PART 2: Nice to See You Again…
Chell had plenty of experience with fear. Her entire time in Aperture had been one long blur of terror, with a few notable exceptions owed, ironically enough, to the very same being that inspired her current panic.
Truth be told, she'd had a fair deal of trouble adjusting to the utter lack of immanent peril in her life outside. For months she had been jumpy, even the slightest sound putting her on the alert before her nerves finally got the memo that there were no bullets or bombs or metal spikes to harm her outside. Now the rush of adrenaline in her blood was almost comforting in its familiarity.
Muscles tightening, heart racing, her body slipped back into a state of battle-readiness as easy as breathing, and Chell was proud that she hadn't been spoiled into weakness by safety. Never taking her eyes off Wheatley, she reached back to snatched her trusty crowbar from the cart and hefted it.
Dropping into a fighting stance she snarled, a growl, one of the other few sounds she could produce, tearing out of her throat. Even taking her small stature into consideration, with the hard, wiry muscles she's developed in the testchambers and maintained through her exertions outside, she liked to think she cut quite the fearsome figure.
Wheatley seemed to disagree, failing to look at all intimidated. In fact, he seemed downright amused. Chell seethed. That wouldn't do at all. She'd show him. Show him that she wasn't his little test subject anymore. That he was no longer god-like and no longer in control.
It wouldn't be too hard. Chell knew from their time together as allies that Wheatley could not abide pain of any sort, and she was willing to bet that the influence of the GLaDOS chassis had not changed this, just as it had not changed his haphazard thought processes or tendency to ramble.
She would never be able to take him in a fight; his mechanical components and even his sheer size gave him too great a physical advantage. Her strength, speed, and reflexes were no match for his.
But she wouldn't need to best him to win this. If she showed that she could, and would, hurt him as much as she could before submitting, he would back off. She hoped.
When he took a step toward her she brandished the crowbar in front of her, swung it as hard as she could into a nearby booth. The dry wood splintered under the blow with a satisfying crunch, and despite the fact that the metal dug painfully into her palms and the impact sang up her arms, Chell had to force down a smirk when Wheatley paused, his eyes widening slightly and the corners of his mouth twitching downward nervously.
His hesitation was unfortunately short lived. Then that smirk was back in place, even widening, and his eyes flickered with cold, blue light. Chell's fierce expression faltered, the crowbar drooping a bit as her grip slackened ever so slightly. She too recovered quickly, and swung her weapon hard enough that it whistled as it cut through the air.
"L-lady?" Apollo stammered, and he at least sounded appropriately terrified. Wheatley glanced at the tiny cyborg, smug expression softening slightly.
"No need to be scared, mate," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. Even more surprising was that the smaller cyborg seemed comforted by this. Chell's brow furrowed and the crowbar drooped.
"I'm sure she is bloody dangerous…" There was an edge of mocking laughter in his voice as he said this and it made Chell flush with anger.
"But then, she's not the only one who is. Is she?" His voice went low and dangerous as he turned to face her again, and Chell felt like something ice-cold and slimy had crawled down her spine. Much to her horror, she found herself paralyzed as Wheatley strode toward her.
It was like everything was moving in slow motion. It only took Wheatley a few steps to close the distance between them, but each one seemed to last for ages and the air in her lungs moved like molasses and every instinct screamed at her to run, damn you, get the hell out of there! but there seemed to be some disconnect between her brain and her body and it just wouldn't listen.
When his shadow fell over her she finally regained some control over herself, swinging her crowbar at him almost on reflex. His arm darted forward quicker than any human's could have and he caught it mid-arc with an ugly, meaty thud. She watched the synthetic flesh of his palm split and tear under the impact, revealing the circuitry within his hand. Clear hydraulic fluid leaked from the wound to trickle down his wrist, and a few sparks leapt out, but if Wheatley cared or even noticed, he didn't show it.
Numbly, she took note that she had been wrong about his corruption's effect on his pain tolerance.
She was frozen once more, and could only stare up at him, knees shaking slightly, but she was determined not to let her brave front crumple. But even though her mouth remained set, her eyebrows knitted angrily downward, she was sure that he could see the unmasked terror in her eyes as he grinned and loomed over her.
"Now is that any way to greet an old friend?" he crooned, leaning down and angling his face closer to hers. "And after I've been gone for so long too." He clicked his tongue at her in playful reprimand.
Chell tried to tug her weapon out of his hand, hoping she could get another swing in, but his grip on it was nearly as iron as the bar itself. The edges were digging into her palms, which were still sore from the rebound when she'd hit the booth, but she didn't dare let go. Instead she tightened her hold, trying to ignore the way her skin stung.
"I'll be honest," he said. "You're sort of hurting my feelings, luv." He pretended to pout, but was evidentially too amused to maintain the expression, the corners of his mouth twitching before curling back up into a wide smirk.
"After all, I did come all this way just to see you." With his free hand Wheatley touched her throat, running a finger up from her collarbone to the bottom of her chin. Chell flinched away as best she could while maintaining her hold on her weapon.
He pulled up on the bar, trying to dislodge it from her hold, but Chell wasn't about to give up her greatest defense so easily. She kept a tight grip on it, even after her arms were fully extended over her head, even as she had to stretch up on her toes, as she felt her feet lose contact with the ground.
He simply held her there, dangling an inch in the air from the crowbar, using his inhuman strength and gravity to his advantage. Even as she clutched harder at it, Chell could feel her hands sliding downward, the skin of her palms splitting against the rough edges.
She dropped back to the ground and the slight jarring vibration of impact that travelled up her legs was enough to restore her control of them. Not missing a beat Chell swiveled and made a break for it. She had no chance of outrunning him in the open but if she had enough of a head start maybe she could lose him among the maze of booths…
It was a waste of both effort and hope; with the same terrifying swiftness he had used to intercept her attack, Wheatley's arm was hooked across her belly and jerked her backwards. It drove from her lungs and she spun as she lost her balance, winding up crashing face-first into his chest.
Panic shot through her when she felt his hand on the back of her neck because this was the part where he killed her, where he snapped her spine or crushed her and this time there was no heaven-sent conversion gel, no portal gun, no way to save herself. She squeezed her eyes shut, steeled herself for the inevitable. She would face it bravely at least; deny him the satisfaction of knowing how frightened she really was.
A moment passed, and another, and there was no pain, no crunch of breaking bone or wet squelch of rupturing flesh. Only Wheatley's arms wrapped firmly around her, one hand cupping the base of her skull, the other rubbing circles into the small of her back, and his low chuckle in her ear.
A part of her, the part that had never stopped missing and craving another warm human body, the part that kept her from pitching that stupid ring, the part she had mostly managed to ignore thus far, was filled with warmth and an absurd sense of contentment. The greater, more rational part of her was terrified, and suspicious.
"I bet you thought I forgot, didn't you?" She could feel his voice as much as she could hear it, the way it vibrated through his chest. "About my promise?"
Chell had hoped he hadn't forgotten. She had hoped that he would think about how he had betrayed that promise to take care of her for every moment he was floating in space; that he could think of nothing else. And she was petty enough to have hoped that it would eat him up inside, destroy him with guilt, as it evidentially had not.
"Oh no, I haven't forgotten," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he leaned down and began to nuzzle her hair. "Ol' Wheatley is a man of his word, you see. I know, we've done a lot of things that we both regret…" The words were worryingly familiar, and Chell had a feeling things were about to go just as badly for her as they had the first time she had heard them.
"But I, at least, am willing to put all that behind us. And I'm going to keep my promise. I will keep you, take care of you. And everything's going to be. Just. Fine. Right, luv?"
He drew back to look at her, still smirking. Chell stared, unable to blink or tear her eyes away from his, which were glowing so brightly they had gone nearly white.
Wheatley took hold of her injured hands, lightly ran his thumb along the skin near one of the cuts. Chell had to suppress a shudder.
"Let's start here. Why don't you lead the way home so I can fix that up for you?" The way he gripped her wrist, the subtle but unmistakable force of it, made it clear to her that this was not a mere suggestion.
Chell knew there was a point were tenacity ceased to be a positive thing, and that being held hostage by a proven-insane cyborg who could easily kill her if things didn't go his way was probably it.
But she couldn't just switch off her stubbornness, not like Wheatley seemed to have done to the parts of him that were sweet and kind and endearingly awkward, so she remained immobile and glared at him, trying to infuse as much defiance into her gaze as possible.
Wheatley shook his head and clicked his tongue again, as if she were some naughty child resisting bedtime rather than a woman being forced to lead a maniac to her home, her sanctuary. When she did not relent after a few moments and once again tried in vain to tug her wrists out of his hold, he squeezed, hard enough to hurt. For one terrible moment she was sure he was going to break her arms, but the moment passed and he relaxed his grip.
"I could do it," he murmured. "I could do it if I wanted. I mean, you humans are just so… breakable. Human. Singular. Because it's just you left, isn't it, luv?" Chell flinched.
"But don't want to. Hurt you, I mean. It's bad enough I left you down here all alone for so long, after I swore up and down that I would be there for you. But that's what I'm gonna do now. Make up for lost time, yeah?"
Finally he released her wrists, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the town.
"Lead the way." Chell merely narrowed her eyes, squared her shoulders, and stiffened her back, giving her the appearance of having nearly an inch of height added, although that still left her woefully small in comparison to Wheatley. He sighed, touching two fingers to his temple.
"It's not that I don't admire your stubbornness," he said. "In fact it's one of my favorite things about you. But it really isn't doing you any good in this case. I'm not going away. I can definitely out-stubborn you on this one." And looking at his suddenly stern face, Chell found she believed him.
She hated to admit defeat, but she also wasn't stupid enough to provoke a being who had her outclassed in nearly every physical aspect and had already proven his willingness to take full advantage of that fact. She was smart enough to realize that with her fear clouding her thoughts, devising a better plan than "acquiesce" would be near impossible. Without ceremony, Chell turned on her heel and began to march in the direction of the Winnebago.
She moved as quickly as her legs could carry her, but Wheatley's legs were quicker. He caught up with her and placed a hand on the small of her back, as though he were the one with any idea of where they were going, and more infuriating, as though he had the right to touch her like that at all.
She didn't turn, but she found herself paying close attention to the sound of his footsteps from behind her. She felt somewhat fascinated by the difference in cadence between his stride and hers, despite herself.
To distract herself from this Chell massaged her wrists gingerly with her fingertips, trying to bend her burning, still palms as little as possible. She didn't think there would be marks; the only thing Wheatley had bruised was her pride.
Evidentially he noticed the attention she was giving her hands; out of the corner of her eye she saw him smile ruefully, and she looked over at him.
"Bit of a shame, that," he said, waggling the crowbar in the air, holding it at the end that wasn't stained with blood (or at least wasn't stained with her own or fresh blood). The small grin stretched into another smirk. "Though it is nice to know you haven't gone soft while I was away."
Chell's face twisted up into a snarl and suddenly she was burning up with anger. In that moment she hated him. Hated him for stealing the words right from her brain, for making her feel scared and weak for the first time in ages, for ruining her sense of safety and normalcy and everything she had worked so hard for in her life outside Aperture. And more than anything else she hated him for that smug look on his face that failed to vanish even as she directed the nastiest look she could produce at him.
"I know you aren't too pleased with it, yet, luv," Wheatley crooned. "But I can't tell you how happy I am about all this.
"It's just so nice to see you again."