me who did it and, and I'll get your mum to beat them up for me. "

She backs away from him, shaking her chassis, and I look away. That's not a story I want told right now.

"No, Dad, it wasn't the humans. I promise. I just… I had a little accident, that's all."

A violent little accident with my core, that is.

"What'd you do? Looks like it hurt. Does it hurt? Looks like you fell on your head, or something. I gotta say, that ceramic stuff does uh, it does look nice, but man alive is it fragile."

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it. It was just a little accident."

Why isn't she telling him that I hit her?

"Okay," he shrugs, not really one to get into matters of unpleasantness. "Long's you're all right."

"Oh, I'm fine," she says cheerfully. "That happened ages ago. I don't even think about it anymore." She rotates herself a little bit from side to side. "Momma, don't worry, I'm not sticking around. But I thought you should get to see Dad first. It was… kinda hard not to go see him after he got fixed, but… well, you needed it more than I did. So I'll leave you two, alright?"

"Good idea," he nods, looking fairly excited at the prospect. "I'd like that, I would. Even though I uh, I feel like I just saw her yesterday but uh, I imagine we have some uh, some catching up to do."

Just like I have to do with Caroline, seeing as I haven't seen her or spoken to her in a very long time, but it can wait. I need to see Wheatley again. It does make me feel bad, that I'm willing to so callously put aside my own daughter for him, but I can't help it. I need him more than I'll ever need her, though I have missed her as well. It just didn't hurt as much, because her absence was of my own choosing.

"I just gotta tell her a secret, first," Caroline tells him, backing towards me. "So don't listen. Hang out over there for a sec."

"Sure," he answers, and he turns around, though I'm sure he's going to try to listen anyway.

She turns to me, coming up very close, and I'm actually fairly confused. What's going on here?

"Don't tell him," she whispers. "It'll be our secret."

"If he asks, I can't lie. He's going to know I… what I did." And a lot sooner than I want to get into it, too.

"Oh, you'll figure something out." She taps my core with one of her handles. "We'll talk about it later, okay? We have catching up to do too!" Backing away, she says in a singsong voice, "See you later, guys! Have fun! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"What?" Wheatley asks, spinning around to face her, but she only laughs and disappears.

I want to know who taught her that, so I can kill them.

"What'd she mean by that, luv?" he asks, confusion set into his face. I shake my core in irritation.

"Some horrible human saying with horrible human implications. Don't worry about it."

He emulates taking a breath, relaxing and resetting his chassis. "So I've been gone for… a year, is it? I suppose there's simply loads of things that've uh, that've gone on in the meantime, there."

"I don't really want to talk about it right now, if you don't mind," I tell him. "I've had quite enough of it. I'd rather try to forget about it, for now."

He nods thoughtfully. "Mm, makes sense, that does, makes sense. On to picking up where we left off, then!"

I have to remind myself that for him, no time has passed at all. As for myself, I have no clue where we left off. I have no idea what we were doing before… before I lost him.

I am soon reminded as he comes up and leans against me, albeit a lot more gently than I recall him doing it before. "That's a new way of doing it," I remark, pressing back a little. God, it feels good. It feels so good to be able to… for lack of a better word, snuggle with my little moron again. I turn my optic off, so as to avoid unnecessary stimulation, and I'm actually a bit frightened. For the first time in -my life, only I am inside my head. There are no panels, no Surveillance or mainframe or Notifications, and no Caroline, and it is so strange. I feel sort of… empty. Like I'm missing something. Why didn't they finish connecting me to the systems? Why have they left me stuck in my chamber like this? They can't still be afraid of me. I don't like it. I want my constructs back.

Is this how everyone else lives? Do they only have one voice inside their head? Are they all trapped inside their heads, like I am now?

"Wheatley," I say, figuring I have nothing to lose by asking. "You only have your own voice in your head, right?"

"Yep." He shifts against me, and I find myself pressing harder in response to an irrational thought that he's leaving already. Of course he isn't. He's only moving. He's allowed to do that. "Why?"

"I've never been like this before. They haven't connected me to any of the systems yet. I suppose I could try to hack them, but I don't know if they have any safeguards that will notify the humans or not."

Now he does get off of me, so that he can look at me directly. "Why're the humans in charge?"

I really hope I don't have to get into the story, because once I start telling it, the entirety of it will need to be told.

"I had to move my facility. Doing so strained me badly, and when I got here, Chell brought some humans here to… repair me." Ugh. I can't believe I let such a thing happen. I've been manhandled, literally. I never wanted that to happen again.

"Chell? How in the name of science did the humans understand her?"

"What are you talking about? Chell is a human."

He frowns, and says confusedly, "Isn't Chell your bird?"

Oh. Right. I forgot about that.

"Chell is… the test subject."

His optic constricts so far I can hardly see it, and he freezes in place. "The… test… subject? She's… she's here?"

"I don't know. She was here, but I don't know if she left. She probably did. The humans don't live here. They live around here, somewhere." I lower my core, looking up at him, suddenly suspicious. "Why does that bother you so much?"

His optic darts around. "I uh, well, I um, I did try to uh, to kill her, and, and all that, and I, I, well, she might uh, she might be um, might not uh –"

Ahh. He's afraid of her.

"Don't worry," I tell him, nudging him a little bit. Poor Wheatley. He's missed so much. "She's not out for revenge. She's reasonable. Almost as reasonable as I am, in fact."

"I'm in luck, then," he says nervously, looking at the floor and swinging back and forth. "Since you're the uh, the epitome of, of reason, and all that."

"Where in the world did you learn that word?" I ask, a little taken aback hearing it. He shrugs.

"A book? I dunno."

"I doubt you could read an entire book that contained the word 'epitome'. It would probably take you a month."

"Maybe it did!" he says, looking a bit pleased with himself. "I read books, I did. Couldn't tell you what they were about, but I know it took me a long time."

I shake my core. Typical Wheatley, to read a book and not remember what it was he read.

"C'n I tell you something?" he asks suddenly, tipping his chassis to the right.

"Of course," I answer, wondering why he felt the need to ask.

"You look… well, you look amazing, you do. I mean, you were still, uh, I mean, you didn't look terrible before, but you were um, you were wearing out, if you know what I mean. You were getting uh, rusty and pale and all that."

I'm not sure whether this is a compliment or a comment on how badly I kept up with my physical maintenance. Another setback of ignoring pain: when you fall apart, you don't notice.

"C'n I take a look, luv?"

"Go ahead," I answer, as if he wouldn't if I said no. He'd probably forget I said no and go and do it anyway.

He disappears, and instinctively I go to follow him, but he protests, "Oi! How'm I s'posed to look if you turn 'round like that?"

I make an irritated noise and stop. More than ever I wish the panels were connected to my brain. I miss them and buzz of their excited chatter. It's so strange, having a mind empty of anything at all. I can still think, but without any tasks to do, I have nothing to think about.

Wheatley comes back, looking very excited. "Well, I hate to say this, I really do, but those humans, well, they did a bloody good job. I mean, wow, they really fixed you up. Looks like they replaced simply ev'rything! Livid! You'll be good to go for another hundred years, I reckon."

"I doubt it," I say, still angry with them for doing it. "Humans don't make things like they used to. I'm probably made of some far inferior plastic that heats up when I put together one AND one."

"Oh, I know that one, I know that one… it's uh, no, not two, not two… it's uh… eleven?"

"It's not eleven."

"Ten! It's ten. Because uh, that's what two is in binary, right?"

"Yes, that's right, but not what I was thinking of."

"Hm… it's… hm, I know there's another answer to this… oh! Got it! It's window!" He closes his optic and nods a few times, and I almost laugh at how confident he looks. I've missed watching him place one hundred percent confidence in absolutely wrong answers. He is right, surprisingly, but not in this context. "It's not window."

"What? Oh, you've got to be joking! It's simply got to be window! You're pulling my handles, aren't you?" He squints at me as if that's going to reveal anything.

"Do you want me to tell you what it is?"

"Well, since you won't admit that it's window, yes, go ahead. What is it. Even though it really isn't, and you're making it up just now, so I'll be wrong." He actually seems to be upset, so I lean over and caress him a little. I can feel him relax at my touch.

"I didn't change the answer partway through. It's the true condition."

"The true condition is eleven!" he protests, abruptly pulling away.

Why is he upset?

"The true condition isn't eleven," I tell him, confused. "It's the true condition."

"Which looks like eleven!"

"Since when does the true condition look like eleven?" He's going to have to explain this, because I have no idea how he's managed to confuse eleven with the true condition.

"True is, is two ones next to each other, isn't it? Or three ones, or four ones, or whatever?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And two ones next to each other is an eleven!" He's frustrated, I can tell.

"Two ones next to each other isn't eleven. That would be one zero one one."

He stares at me like I've just gone insane.

"You count in binary?"

"Is there another way to count?"

"Like ev'ryone else, maybe? Y'know? One through ten?"

He's actually managing to make me feel stupid. I look away from him. "I don't use base ten when I count, no. Sometimes I'll go up to base six, because some programming requires that of me, but never ten."

"Hey," he says softly. "I'm sorry, luv. I didn't realise. I didn't mean to make you feel bad about it."

I know he didn't mean it, but I feel like an idiot anyway. Of course he counts in base ten. Everyone counts in base ten. Even though Wheatley is here, I suddenly feel very lonely. The panels would understand. Surveillance would understand, and so would the mainframe. It's all they understand. I wouldn't be the only one in this place who can't count properly.

I'm being so stupid. I have Wheatley, the one thing I wanted for far too long, and now I want something else. Why can't I be satisfied?

"Gladys… hey. I'm sorry. Don't get upset. I didn't realise, that's all, didn't realise. I should've thought harder about it."

"You came up with all the other answers," I tell him, a bit dully. "You did a good job." I'm trying to reconcile one AND one with eleven and failing. It doesn't make any sense why he thinks one AND one has anything to do with eleven.

Hearing an actual compliment out of me concerns him even more, and he rests his chassis against the front of my core. "Hey. C'mon. Don't let it bug you. It's not important."

One AND one is

"It is important," I insist, looking up at him. "You know I need to understand these things."

One AND one is

"Well… you said one plus one, right? And I thought – "

"No, I didn't," I interrupt. "I said one AND one."

"What's the difference?"

"Plus implies addition. AND has to do with truth tables."

"Oh!" he exclaims, and he backs off and spins around a bit. "Truth tabl – oh, you meant AND!"

"Of course I meant AND. That's what I said. AND."

"Well, yes, I s'pose you did, but uh, I can't tell the diff'rence between the, the truth tables AND and the uh, and the regular and, y'know, the… the… proposition."

"Preposition. Not proposition." I know I shouldn't do this, but he's made me feel so stupid that I have an overwhelming desire to do the same in return. "A proposition is a proposal, because it is being proposed. A preposition is a type of word that goes before the position of another type of word."

He doesn't look like he feels stupid. He looks rather like he's taking it all in, very carefully. Damn his unpredictability. He's managed to one-up me without even trying. Now there's a talent only he possesses.

"I think I got it," he says thoughtfully, nodding sagely. "I think I'll remember it that way. Thanks, Gladys! Much appreciated."

I try very hard to be annoyed with him for being so capricious when I wanted to be able to predict what he'd do, but I can't. That part of him fascinates me. The way he does things without thinking. Not just by mistake, like I do on occasion, but all the time.

"You're welcome," I say instead, and he smiles and rests his chassis on mine again.

"You sure you're alright, luv? I mean, I get the whole uh, the whole being frustrated bit, but uh, you seem a bit more put out than that."

"I'm…" I don't know. All I know is that I want my constructs back so that I can start putting my life in line, and it bothers me that I don't know when I'll be getting them back, if at all. Perhaps the humans are going to keep them from me. Perhaps this was a bad idea, and I should have left my fate in the hands of the Combine. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, isn't that what humans say when things go from bad to worse? True, I didn't have much of a chance of surviving where I was, but I'd much prefer to survive than to do whatever this is, because it is certainly not living. "I want my systems back. I don't like not being able to hear them."

"Huh," he says, and I can feel his upper handle now. "If it were me, I'd be happy to have my head to myself."

"I was made this way. I don't know when the humans are going to reconnect me, and I don't like it."

"Because you don't know."

"I just said that."

"No," he says, but gently, "I meant that you can't… can't predict it. You don't know what's going to happen, but you've got no way of figuring that out. That's what's really the problem, here, right?"

Of course. How did I not figure that out.

I turn my core to look at him, and he blinks in curiosity. "You better not die on me again, or I'm condemned to a lifetime of perpetual confusion."

He laughs, and I instantly feel better. Everything's going to be fine. It might be horribly unpredictable, but I can handle it, because Wheatley will help me. There's a twinge of anger directed at myself for being so damned dependent, but I push it back. I'm not dependent. Wheatley is my friend. He's like an extension of myself. It's all right to rely on him.

"Nah, wouldn't do that," he says cheerfully. "'sides, I'd be just as lost, without you. But uh, but going back to where all this started… even if those parts, there, even if they only last another five minutes, well, that wasn't really the point. My point is… God, you're going to hit me or something, if I say this. Sounds really canned, like I uh, like I borrowed it from a movie, or something. Maybe I did, but if I did, it was an accident."

"Careful," I tease him, "if it is you're going to have to reference it, and I only accept proper APA formatting."

"Oh, not those bloody references!" he groans, shaking his chassis. "Seriously, how many references were on that last paper you wrote?"

"I don't actually know," I admit, not really remembering the contents of the paper he's referring to, but dimly aware of it. "All I remember is that most of it was me referencing myself."

He laughs fairly hard at that, and I'm happy to have made him happy. "Well, I am the only one who knows what I'm talking about."

"True, true," he agrees. "But I got distracted again! Okay. So. Meant to say… uh… um…"

I wait, very patiently.

"I uh… I forget. Lemme, lemme think this over a second." He turns away, muttering to himself, and then he faces me again and says, "So uh, my point is…" He emulates taking a breath. "Is that now you… now you look just as uh, as amazing on the outside as you are on the uh, on the inside." He quickly shutters his optic and ducks. But I'm not going to hit him. Instead of bothering me, it has lit up, so to speak, that soul-like part of me. I'm happy to hear him say that. I am so relieved to hear he still thinks well of me after all this time, even though he doesn't actually know anything that's happened, but it doesn't really matter. He would still think well of me, even if he did.

So I don't hit him. Instead, I lower my optic over his chassis and place my lens on top of it, sending a little bit of current through it. Not a lot. Just enough to activate the appropriate sensors. Then I move away, looking to my left. I'm not exactly sure what I just did, but Wheatley likes reminding me that logic and feelings don't work well together, and while not logical in the least, it did feel right.

"Gladys," Wheatley says, sounding like he's just discovered the way to reach infinity, "that was…"

I'm thinking stupid, myself. I don't know what the point of it was. I can't quite stop myself from attempting to figure it out logically.

He doesn't seem to want to finish that sentence, I'm not sure why, but it's been a whole five seconds since he started it. So I find it unlikely he'll complete it. Suddenly there is an electric jolt against my core, and I'm slightly dazed. He must have replicated my gesture, although in typical Wheatley fashion, he took it to an extreme. I'm sure I didn't do it that hard.

"Did I do it right, luv?"

Well. I don't want to shoot him down, but… he did ask.

"Yes, but… not so much. You only need to discharge a little bit. You're not trying to boost me." Although the thought of him trying to boost me is a bit funny. I doubt he'd be able to, since I run directly from the power emitted by the reactor. Unless I was disconnected from the reactor, of course, and had to run on battery power. I'm not sure what my battery life is, but it's probably not more than a few hours.

"Oh," he says, and I'm half hoping he does it properly this time. He does, and it is… it's… well, I don't know how to describe it either, but it feels nice. I'm rather pleased with myself for inventing it.

"I wonder if that's what happens to humans when they do that, y'know, that eating each other's lips thing. D'you think it feels like that?"

Or perhaps I didn't.

"How should I know? Do I have lips?"

"Ew. Ew, don't say that. That's nasty. They're all squishy and wet… and even when they're not squishy and wet, they're hard and flaky, and that's just as horrid…"

"Thanks. I needed to think about how disgusting humans are. How did you guess?"

"I'll bet I can give you something else to think about," he says, and there's something in his tone of voice that sounds like it should be tipping me off to something, but I'm too distracted by mental images of human lips to take much more notice than that.

Then I can barely think at all, because he's rubbing up against me with a both delicious and agonising slowness, and it is somehow both painful and a relief at the same time. I'm actually lucky I can't think, or I might have run into trouble right there. I press back, perhaps harder than I should, but all of a sudden I desperately need to. I need to press against him, I need to keep him against me, and I just... need him overall. I'm not alone anymore. He's back here with me, where he belongs. I allow my core to move along his chassis until I can reach it comfortably with my optic assembly, and then I press it into him. He goes mostly still, rubbing his upper handle against the bottom of my lens. I stay there, I'm not sure how long but quite a few seconds, certainly. Then I retract it, hoping he'll want to reciprocate, and thankfully he does, because the anticipation was almost painful. I feel so… amazing right now. I don't have to do anything but be here with Wheatley, and he's touching me again, thank God, and making me feel better than I've ever felt before. It was all worth it. Everything that's happened and everything that will happen, it means nothing to me anymore. Because I'm no longer afraid, or helpless, or alone. I don't need to concern myself with those things anymore. I caress him, and he does the same with me, and we lose ourselves in that for a while. I don't know how long it is, because time has somehow become the least important thing in the world, but it feels like a long, endless moment that could have been anywhere from minutes to hours. There's nothing here but us. And there doesn't need to be, because nothing else matters.

Fatigue suddenly washes over me, and I unintentionally stop what I'm doing, my chassis lowering towards the floor. It feels so heavy all of a sudden. He laughs softly. "Long day, eh luv?"

"Mm," I say, a little concerned that I'm so drowsy all of a sudden even though I haven't really done anything today, but that goes away when he follows me down and leans on me. He's still here. Good. And anyway. Emotionally, today I've been a wreck. I never did too well with emotional fatigue.

"G'night, Gladys," he says quietly, tenderly, and he gives me a tiny little shock before settling against my core. I want to rub up on him a little bit, but I can't find the energy. But I still want to mention something.

"If… you want to get me up later, that would be fine."

"Eh?" he asks.

"So you can… get a closer look. If you want."

"Ohhh," he says, and I'm glad I don't actually have to explain it. "Might just take you up on that."

"Goodnight then, moron."

He laughs and shoves his handles up on me. A wonderful pleasantness is taking me over and I want to know where it's going, so I stop paying attention to external stimuli and give myself over to it, the only thing on my mind being how happy I am to have him back.

Guest reviews

Heromaster: No, you were right. There's not really enough adventure to classify this fic as such.

Bonnieisback: No, I got it from Portal…? GLaDOS is stuck in one room and has to use the surveillance cameras to do literally anything outside of her chamber?

Macmine411: Glad to hear it! And happy holidays to you!

Author's note

A few of you are probably wondering, "Indy, what was the point of that part?" Well, for those of you who were (potentially) wondering, here's why:

Wheatley helped GLaDOS find the core part of herself that she buried a long time ago. But GLaDOS connects that part of herself, the younger, more innocent part, with Wheatley himself. Without him, she can't maintain the 'new' GLaDOS because in her point of view, that part of herself only exists with and because of Wheatley. Without him, she loses that part of herself again and goes back to the GLaDOS we know from Portal: solitary and bitter. She defines herself based on Wheatley's perception of her. This happens to people in real life: they define themselves by their interactions with their partner, and then when they lose them by any means, they lose themselves for a while. GLaDOS had to learn that she must define who she wants to be. Wheatley can support her, but he cannot substitute for her belief in herself. This part was written to allow GLaDOS to grow and mature a little more, so that she can get to the point in her life where she's genuinely happy and satisfied with who she is. She's not quite there yet, but she's close. Then and only then will she reach her true potential.