Being unable to see was more difficult than Wheatley had ever imagined. Back when they were in the facility, he could read the lady's body language and expressions to some extent, but out here, in this blank void… there was nothing. He had nothing to go off of, other than the sounds—and of course, she didn't make any. Or well, no talking anyway. Sometimes there were occasions when she would put her hand on the bottom of his faceplate, and he'd learned that that meant "be quiet," but otherwise? Nothing.
He wasn't even sure she had accepted his apology or not. At one point he'd outright asked if she accepted his apology—to nod her head yes, or shake her head no. He'd heard a sound of movement after that, but he wasn't sure it was a nod or a shake of her head, so he'd went ahead and assumed it was a nod, which was good, because after talking for several hours nearly non-stop, he'd run out of ways to say "I'm sorry."
"Good to know we're on good terms then, lady," he said, giving her a smile—or he hoped he was giving her a smile, anyway. For all he knew, she could be carrying him upside-down and he was grinning at the ground. He'd look like a proper idiot then, but he simply hoped for the best. Yes, that seemed the best way to tackle this situation. "I-I really am glad you accepted my apology—takes a load off of my mind."
He heard her footfalls stop for a moment.
"What was that? Are we stopping somewhere?"
There was that sound again—either a shake or a nod of her head, he wasn't sure. But when he heard her start walking again, he realized it was a shake of her head. Okay. He could… he could probably work with this. Even though the sound of her shaking her head and the sound of her nodding her head sounded exactly the same—or else she'd shaken her head earlier when he'd asked if she accepted his apology. He shuddered at the thought—no, the sounds must be similar.
Speaking of sounds, though, there were a whole lot of them out here, wherever "here" was. He knew he was outside, but that was about it—he didn't know anything of what this place looked like, or what virtually any of these sounds were. Back there, he might recognize some sounds. There were a few times when he'd gotten lost in dark sections of the facility and hadn't known to use his flashlight. He'd had to listen to sounds then to help him, and he eventually came to recognize them:
Stale air, adrenal vapor, and neurotoxin made hissing sounds as they moved through vents. Their sounds weren't different, but he could always tell from either their affects or their looks. Neurotoxin was green, and it made people writhe, gag, and stop moving. Air and adrenal vapor were clear, but he could distinguish between them when humans were around—the adrenal vapor kept them perked up, whereas the air made them tired and sluggish, usually.
Not that any of those things helped him now, and he realized with a stab of worry that if he'd had to identify one of those three things, he wouldn't be able to—he couldn't see their color or effects anymore. But then, none of them—aside from the air, which wouldn't be stale, of course—mattered up here on the surface.
What else was there, anyway? Turrets—they made whirring and beeping noises, and, of course, they talked. He could certainly hear that, but to determine where they were, he would always look for their optics. But now that he couldn't see that, how was he supposed to tell where things were? Was there a way to determine that through sound?
What else—okay, his own internal components. He made a lot of whirring and squeaking and clanking noises. Even when he wasn't talking, he was making noises, he reflected with a slight smile—but that really wasn't going to help him a whole lot at the moment.
He realized that even when he could identify sounds, he still relied more on his vision than anything else.
And a whole lot of bloody good that did him now.
"Hey, um, lady," he finally said, swiveling his optic to face where he assumed she was, "where are we right now?"
She said nothing, and made no effort to answer him.
"W-well, okay, fair enough, you're—you're trying to get somewhere. Okay." He looked aside nervously, and listened for the noises. Maybe he could learn on his own.
There was the constant step-step-step of her footfalls. He learned that one quickly, at least. It didn't sound like it did in the facility—in the facility, where all the floors were metal or panel, the sound of her footfalls was more of a clang-clang-clang. Here, however, it was a much softer noise. Sometimes it was a crunching noise, sometimes it was a ruffling noise… She must be walking on different surfaces, he realized, but what sort of surfaces, he wasn't sure.
There were other noises too—a whooshing noise. It was air blowing around. He knew it because he could feel it move through his casing, and it reminded him of the tube that he and the lady had sailed through before landing themselves in her chamber. It… also reminded him of when he'd been sucked out into space for a brief time, right before… He shook himself out of that memory. But that didn't make sense, anyway. They weren't in a tube, and they weren't in space. So what was causing the rush of air that he felt on occasion?
"Hey, lady?" he asked again. "What is that noise?"
She said nothing, but he thought he heard her move differently, perhaps looking down at him.
"Y-you know, that... that whooshing noise, with the air blowin' around… What is it? What's causing it?"
No answer.
"Th-that's… really helpful, you know," he said, partly in sarcasm and partly in sad disappointment. "Real helpful…"
Well, maybe he could figure it out later, if she ever did give him a barrage of speech. He remembered saying that sarcastically before, but honestly, he really wished she would speak to him right now.
Turning his thoughts away from the unidentifiable whooshing of air, he tried to focus on other things. There were rustling noises—sometimes they would grow louder, sometimes quieter, but they always sounded from up above. "Well—what about that. What's that? That rustling noise?" he asked again. "It's above us. I-I can hear it rustling above us—what is it?"
Once again, the lady did not answer, and he would have drooped his handles in disappointment had she not been holding them.
But then the thought occurred to him—of course! Perhaps the reason she hadn't been answering him was because she didn't know the answer! Maybe she wasn't ignoring him at all—she probably just didn't want to embarrass herself by admitting that she didn't know. "Oooh, I see then," he said with a grin in his unlit optic. "It's all right, lady, you don't need to be embarrassed or anything! No need. If you don't know the answer, that's perfectly all right! But a simple 'I don't know' would be better than, heh, dead silence, and all. So, if you don't know the answer to my question, simply say so. Right?"
He thought he heard another soft movement from her, and took it to mean "yes."
"Great! So…" He strained his aural sensors, trying to catch another sound, and was startled by a soft scraping, followed by a chattering noise. "Wh-what's that? That noise? Is something else there? Something—something living?"
The lady gave no answer.
"L-like I said, lady, it's all right if you don't know, but let me know that, okay? Gotta let me know so I know you're not, er, completely ignoring me. So can you—"
And finally, the lady did something. That "something" was placing her hand over the lower section of his faceplate.
"…Oh." Wheatley slumped in his casing. "Oh… okay then. No more talking for now." He heaved a sigh and glanced aside—or what he assumed was "aside." For all he knew, he could be staring the lady in the face right now.
But it was so hard—it was hard not to see, because he had to rely on sound, which he didn't know how to rely on. And it was hard to just listen because he didn't know what sound was what. It could get quite frustrating, but fortunately his voice could mask those noises… But when he wasn't supposed to talk, there was nothing to cover all of those unidentifiable sounds.
He felt like he was floating in a dark void with unknown things constantly drifting around him. The things could be something as innocent as a panel or as sinister as a spike plate, and he'd never know, because he couldn't see.
And he never would.
The realization hit him a lot harder than it should have at this point—but earlier, he'd been too busy panicking over what she was doing to be dwelling too much on his blindness. But now they were out of Aperture, and while they were away from her, they were also away from anything that could possibly fix him.
He remembered the engineers that had fixed him up after he'd been detached from her—they had tons of things to replace broken or damaged personality construct components. Core optics, however, were slightly different—as each one was unique, it was a bit harder to create multiple optics for a single core. But they did have default, generic optics (patterned like the Aperture logo) to fit into blinded cores until a true replacement optic was created. Those temporary replacement optics certainly weren't as good looking as his own bright blue optic (a devilishly handsome optic, he might add), but they'd certainly be better than his being blind for the rest of his life.
His idea formulated, Wheatley cleared his throat. "Lady," he began, "I know this sounds rather sudden—and well, it is, just came up with this idea now—but how about we turn back?"
The lady stopped.
"Crazy, I know! But hear me out. If we can sneak back into the facility and into the engineers' labs, we could snag a replacement optic for me! They had tons of the things, I remember, and surely there's a few that still work."
She did not respond, and he began to grow nervous.
"Okay, look, it's really not so bad. I'm not asking you to go through testing, jumping through hoops, er, portals, and all—just need to grab me one of those optics. Don't even need to stay in there to replace it! You can do that later, after we've gotten out again."
He felt her grip tighten over his handles, and her hands began to shake. That was not a good sign.
"Okay, you know what, I don't blame you! I wouldn't want to do it either. Bloody frightening place, the facility is. But, if we do do it—if we do go back there, then we can grab that optic, and then you can fix me, and I won't be blind anymore! Perfect! Not only would I be able to easily guide you back out of the facility—should you decide to fix me while we're there—but I could help you around out here! …Somehow! I'll admit I've got absolutely no clue as to the stuff that's out here, but, hey, I could learn, right? I'd be your seeing-eye-core! …Wait, no, that's not right, you can already see. But, um. I could help you somehow! And—and plus, you're my friend, right? You'd do this for a friend."
He wasn't sure if her hands were still shaking or if he was trembling.
"L-look the point is, I-I would really like to be able to see again. Being blind for the rest of my life does not exactly sound like a dream, okay? I-in fact, it sounds, if I'm completely honest, like a nightmare. Like a never-bloody-ending nightmare because I can't see a thing anymore and I know jack all about using my hearing to get around—" He twitched, shuddered, and forced himself to calm down a little. "So your choices are this: go back to the facility and get me a new optic, or… let your best friend be blind for the rest of his life. So… what's it gonna be?"
The lady started walking again, her pace quickening.
"Oh, what's that? Did you—have you turned around? That would be brilliant! Turning around, heading back to the ol' facility, braving her just to help m—"
If Wheatley had had a stomach, he probably would have felt like he'd lost it as he plummeted down to the ground and smacked against some soft surface. "AGH—! Ow… oh that hurt, what was that?" he whimpered, shattered optic contracting and swiveling this way and that. "What happened?" He felt something shift beside him, and tried to turn his optic in that direction. "Aaagh! What's that? I-is that you, lady? Please tell me that's you…!"
He felt a hand on the lower part of his faceplate again, and blinked. Okay, it was her, and she wanted him to be quiet again. …Well, okay, maybe she needed to figure out how to get back to the facility. He had assumed she'd been traveling in a straight line, but maybe that wasn't the case. So that meant the case could very well be that she was, at this moment, plotting a course back to the facility in order to get him a new optic.
Wheatley was going to work off of the assumption that that was the correct assumption, because the only other option would be…
Nope! Nope, that wasn't it at all, because the lady wouldn't let him stay blind for the rest of his life, would she? Of course not! Haha! No, he had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
He tried to keep a smile as he waited for the lady to plot her course. But, as the minutes ticked on, he gradually became aware of the sound of soft breathing beside him. He had heard her breathing before, but it usually wasn't as soft and slow like this. The only time humans breathed like this was when…
…Oh.
So… she wasn't plotting a course back to the facility. But—but that was okay, because she was tired and just needed to rest up a bit, and, come daylight, would turn right around and carry him back there, and get him his new optic, and everything would be just fine.
That was what was going to happen.
…Yes, that was what was going to happen.
Maybe if he repeated it enough times in his mind, it would be true.
Chell blinked in the early morning sunlight, and breathed in a deep breath of fresh, unfiltered air. It was her reminder that everything that had happened yesterday was not a dream—that, yes, she really was out of that place for good, and she would never have to go back.
Smiling a genuine smile, she stretched her limbs—
—and jerked in surprise when the toe of her boot lightly tapped against something metal.
Pushing herself up on her arm, she spotted a core lying on the ground a few feet off. His ugly, shattered optic was hidden beneath a pair of metal eye shields, giving the illusion of sleep. She was pretty sure robots didn't need to sleep, but he could be in some kind of sleep mode.
Slowly Chell rose from her spot beneath the tree she'd been sleeping under, carefully brushing the dirt off of her clothing and keeping an eye on the core all the while. He never stirred—maybe he was in sleep mode.
She still couldn't believe the things he'd been suggesting yesterday. Apparently he still didn't get the fact that she couldn't talk, and used that as an excuse to assume she agreed with everything he said. No, she didn't forgive him after those pitiful, annoying apologies, no, she wasn't his friend, and no, she wasn't going to head back into the place she'd fought so hard to escape just to get some replacement optic for the stupid robot that had betrayed her.
Chell took a few steps away from him, shaking her head. She couldn't believe she'd taken him with her—carried that idiot all this way. Was she supposed to take him to whatever settlement she found and take care of him? That was ridiculous. She was done with Aperture, and she wanted no part of it, not even ownership of one of its worthless robots. But unfortunately she was stuck with this core, because…
…No, she wasn't.
Her eyes widened as realization dawned upon her: She wasn't stuck with Wheatley at all. She'd only taken the core from Aperture so GLaDOS couldn't have the satisfaction of exacting some cruel revenge on him. They were well out of range of Aperture now—she'd barely stopped walking since she'd started, and had only fully stopped when she was too tired to walk anymore—and there was no reason for her to carry the core with her any longer. GLaDOS wouldn't find him here.
She could leave him behind.
Yet, the idea still didn't feel completely right. Wheatley was helpless, even more so now that he could no longer see. If she left him, he couldn't just get up and go his own way. He had no means of moving—no means of seeking shelter from the elements. If it rained, he would probably short circuit.
But then, this was the core that had betrayed her. This was the core that had promised to get her out of Aperture, and then spat on that promise and turned on her. This was the core that had forced her through test after test so he could get some disgusting pleasure out of the solutions. This was the core that had blasted her through a metal gate and then yelled at her for not dying.
Why did he deserve any of her pity?
Before she could question her actions, Chell turned around, walking quietly and purposefully away from the blinded, sleeping core. Sorry or not, he was part of Aperture—a part of Aperture that had betrayed her, and a part of Aperture that she was not going to take with her.
Wheatley was starting to dislike this outside world.
It was noisy, but it was a different kind of noisy than the facility. The facility was full of loads of noises—hissing and whooshing pneumatics, rattling bullets, creaking metal, and so on. It was comfortably inorganic. If he wanted to, he could easily drift off into sleep mode listening to those familiar noises.
But outside? The noises were so different and foreign and strange and… what was the opposite of inorganic… not-inorganic? Non-inorganic? …Organic? Ugh. Some of the noises sounded as though they came from living things, which was an alarming thought. There were creaking noises, but they weren't the kind that came from rusty metal joints, he knew that much. There were also noises that he did recognize, such as the cawing of… birds. He shuddered at the thought. Alongside those, there were plenty of other noises he simply could not identify.
But, as the lady had slept on through these noises, and he wouldn't be able to get anywhere without her, he figured he might as well try to sleep through them. It was better than sitting around all day—all night?—listening to them. So he'd tried to shut himself down into his power-conserving sleep mode, waiting for the lady to wake up, pick him up, and begin their trek back. It wasn't so easy, since the strange noises all around him were unnerving, to say the least, but he focused on the fact that soon they'd be off to get his eyesight back, and he wouldn't have to worry about this for too much longer. Soon, he'd be seeing all of these noisy little… noise-makers so he could figure out what in the name of Science was going on.
With that thought to ease his worries, he'd drifted off.
When Wheatley woke up, he blinked a few times, wondering why everything was so dark before he remembered—oh, right, his optic. "Oooh… G'morning, lady. Hope you're all… um… rested up, and all. We're—that's right, we're heading off to the facility again, aren't we?" He pulled his lower shield up in a smile, glancing around uselessly. "I've gotta say, it's quite nice of you to do this for me. Brave the ol' facility again, sneak on by her, and all. Really, can't say how grateful I am! But then, I am your friend, and all. Of course you'd do this for me."
No reply, as usual.
"Er, you are awake, aren't you? Well, yes, of course, you probably are. Don't hear that soft breathing I was hearing last night—or—whenever it was you'd decided to sleep. Could've been the middle of the day, for all I know." He shifted uncomfortably—the surface beneath him was soft, and tiny bits of dirt were working their way into his casing. This was not in the least bit comfortable, but he shouldn't complain. "But, right. On to business then. I think, to start with, in case you haven't figured this out already, we should be heading the opposite way we were heading yesterday. If you were heading forward, go backward—or, well, don't walk backward, that'd be—er—you wouldn't be able to tell where you were going. Heh. But go the opposite way—go back! And if you turned right, turn left! And… well, you get the idea. Just memorize that route you took yesterday, and do it backwards!"
He nodded to himself—that seemed the smart thing to do. But then a thought struck him. "Oh, but what if you can't remember the way back? Oooh… Um. Well, that could be a problem. Well, then, what you could do is look for landmarks. See? I know where the main breaker room is, 'cause it's right under her chamber. So if you're trying to figure out how to get back to the facility, just think… um… Well, I've passed that biggish thing over there, and so I should pass it again when going back. Right? Right. …Are you listening to me?"
No response.
"…Okay if you are asleep, I would apologize, except we really should get going pretty soon before you forget the way back. But… no, no, you can't be asleep, 'cause, I just said, I can't hear your breathing all soft and—and come to think of it, I can't hear your breathing at all, actually. …Oh. Oh gosh!" Wheatley's optic contracted sharply, and he cringed when he felt a piece of the aperture come loose. "Ow… Uh, lady? You know you're not breathing, right? That's not good for you! I know what happens to humans when they stop breathing, and it's not pretty! So uh, you'd better start breathing, okay? Starting… now."
Nothing.
"Oh. Oh nonono! What if she's already…?" With a frightened twitch, Wheatley wiggled back and forth in his casing until he began to roll, and attempted to roll toward where the lady had been before. The effort caused even more dirt to work its way into his casing, but at least he didn't find himself rolling into a lifeless corpse. The thought should have made him relax, but it still wasn't right; why wasn't the lady there?
"…Lady? Where are you? You've—you've apparently gotten up before I woke up, that's plain to see, b-but where did you go?" he stammered, trying to look this way and that. He was stuck on his side at this point, and he tried to wriggle himself upright, only to wind up upside-down. "Agh. Have you—gone off to look for food?" He blinked. "That's… not a bad idea, actually. Humans need food to keep their energy up. Good plan. But! As soon as you're done eating, please come back to get me and let's get on with this."
He waited for a while, listening, but he never heard any noise of her footfalls rushing toward him, or of her voice's talking to him—whatever that would sound like. He heard plenty of other noises, of course, and he tried to block those out, not wanting to participate in another roundabout guessing game again.
After what must have surely been at least an hour and still no sign of the lady, Wheatley's handles drooped. "O-oh," he said in a small voice. "You're… you're not there at all, are you?" He blinked once, twice, and his handles drooped further. "W-well, a bloody lot of good it does me talking to you, i-if you're… n-not there."
He tilted in his casing, and wound up rolling onto his side again. "Well, I'll just… wait here… for you to come back to me." After a moment, his optic widened. "Come back to me—that's it! You've left for the facility and left me out here so I wouldn't have to go back in and face her! Oh, you're brilliant, luv! Bloody brilliant! So you'll be back soon with my new optic. Hah! I knew I could count on you."
With that thought in mind, Wheatley smiled, resting in the patch of dirt he sat on. Yes, that was surely what the lady was doing. She'd be back soon, and he'd have a new, working optic soon, and everything would be just fine.
So as the hours ticked on, he waited for the moment he would hear her footfalls. All the while he talked with himself, trying to pass the time. Yet, as he waited, different worries began to worm their way into his processor.
"What if she can't find the labs?" he wondered. "Should've taken me with her—I know where they are. A-and even if I can't see right now, I'd still be better help than no help at all, right?"
"What if she got lost?" was another worry that came up after another few hours. "She might not be able to find her way back there—and then, if she turned around to find me again, she might not know how to get back to me, either." It was a frightening thought, and he tried to push it out of his mind.
A few more hours ticked by. He was losing track. "Okay—but what if she… what if she found her? And… and made her go through more testing?" He shuddered. "Oooh I hope not… that would… that would be bad…"
Worry after worry worked their way through his head like a hellish parade, each one worse than the last. Finally, just when he was beginning to wonder if something terrible had happened to her, and she… she wound up like those humans in the relaxation center, he heard soft footfalls nearby.
All the tension and worry swept out of him like a flood, and he heaved a synthesized sigh of relief. "There you are, lady! You had me worried!" he called as the footfalls grew louder.
The sounds stopped.
"I'm—I'm right here, lady. Right where you left me," he said, blinking in confusion. "Come on—follow my voice. Right this way."
To his relief, the sound of footfalls started again.
"There, see?" he said, lower lid pulled up in a smile. "Now, did you find that optic? Aw, I'll tell ya, I can't wait to see again! Lookin' forward to seeing what this outside world looks like. Excited! Gonna be great. So uh, let's get to that, then! It'll—It'll be a bit of work, pulling this old optic out and getting the new one in… and… prob'ly… j-just a bit painful, now that I think of it, but! All worth it in the end, right?"
The footfalls were growing louder, though they were still soft, and Wheatley began to pick up on something strange about them. They were a lot quicker than the lady's footfalls, even when she was running, and still far too soft for something like those boots she usually wore. Maybe she had found a new, experimental form of shoes? Ones she could move faster in?
"Uh, lady?" he asked, his optic searching. The footfalls were slowing now. "Why're you walking so strangely?"
The footfalls stopped, and Wheatley could pick up on the sound of breathing. The sound gradually grew louder, and eventually he could feel a warm breath near his casing.
"Um… D-don't want to be rude, lady, but that's… rather creepy, to say the lea—EAAUUGH!"
Something cold and wet touched him, but as soon as he shrieked, he felt a blast of warm air and heard a snort, followed by the sound of something running—no, galloping—away.
"…That wasn't the lady, was it?" he murmured, blinking few times. "No… that… that wasn't her at all." He tilted in his casing, and his handles slowly drooped. "No, of course it wasn't her."
There was something nagging at him—something he'd been suspecting from the beginning, but hadn't wanted to admit. But, after all this waiting, he was beginning to suspect that it was the truth.
"She's… she's not dead," he said quietly. "She's not captured, either, or lost… she's… she's just not coming back."
His optic contracted—not in fear, not in worry, but in a dull, empty hopelessness. "No. I'm stuck here. She's left me behind, and she's… not coming back."
And all at once, the emptiness of shock was replaced by a rush of terror, of desperation, as he twisted himself upright and tried to push himself up on his handle, tilting his face up and crying out: "LADY! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE! PLEASE! COME BACK! COME BAAAACK! LADYYY!"
He went on like that for some time, never stopping—he had no lungs and no need to breathe. He called out on and on, trying through sheer determination to make his voice carry throughout this horrible outside world with its overwhelming noises and feelings and dirt and creatures that he couldn't even see because he needed her, he needed that lady to get him through this place, he needed her, and he screamed and cried and called until his vocal processor forcibly shut itself down to keep itself from breaking. That would have been troubling in and of itself, but Wheatley was too overwhelmed to process anything else.
So he was left sitting in that dark world, waiting for the lady to come back, because he knew she would. She had to. That was the only hope he had left, and he would cling to it.
Chell stopped again, stooping down by the stream to take in a sip of water. It was nice and cool, though not completely clean, but she relished the freedom to simply drink whenever she wanted. Back in Aperture she would have to desperately search for a rain puddle that had leaked in from the surface, or look around for an employee kitchen that wasn't a total wreck. But when she was going through testing, there was nothing she could do at all but try to ignore her swollen tongue and dry throat.
When she'd first come across the stream, she had drunk deeply, more than relieved to be able to quench the thirst she'd had for far too long. She'd then kept by the stream, following it to wherever it led. She had no real aim at this point other than finding food and shelter, and she was hoping the stream would eventually lead her to a town of some sort.
But it never did. She'd followed it for over a day, and it hadn't led her to anywhere as of yet. Still, it provided water and occasionally food—she'd managed to catch fish to eat a few times.
Chell remained crouched by the stream, watching for any sign of the aquatic animals. It might be nice to catch a few more to eat, though she knew better than to try to eat too much. She wasn't about to make herself sick from trying to eat too much after being hungry for so long. Besides, it was nice to just sit by the stream, listening to the gentle sound of the water.
…Or it should have been.
If there was one thing Chell was good at noticing, it was details. She'd had to analyze details for so long during testing, it was simply natural to her. And right now, something seemed off—like she'd missed a cube and a button somewhere along the line.
The sound of the water and the gentle breeze and the rustling of the trees—all representatives of freedom—should have been welcoming, but instead, they felt lacking. It was comforting to know that she was outside, yet she still felt uneasy. But why? What was there to be uneasy about? She was out of that place, out in the real world, with nothing inorganic to bother her, no tests, no chattering AIs constantly talking in her ear…
Or was that the problem in the first place?
It struck her, then, the very idea of it. For all that time she'd been thinking about how great it would be to get outside and away from those endlessly-taunting voices, and yet, now that she wasn't hearing it anymore, it felt unnatural. And there was nothing she could do about it—she couldn't use her own voice to fill the silence. She had no voice.
Still, she huffed out a sigh, gazing back into the stream. Once she found civilization, her need to hear voices would be satisfied. She could listen to the backdrop of people talking all day—people talking, not AIs.
Nodding to herself, she focused on the water, and tensed at seeing ripples. There was a fish. Crouching, she crawled closer to the stream, and, in one swift movement, snatched the fish out of the water. It had taken a good deal of practice, but she'd gotten better at it. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a jagged rock she'd picked up earlier, and quickly killed the fish.
With some work, she managed to start a fire and cooked her meal over it, letting her mind drift as she turned the fish with the stick she'd stabbed into it.
What're you doing? Trying to catch that thing on fire? Bloody strange humans.
She shook her head, frowning. Why was she thinking about him? He was gone now—she'd left him behind for a reason. She wasn't about to bring that traitor back into her life. She wasn't even really sure she could find the core again anyway, even if she had meant to find him. He was a day or so behind her.
Forcing her thoughts away from the robot, she focused on her meal, waiting until it was cooked just right. Her gaze traced the once-shiny scales, following them around the fins and up to the dead eyes of the fish. They seemed to stare out into nothingness, unseeing.
A memory flashed through her mind—Wheatley opening his eye shields, revealing that ugly, shattered optic, the jagged glass of the lens still clinging to the rim, the aperture broken, blind and unseeing.
She'd left a blind person out in the middle of a forest to fend for himself.
No—a blind robot, not a person.
The fish was about done, and she pulled it away from the fire, waiting for it to cool. Wheatley was an AI, not a human, and she shouldn't have to concern herself with him. He was annoying, anyway—his constant apologies and questions drove her up the wall. That whooshing noise was wind, of course—what else could it be? The rustling was leaves, the chattering was a squirrel—did he not know anything?
…Then again, he was out of his element. Why should she expect him to know about things out here?
Chell shook her head again and went to bite into the fish, only to jerk back and spit when the meat burnt her tongue. Frowning, she blew over it, trying to make it cool faster. Stupid core, she thought. Even when he's not here, he's distracting.
But still the thought that she had simply left him there, alone, to rust out in the forest, did not sit well with her. She tried to push it out of her mind as she began to eat her meal—there were other things she needed to be thinking about: whether or not she should keep following the stream or if she should take another course, whether she should set up shelter for herself for a while or keep walking until she found civilization… whether she should try to find him again…
As she forced herself to swallow a few more bites, it suddenly occurred to her: GLaDOS would surely be proud of her abandoning a helpless, blind core.
Her stomach churned, and what little she had eaten splattered on the grass.
Wheatley kept his handles curled around his frame, waiting for his vocal processor to come back online again. It might take a while, but he couldn't give up—he had to keep trying. He had to keep calling for the lady, because she would be looking for him. She could pass by him now, and miss him, and he probably wouldn't notice because he couldn't see a thing.
He wasn't giving up. He wasn't going to accept the fact that he was probably going to sit out here until it rained and until his internal components were fried. He wasn't going to accept the fact that his metal frame would probably rust out here and plants would wrap around through him like that bloody huge potato plant he'd seen choking the panel arms. The lady would come back for him and give him a new optic and he could see because that was exactly what was going to happen and he didn't want to think of any other possibility because he couldn't stand it.
He didn't know how long it had been waiting at this point—he didn't even know how long it had been since he'd realized that the lady had left him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, because that might make his case even more hopeless.
There was a slight click in his mind—his vocal processor had come back online. Immediately he took advantage of this, his newly-reactivated voice stuttering and staticking as he croaked out, "L-l-l-l-l-LADY! D-don't-t-t leave me out here! KRRRTZZzplllEEAAAse come back! I'M SORRY! I'LL NEVER ASK FOR YOU TO GO BACK TH-TH-THERE AGAIN! I D-DON'T CARE I-IF… I… I… e-ever… s-see again…! J-just come back! Please!"
He went on like that for a while, pausing only when his vocal processor began to spark, and that's when he heard it—footfalls. It's the lady! he thought, broken optic wide, but then he remembered the other thing he'd encountered—the thing that wasn't the lady. What if it was that again? What if it was something else? He quailed at the thought, the thought of some unknown entity finding him, taking him away, or worse…
The footfalls stopped.
No, no—! "W-wait, lady? Is—is that you? P-please tell me if it's you—come back…!"
The footfalls started again as soon as he started talking, and after a moment, the terror came back—what if this wasn't the lady—it couldn't possibly be her—the footfalls were coming closer—
"Wait, wait, stop—don't—don't—get away—get away—"
Something grabbed his handle.
"NO—NO—NO—HELP!"
He felt a hand on the bottom of his faceplate. "AH—what are you—m-my vocal processor's not there, mate, you can't make me—shut… up…" Slowly he calmed, a hope welling up within him that he almost didn't dare to believe it. "L… lady?"
He heard a soft sound—the sound of someone's head slowly nodding—and felt another hand grip his bottom handle, holding him securely in the person's—no, the lady's grip.
"You…" he gasped, "you came back."
She nodded.
Wheatley was silent for once—he'd been so consumed with worry and anxiety and hope that the lady would, by some miracle, return, that he hadn't considered what he would do or say when she actually did. So he hung there, held in her secure grip, both human and robot silent and still.
Finally his lower eye shield raised and his broken optic turned in the direction he thought the lady's face was. "…Thanks."
There was a soft huff of air that—Wheatley was not entirely sure—could have been a laugh, and the hand let his lower handle, only to come to his faceplate, turning it in the proper direction. It then patted the side of his hull twice—You're welcome.