Come Downstairs and Say Hello


CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

THE EPILOGUE


The turret choir was a surprise. Experience had taught Chell to half-expect some kind of ambush, and Wheatley felt a similar an undercurrent of Something Bad Is About to Happen, and so neither was truly surprised when the elevator halted and they were confronted by red laser beams.

But instead of firing bullets, the turrets started to sing, simple notes at first, which became an upbeat melody. The elevator began to rise once more, and unconsciously Wheatley reached for Chell's hand. Her fingers gripped his tightly as the tune built into a harmony of voices, and then even more turrets came into view, all singing a final farewell to the two test subjects who had refused to submit to Science.

The elevator continued to rise, up and up and up. The levels of Aperture flashed by them, one after another until their ascent halted again, this time bringing them to a small, dimly-lit room. They faced a metal door, which swung opened of its own accord, and beyond the threshold was – freedom.

The sunlight was blinding. Chell and Wheatley stumbled out of the elevator together and found themselves in a small clearing encircled by fields of wheat. Their eyes barely had time to adjust to the light when the door behind them closed with a bang, only to fling open once more, and they whirled around to see the shed spit out a soot-blackened Companion Cube. The Cube tumbled to the ground, and then shed door slammed shut for the final time.

Wheatley blinked in confusion at the sight of the battered Cube, and looked to Chell in hopes of receiving some kind of explanation. She was staring at it like a long-lost friend, and as he watched, her eyes flooded with tears and she sank to her knees. He knelt with her, growing even more concerned when he saw the alarming amount of liquid streaming out of her eyes.

"Oh. Oh, God," he stammered, reaching for her, his hands flapping uselessly about. "You –you're leaking. Stay calm!" he added hastily. "No need to panic, it's not blood. This time, anyway."

He hitched the sleeve of his sweater down past his wrist and made a few clumsy swipes at her eyes, but Chell pushed his hand away, wanting an unobstructed view of both him and their surroundings.

The wheat field stretched out to the horizon, countless golden, heavy heads bowing as eddies of wind played throughout. The sight was breathtaking, eclipsed only by the jewel-blue sky above them, which was so bright that it hurt her eyes.

And the sun. Real, honest-to-goodness sun.

"Wheatley," she choked, reaching out to grab his arm. Her senses were in overload, and she suddenly needed something to hold onto. "Wheatley," Chell said again, and this time her voice trembled.

He was really panicking now, mistaking her happy tears for sorrowful ones. She managed to give him a reassuring, albeit watery, smile.

"We're – we're out," she breathed shakily. "It's over."

"Yeah," he agreed, equally unable to believe this fact. "It's really, really over. Finito. Done."

Neither of them knew what to say after that, and silence fell for a few minutes, broken only by the sweet sound of birdsong. Chell finally moved away from Wheatley to lean back against the Companion Cube, and shut her eyes with a contented sigh. The breeze picked up, and he saw a faint smile touch her lips as the wind began to play with her hair.

He decided she looked awfully comfortable and went to join her, hunkering down to rest his back on the next adjacent face of the Cube. This placed him "around the corner" from Chell, but he was close enough that their shoulders could still touch, and they sat there for a while, each lost in their own thoughts and watching the clouds drift by.

"I can't believe it came down to a paradox," Wheatley heard Chell finally say. "What made you think of it?"

"Caroline," he answered simply. He drew one leg up to rest his elbow on his knee, and continued, "It was something she had told me, before I became a core. I…" He hesitated, and then decided just to come right out and verbalize his theory: "I really think she was the one helping us all along. Some fragment of her, anyway."

Chell shifted so she could look at Wheatley around the corner of the Cube. "She said She had deleted Caroline, though," she said with a frown. "Don't you remember?"

"Yeah," Wheatley nodded. "But I think it was a bluff, honestly. If Caroline's in there, she'd be in whatever computers are controlling Old Aperture. The mainframe doesn't have any access there, and that's the only time we ever got help."

"I guess that makes sense," Chell said slowly, mulling this over. Wheatley was right; the only time they had received assistance – towels, toothbrushes and the like – was during their sojourn in Old Aperture. "She mentioned Caroline a few times when She and I were down there," Chell remembered. "I didn't really pay attention to what it meant, though." And I didn't think your Caroline and that Caroline were one and the same, she added silently, recalling how rattled Wheatley had been after coming across the painting of Cave Johnson and the dark-haired woman. She looked back at Wheatley and asked, "How could she have even gotten into the computer, though?"

"The same way I got put into a core," he replied heavily. "Somebody digitized her brain and uploaded her. I don't bloody know who, though, or why. And I don't suppose it really matters," he continued. "We're out. We're alive."

Chell gave him a stricken look. "We have to go back."

"What?" Wheatley gaped at her and then scrambled a few inches away, as if she was about to seize him by the arm and haul him back into the shed. "No! You can't mean – "

"There are more people down there," she interrupted. "Wheatley, we can't just leave them."

A thousand reasons why this was the worst idea possible came to mind, but he knew she was right. As usual.

"Oh, God. Okay." He dropped his head into both hands for a moment, trying to process this unpleasant new reality.

"We're going to have to have help, though," he heard Chell continue. She was thinking out loud. "It'll take time. It'll take a lot of time. Years, even. And we'll need someone who can hack a computer. And an actual plan."

"Or just a really, really good paradox," Wheatley grumbled, moving to sit back beside her.

This drew a laugh from Chell, who gave him a playful poke in the arm. "That, too," she agreed.

He cast a sidelong glance in her direction and saw that she was smiling at him.

"Can I ask you something?" he blurted out.

Chell nodded; the prospect of returning to Aperture wasn't a happy one, and she welcomed a change in subject.

He scooted around the Cube so they were both facing each other and looked at her eagerly.

"It's – it's a bit pervy, if I'm honest," he admitted, "but you're not five anymore, or six, or however old you were, and I'm…well, God knows how old I am, or you for that matter. So, um, technical age differences aside, do you – do you think you might, er, want to shove off here and try out life on the normal side? Together?" His voice had gone up almost an octave as he'd been speaking, and the word 'together' ended in a squeak. "At least – at least for a little while," he hastily added, voice dropping back to its normal pitch, "before we start planning our next plan. To go back. Down there."

Chell could only blink at him in surprise. The future was a concept she had never truly considered before, at least not beyond the hazy thought of 'someday,' which was now no longer a construct but a reality. Endless possibilities stretched out before her – possibilities of who she could become, what she could do with her life…and with whom she would spend it.

A full minute went by without her responding, and then another minute, and Wheatley began to babble, "Um, and by together, I mean, with, uh, me. Specifically speaking. Sorry, I should've clarified that earlier, my mistake. I…"

His voice trailed off. He was staring at the ground now, a picture of abject misery, and Chell remembered his sad face when he was a core. Half-lidded, handle drooping, the epitome of dejection.

"Chell, say something," he said miserably to the dirt. "Please?"

With a frustrated huff – frustration with herself, not Wheatley – she leaned forward and slid both arms around him. He returned the embrace and held her tight, and a satisfying feeling of solidness, of realness, filled Chell.

Find your happy place. How many times had she been told that as a youngster? She had gone without for so long, convinced that her only safe haven died with her father. But then along came a little blue core, and everything changed – for the better. She had found another happy place.

Her eyes were fluttering shut when Wheatley drew back and ducked down to try and see her face.

"Is that a yes?" he asked intently.

Chell nodded, and for once, Wheatley needed no words. Overjoyed, he dove forward to catch her in another hug that was so enthusiastic that it knocked them both flat on the ground.

"Sorry, sorry!" he apologized over and over. "Got a little carried away. But, that's hard not to do, you know. Get carried away."

He propped himself above her on his elbows and grinned down at her, and she couldn't help but laugh. The infectious silliness of the moment quickly passed, however, and suddenly Chell felt awkward, lying there in such close proximity to one another and both of them smiling like idiots. He smelled of a pleasant combination of cleansing gel and sweat, she noticed.

A strange sensation of butterflies began to tickle the inside of her stomach, and, for lack of knowing what to say or do, she reached up and plucked Wheatley's glasses off his face. They were smudgy. And her head felt strange. It was a dumb move on her part, though, because he immediately leaned down even closer to be able to see her better.

"Ummm, now that we're here like this," he said as Chell studiously polished the lenses of his glasses on his sweater, "there's this…thing I've been wanting to try. Do – do you mind?"

She froze mid-polish. Did she mind? Strange question. She had an inkling of what Wheatley wanted to try. On the one hand, she was glad that they had both had recent access to a toothbrush. On the other hand, this all felt terribly rushed. They had gone from being allies to enemies and then back to allies again in a very short time. Their perceptions of one another had been fundamentally altered along the way, of course; she no longer viewed him as a bumbling idiot, and he no longer saw her as a brain-damaged mute. She cared about him, fiercely, and she knew he felt the same way. No other person she might encounter in the future would ever understand her the way Wheatley could, and deep down she knew that her feelings for him were not only attributable to their shared experiences in the testing tracks.

Maybe this is just another test, she wondered, studying his eyes. She had never really prepared for any of the tests in the Facility; she had always just thrown herself into them headfirst and figured out what worked and what didn't. Why should her approach to exploring these newfound feelings for Wheatley be any different?

"No," she told him honestly. "I don't mind."

"You sure?" Wheatley asked, coming nearer.

The butterflies in Chell's stomach decided to start tap dancing. She nodded, trying to simultaneously ignore them and keep her wits about her.

Wheatley smiled. A joking whisper of, "Say apple," met her ears.

"Apple," she managed to say, then his lips brushed hers and her mind went well and truly blank.

As far as first kisses went, theirs was unremarkable but sweet, and made memorable thanks to the golden afternoon. Their second and third attempts were marked improvements over that initial shy volley, after which Chell insisted that they both get up and walk around for a bit for fear they'd accomplish nothing else for the remainder of the day.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Wheatley complained.

"Yes," Chell said firmly. She shoved him off of her and sat up; the butterflies stopped their frenzied chorus line and slowed down to a happy waltz. "We need to get wherever we're going before it gets dark."

Wheatley sighed and sat up as well. "Right," he agreed, putting his glasses back on. He rose to his feet and then offered his hand to Chell to help her up. "Any idea what time it is?"

"Noon, or thereabout," she answered, judging her answer on the height of the sun in the sky. She let Wheatley pull her to a standing position and added, "We've probably got about six hours of daylight left."

They briefly scouted around the area surrounding the shed, searching for anything that might prove useful on their journey, but there wasn't much, just a small turbine and a few rusting metal beams. Chell bent down to check under the turbine as Wheatley went over to investigate the signs that were screwed onto the shed door. They all displayed the usual warnings of Keep Out and No Trespassing, but one was more ominous than the rest, and read SHOCK WARNING, ELECTRIC SHED.

"Think that's another bluff?" he asked Chell, who had wandered back over to the Companion Cube. She looked up, and Wheatley pointed to the sign.

"Only one way to find out," she said with a shrug. She picked up small stone from the ground and lobbed it at the shed; the stone made a quiet impact and then tumbled back down to the dirt.

"No zaps," Wheatley observed.

"Definitely a bluff," Chell agreed, then muttered, "I'm starting to notice a theme."

Wheatley chuckled, hearing this. He reached out a hand and ran it down the dusty front of the door, watching the streaks his fingers left behind.

"What was it that she'd posted above my lair?" he asked suddenly.

It took Chell a few moments to remember the mocking montage that had been constructed above the Wheatley's chamber.

"Rest In Peace, Moron," she answered with a wince.

A cocky gleam came into Wheatley's eyes, and he reached into his pocket and took out his marker. Somehow after all this time he'd managed to not lose it. He uncapped it and turned to Chell.

"Could you?" he asked, holding it out to her. "My handwriting's terrible, and I'd like to leave a note. Not that She'll ever see it, but, you know…just in case."

Chell obligingly took the marker from him and joined him in front of the shed. Wheatley had abandoned all pretense of keeping his clothes clean and was wiping down a large area on the door with his sleeve, leaving behind a clean space that was reasonably free of dust.

"What do you want me to write?" she asked when he was finished.

He told her. Snickering, she carefully began to print out Wheatley's last message to Her, writing directly onto the flattened metal of the door. She took her time, writing in six-inch-high letters before going back and meticulously filling them in, trying to make the words as indelible as possible.

When she was finished, she stepped aside for Wheatley to inspect her handiwork. He was delighted with the results, and the miles-wide grin that came over his face made her wish she could solder the message directly onto the chassis of its intended recipient.

That chore complete, they discussed what to do with the Companion Cube, finally agreeing that it would have to be left behind. Whatever sparks of life it once contained was gone. No music emanated from within when either of them approached it, and it was too cumbersome to try and carry.

"What's wrong?" Wheatley asked when he saw Chell's forlorn expression.

She swallowed hard and made a vague motion in the direction of the Cube. "It's a long story," she answered. "I just don't want to let it go." She gave him a rueful smile and remarked, "Now I know how you felt about leaving behind your core. I'm sorry I was so callous about it."

Wheatley gave the Cube a thoughtful up-and-down glance. He had overseen the construction – well, destruction, more like – of a number of weighted storage cubes, and recalled a thing or two about their makeup.

Hmmm…

Chell watched curiously as Wheatley knelt down in front of the Cube and used his fist to clean off one side, revealing the white circle and stamped pink heart underneath. He positioned both hands over the logo's molded edge and then began prying with his fingertips. It took some effort, but he finally wrenched off the logo; it was not an integrated part of the Cube, but rather had been glued on.

Budget cuts, he mused.

"Here you go," he grunted, rising to his feet. He gave the disc-shaped logo to Chell and said, "It's not as good as the whole thing, but…you know. A memento is better than nothing. And…well…you'll always have me."

She did not appear to hear this last part, and was gazing down at the battered pink heart she tightly held in both hands. Altogether it was about the diameter of a medium-sized plate, far too big to be slipped into a pocket, but she didn't care. It was a tangible connection to her old life. That life hadn't exactly been good, but it had been hers, and that counted for something.

"Yes," she murmured absently. "I will always have you."

Wheatley hoped very much that Chell was referring to him and not the Cube logo, but he was reasonably certain that she meant him; and a moment later when she looked up at him with and he saw the warmth in her eyes, he knew she had meant him.

Emboldened, Wheatley reached out and touched Chell's cheek with a dusty hand. "And," he ventured, "I'll – I'll always have you too. Right?"

Chell nodded. Her voice had failed her, but this time it was not from anxiety but from trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Brilliant," he said in a half-laugh of relief, then exclaimed, "Oh! I've gotten got your face dirty! I'm sorry, I –"

Chell just gave him a hug and he fell silent, both of his arms coming around her like he'd been doing so for years. It felt wonderful.

"Where to from here?" Wheatley finally asked.

She took a deep breath and tried to collect herself from all the emotions coursing throughout her heart and mind. She was being ambushed by feelings, it seemed, but it was a welcome problem. Certainly nicer than being ambushed by turrets, singing ones or otherwise.

With her cheek still pressed to Wheatley's chest, she looked out to study the horizon. She could see nothing but acres of wheat, but far off in the distance – east, judging from the angle of the sun – there was a hint of darkness. A mountain, perhaps? A town?

"That way," she decided, pointing.

Wheatley looked in the direction she indicated, keeping one arm around Chell and shading his eyes against the glare with his other hand. It took some squinting, but he thought he saw something, too.

"It's worth a try," he heard Chell say. "Let's just see where it takes us."

Wheatley looked down at her in wonderment, as if he were seeing her for the very first time. "Us," he repeated. "I like the sound of that!"

Chell smiled, then outright grinned when he bent down and kissed her forehead.

"I like the sound of it, too," she said simply.

They headed into the wheat field together and did not look back.


Orange's head emerged from the shed, peeking right and then left before stepping into the sunlight. Blue followed a moment later, carrying the tools they'd been given for their mission: A large can of aerosol spray cleaner, and a stiff-bristled brush. Together, they surveyed the defaced metal door. Written below the yellow and red warning signs were the words:

RIP, Fatty

Blue immediately began chittering with laughter, much to Orange's chagrin. Orange tried to remind Blue that they'd been sent to the surface to clean up the graffiti, not laugh at it. Reluctantly conceding the point of its partner, Blue gave the door a couple of perfunctory sprays with the can of cleaner, swiped once with the brush, and shrugged, indicating to Orange that the tools at their disposal were no match for the task.

Frustrated, Orange grabbed the can away and depressed the spray button. Once the entire contents of the can had been emptied, it commenced with a mad bout of scrubbing. Blue saw no merit in arguing with these futile attempts, and instead decided to explore the cleared area surrounding the shed.

There was not much to see, it quickly observed, but a black gadget on the ground quickly caught Blue's attention. It was about five inches long, with a cap on one end. Curious, Blue snatched it up and hurried back over to Orange, waving the new toy.

Orange took immediate interest in the discovery and abandoned all pretenses of cleaning. A brief fistfight commenced over who would get possession of the black gadget, but Blue prevailed, adding insult to injury by triumphantly squawking something that sounded suspiciously like, "Finders, keepers."

Orange, being in possession of a few more IQ points than its counterpart, pointed to the handwritten words on the door, and mimed how Blue might use the device. Blue looked at the door, and then looked back at Orange uncomprehendingly, whereupon Orange decided to take the contraption and demonstrated its purpose by drawing a mustache and beard on Blue.

Blue grabbed the device back; Orange's impudence had given it an idea. Blue explained its inspiration to Orange, who nodded eagerly. Why, both bots agreed, should they waste time trying to scrub off the irreverent sign if they could simply amend it to be more acceptable to Her?

After some thoughtful discussion, Orange carefully penned a symbol beneath the message that would serve to neutralize its offensive nature. The bots stepped back to survey the results, and then high-fived, satisfied that their mission was (technically speaking, anyway) accomplished.

Blue gathered up the brush and can of cleaning spray, Orange re-capped the marker, and together they disappeared through the shed door and back into Aperture.

The sun continued its steady traverse across the sky. The shadows lengthened, and the fields gradually took on a warm, rosy tone when the sun slowly sank down beyond the horizon. Twilight fell.

A Northern Saw-whet owl that had flown off track swooped down not long after sunset, and came to land on top of the shed. It perched on the edge of the metal roof, grateful to have found a spot to rest, and began preening its feathers. It paused for a moment during these ministrations, pinfeathers still in its beak as it gazed at the designs that were scrawled on the door beneath its feet:

RIP, Fatty

:-)

Being an owl, these words were entirely lost on the creature. It found a more comfortable spot on the roof, and settled in for a quiet night of hunting.


AN: DID YOU FEEL THE FEELS?

Seriously…I hope this was worth the long wait. Thank you so much for all of the encouragement along the way over these past 2.5 years - it's what enabled me to cross the finish line!

Please leave me a note – I love hearing from you!

Signing off now...