It felt like ages before the storm passed. Wheatley wasn't quite sure what the lady had done to him, but whatever it was, it kept the water off. Water, from the sky—this place could be so awful sometimes. Well, most of the time, actually.

But they'd made it through the night, and the lady had begun moving again as soon as the rain had stopped. However, this time she didn't go on playing her game with him, trying different ways to explain different noises to him. Instead, she seemed to be making all sorts of funny noises—some loud noise that had startled him badly at first, and another noise that reminded him of when the scientists were choking from the neurotoxin. When he'd asked what was going on, she'd simply squeezed his handle to let him know she was all right, but that didn't really explain why she was making those noises, or why she was making them so often. He thought at first that she enjoyed making the noises—fair enough, since there were few other noises that she could make, but sometimes the noises got a bit… painful-sounding.

She was also shivering. Quite a bit, actually. She'd taken off whatever she'd covered him in after a while (which was nicer—made it easier for him to move his handles) and put it on herself, but it didn't really stop the shivering. Or her uneven breathing. He was pretty sure humans' breathing was supposed to be fairly even, but he could be wrong.

In any case, she was still moving forward—she seemed even more determined to travel, in fact—so he didn't let it bother him. He didn't understand it, but so long as the lady didn't abandon him, he wasn't going to worry about it. Though he did wish she would communicate with him more. Maybe he would have to fill that gap in himself.

"Still, it was crazy, wasn't it? All those big ol' explosions, and—and that roaring—sounded like we were being chased by a bloody monster, mate! I mean, I know it's not really a monster—knew that the whole time—but that's what it sounded like. And you started running—honestly, thought we were being chased by something! And then there was that rain everywhere—ugh, what a mess. But we made it through! Yes, definitely made it… made it out." It wasn't the first time he'd talked with her about that night, or the second, or third, or… or maybe even the seventh, but he felt he had to keep talking due to the lack of communication on her part, and since she wasn't telling him to shut up, he felt no reason to keep quiet.

The lady stopped again, and broke off into another fit of coughing. He paused in his narration then—she wouldn't be able to hear him over those awful-sounding coughs—waiting patiently for her to stop. When the rough sounds finally gave way to shaky breathing, he turned his blind optic in her direction. "Dunno why you wanna keep doing that, lady. Doesn't exactly sound stellar on your—on your vocal processor—er—throat? Yes, throat. Doesn't sound like you're helpin' your throat much. You need that. Pretty sure."

She gave a shaky laugh, patting him on the side, and kept walking.

"There you go! Much better, lady, doin' much better. Now, keep walking! To… somewhere! Wherever you wanna go. Left, right, doesn't matter. Entirely up to you!" he said, giving her a bright a smile as he could manage with an unlit optic. "Though uh, might be nice if you could talk to me again, y'know?"

She patted his hull again, but made no new motions other than grabbing his lower handle to carry him more easily.

Wheatley tried to content himself with that, and resumed his usual rambling about everything and nothing, trying to identify sounds as they went by. Normally the lady would at least say whether he was correct or not, but she wasn't even doing that, now. But he continued to talk anyway, going on for a while until he noticed that he couldn't hear the lady's footfalls anymore. She wasn't coughing, but she was breathing heavily.

"Oi, what's goin' on?" he asked. "It's not like you to be so quiet. …Well actually, no, it is—you've never, uh, really been one to make noises. But I mean, you're not even trying to… to say anything to me, and now you're not even walking! If I didn't know better, lady, I'd think you were mad at me. …Oh. Oh. You… you are mad at me, aren't you? Was it something I said? Wh-what was it, lady? Why're you—"

He felt her hand on his faceplate, and she shook it. No.

"Oh, you're not mad? Well, that's a relief." However, he couldn't help but notice that something was odd about the way her hand—or, well, both of her hands—felt. They were rather… warm—not that they weren't always quite warm compared to the cold metal of his casing—but warmer than normal, and a lot shakier than they were before. He might have shrugged it off had the lady not continued to just stand there. "…Lady, are you all right?"

He felt a tremor, and she quickly shook his faceplate again before suddenly setting him on the ground. "OI! What're you doing? What's happening out there?" he called, optic narrowing and what was left of his aperture contracting. With a jolt, he realized what she'd just told him—no. No, she was not all right. "…L-lady?"

The lady did not respond, and he heard her scramble away from him.

"Lady!" he cried, flailing his handles to struggle closer. "Where're you going? D-don't leave me…!"

He heard her make a strange, heaving sound, followed by something splatting.

"Wh—what was that?" he whimpered, cringing away. "I—I don't know that sound…" But she followed it up with coughing and spitting—he was at least familiar with those sounds. "Lady, what's going on?"

The strange sounds resumed for a few moments before he heard her go back to breathing heavily and spitting occasionally. Trying in vain to swing his optic in her direction, he attempted to fix her with a glare. "Wha'd'you think you were doing, lady, makin' awful sounds like that? Honestly, you'd think you were—"

Suddenly he felt her hand on his upper handle, while another hand shakily traced a word into his casing: S-I-C-K.

"…Oh," he said quietly, drawing his handles in close to his frame. While he didn't know as much about humans as he would have liked, he knew one thing: sickness was never good.

Slowly she picked him up, scooping him into her lap and wrapping her body around him, as she had on the night of the rainstorm.

The action did not ease his mind. No, sickness was never good for a human, but did it mean that the lady… wouldn't be able to travel? What if they got caught in another rainstorm? What if the water got into his casing? Then they'd both…

"O-okay," he began, trying to keep his voice even. "Your legs—your legs are still working, right?"

The lady was still for a moment. Yes.

"Okay, good! You can still move, then—can still walk. So, you'd, uh, better keep doing that. 'Cause if we just sit here, doin' nothing, we're not gonna get anywhere, and you're just gonna get sicker. I think. And that would… not be a good thing. No, definitely not the—the best option."

He heard her give a shuddering sigh, and she traced something into his side: 15 min.

"That's… that's a number. One, five. One plus five… seven? Or, er, wait, no—eight. Hah, got it." He nodded in satisfaction before blinking. "Eight what?" Tilting his face, he waited for her response, but she only gave a brief motion for him to be quiet, and curled around him more tightly. She was uncomfortably warm, but he kept quiet for once, listening to the sound of her shuddering breaths as she held him.

After several minutes, she sat up, taking hold of his handles and shakily rising to her feet.

"Ah, are we moving now?" Wheatley asked, glancing around uselessly. In response, he felt her begin to walk, and he grinned. "Tremendous! Great job, lady, you keep that up, all right? Onward! To… somewhere! Just—just keep moving, and everything will be all right."

So the lady kept walking, and he continued encouraging her as best as he could. He wished he could see her face—that would give him a much better idea of how she was actually feeling, but at the same time, he was glad that he couldn't. When the lady was determined to do something, her face showed it, and it could… honestly look just a little terrifying at times. He knew that first hand, after Part Five, when she struggled onto her hands and knees and gave him that look—

He shuddered.

But even though he couldn't see it, he was certain that was the sort of look she had about her right now, as she marched steadily forward. Or… not-so-steadily. He could feel her steps growing shaky, and some time later she stopped and set him down before making some of those awful sick noises again.

"Hey, that's not helping you, lady!" he said, optic narrowing in spite of his worry. "Y-you can't stop to do that. You have to keep moving! You can do this! We—we have to find a place where you can get better." Not that he knew exactly where that was—he wasn't a bloody human, so how should he know?—but she should know. And once they got there, she would get better, and they could put this whole mess behind them.

The lady placed her hand on him again and shook his faceplate before covering his optic.

"You… need to go into sleep mode," he said, trying to remember if that was what she was signing. "Is that right?"

Yes.

"Okay, fair enough. Sleep mode, and, and then, as soon as you're up again, we keep moving." A thought struck him, and he gave her a hopeful smile. "Or maybe you can get better when you sleep! That happens sometimes, right?"

She didn't respond to the question, instead lying on the ground next to him and wrapping her body around his round form. He flinched to find her skin was still warm to the touch, but tried to ignore it. "A-all right, then. Go on, get some sleep, and get better." He waggled his upper handle, gently patting her on the side. "I'll keep a look-out, then."

It wasn't until she'd drifted off that he realized the utter stupidity of that statement, but he narrowed his optic in determination anyway. "Well, no, not a look-out… but a… listen-out. I'll… right… g'night, luv."

While Wheatley never got tired, exactly, he did get dreadfully bored keeping awake all night, but he did it anyway. He listened to every sound—every rustle of leaves, every flutter of wings, every gust of wind—making sure that there was nothing out there that would harm the lady. It felt like ages, though, and he couldn't keep track of time. Part of him wanted to wake the lady up, but another part of him hoped that, if he let her sleep for as long as she could, she would wake up and be better. But he didn't know how long that would be—for all he knew, it could be hours from now.

So when he suddenly felt something stir next to him, he yelped in surprise, flailing his handles and squirming in his casing. "AAAGH! Wh-what's—?!" Something very warm touched his side, and he flinched badly, only to realize what it was. "O-oh! You're awake!"

However, his relieved grin quickly faded in grim realization: "Er… lady, I thought I said that you would get better when you slept. Why're you feelin' warmer than you were earlier?"

She only shivered, pulling him closer to her form. But that didn't make sense—humans shivered when they were cold, not when they were hot. Why wasn't she making sense—?!

"Oi, stop that!" he cried, struggling to back away from her, his broken optic contracting partly in anger and partly in worry. "You got no business shivering when you're all hot like that! You're still sick—we can't stay here! Honestly lady you need to take care of yourself, b-because…"

A shiver ran through his casing, but he heard her slowly sit up, and felt her grip on his handles. He twitched at how hot her hands felt, but attempted a smile anyway. "All right, good, keep it up—just gotta stand up now, and keep walking. You can do it. Go on!"

She struggled to her feet, shaking even more than she had before, but finally continued to plod forward.

"Good! Good! Keep going! You're doing brilliant! Just keep going, and we'll get there!"

As he cheered her on, he felt something nagging in the back of his processor that something was familiar about this situation. Then he remembered—he'd been leading her on like this before, back when he'd broken her out of the testing chambers. He'd guided her away from GLaDOS's reach, and continued to guide her throughout the darkened facility and to their destination. Just like old times! Just like old times, except…

…except he couldn't see where he was leading her.

His encouraging praise stuttered to a halt as he considered their situation: The lady was in danger—a different kind of danger than she had been back then. They weren't running from anything; they were trying to get… somewhere. He didn't even know where their destination was, and even if he had, there was no way for him to lead her to it. The lady was sick, and he was—literally—blindly leading her forward to who-knew-where.

But… but he couldn't just let her stay in one place—she'd only gotten sicker after that night's rest, and so if she just sat around, without anything to help her, wouldn't she just keep getting sicker?

As he hung there in silence, he realized that the lady had stopped walking, and he shook himself. "Keep moving, then, keep moving, it's all right! J-just… j-just gotta keep moving. We'll find help eventually."

The lady shivered, and though she continued to walk, Wheatley noticed that her steps were growing more unsteady, and her body was swaying a little.

"What's going on?" he asked, glancing around out of habit. "L-look I know you're sick, but—but you can't walk like that! You have to… to walk as straight as possible! If you keep walking like, like that, you're going to fall." He listened for her response, but she only broke into a body-racking coughing fit. Her coughs sounded so dry…

Dry… humans… humans need to drink water, or…

"O-oh gosh, lady, you—you have been drinking water, right?" he stammered, already knowing what the answer was; he hadn't heard the sound of a stream in a day or so. "Wh-where's that stream we were at? Can you go back there? D-do you know the way back?"

It was a few moments before she responded. No.

"W-well, okay, then, change of plans—we'll look for a place with water. Just, keep going, and—and I'll guide you where I can hear the water. Okay?"

Yet another few moments before her response: Yes.

"Good, then, keep walking, and I'll listen." He shut his optic, straining his aural sensors to listen for the rush of water. It might have been useless—the lady could actually see after all, whereas he was blind—but she seemed so dazed he wasn't sure how much she was actually registering at this point. She could probably stagger on right by some water without seeing it—he had to keep guiding her as best as he could, and he continued rambling vaguely encouraging things at her all the while, especially when she seemed to be slowing down.

"C'mon, you can't keep doing this, lady, you're—you're not doing well. Please, just, just keep going, please…!" He opened his optic again, briefly wondering why he couldn't see anything and then shaking his faceplate. No, no, he had to concentrate to hear water… But it was difficult over the stress of their situation, over how often the lady was staggering now, and over the noisy chirping birds and rustling leaves and rushing water and—

"AH! There its!" he cried, nearly flailing his handles in surprise. "There—there, to your left! It's out that way!"

The lady drew in a shaky breath, but followed his frantic instructions. "See? It's getting louder—just keep going that way, and you'll find it! And—and once you have something to drink, you'll be okay! All right? You're doing great, we're almost there, keep going…"

Finally the sound of the stream was right by them, and he almost laughed in relief. "There, see? There it i—AH!" He was roughly dropped to the ground, and he winced, but was grateful that the ground here was a bit softer than the floor at the facility. "H-hey, watch it!" he said at first, but quickly shut up when he heard the sounds of splashing—she was finally getting something to drink. "N-nevermind, excellent, good, drink, uh, drink as much water as you can, and… and then you'll get better… I-I think."

He listened as the lady gulped down the water from the stream, wincing as she coughed on occasion. But she was finally getting some water, so maybe that would cool her body down, and she would get better, and they would both be okay. He wasn't quite sure if that was how human bodies worked, but it seemed logical enough.

After a few moments, he heard her pull away from the stream. He was about to start babbling encouragements when he heard her coughing again and—

Wheatley recoiled at the familiar, unpleasant sounds. He wasn't fully sure, but it sounded like she'd just coughed up all the water she'd drunk. "AUGH! No, lady, don't do that! Y-you have to keep the water in you! Y-you need to drink the water, s-so you'll be okay…"

He waited for her to go back to the stream to drink water again, but didn't hear it. He… he couldn't hear much of anything other than the rushing water in the stream, come to think of it. "L-lady?" he called, his casing trembling uncontrollably. "Y-you are still there, aren't you? Y-you… j-just gotta get something to drink, and you'll get better… Lady?!"

A shaky hand gently grabbed his lower handle, barely putting any pressure on it. "Okay, so you're still there, that's—that's good," he said, his voice no calmer. "Now y-you just… have to get back over to the water, and get a drink. G-go on, hurry. You can't just lie here—the water's right in front of you! Unless you're not facing the water and the water's actually behind you, but—but—lady, please…!"

It was a moment before he noticed that what little grip she'd had on his handle had all but vanished, and, experimentally, he lifted his lower handle. The hand slipped away limply.

The lady was not responding, and Wheatley had the feeling that she had not just gone into sleep mode.

"LADY!" Wheatley cried, struggling to roll closer to her until he felt his round form bump against her side. "Lady, you have to get up!" He pushed against her, trying to somehow nudge her up into a sitting position, but she wasn't moving at all. While he could still hear her breathing, it was still uneven and shaky. She had… she'd crashed, and she wasn't going to be waking up out of that any time soon.

Worries plagued the core—there might be another rainstorm soon, or some vicious animal might find them, or… or the lady might not…

No, no, he couldn't let this happen—she'd come back for him and she'd talked with him and she'd saved him from the rainstorm! She couldn't just…! He wouldn't let her, he had to—

"HELP!" he called, raising the volume in his vocal processor as high as it would go. "Is—is anyone there?! HELP! HEEEELLLLLP!"

Wheatley cut himself off there—he'd learned from the last time he'd tried this, screaming his vocal processor until it forcibly shut itself down when he had been calling for the lady, and he wasn't going to scream until his vocal processor broke. If he did that, the lady was good as dead. So he waited for who knew how long, waiting for any new sounds to appear, waiting for the lady to wake up, waiting for something until he called out again: "HELP! Someone!"

He went on like that for a long while, crying out as loud as he could, then waiting, calling out, then waiting, unwilling to give up hope that by some miracle, something would help the lady.

Long after he'd lost track of how many times he'd cried out, he heard something—it sounded like…

"Wh-who's there?" he called, lowering his volume to a normal level, though his voice kept a higher pitch. "Is—is someone there? W-we need help…!"

An unfamiliar masculine voice answered him. "What the heck is—" Immediately it broke off, and the footsteps stopped nearby.

Wheatley had no idea who this man was, but it didn't matter. "L-look, mate, th-this lady here's sick—sh-she needs help, please, I-I dunno what to do…" His voice had gone softer, close to a whisper.

He heard the man move closer. "What… are you?"

Something nudged him in the side, and he cried out, "STOP!" and the man pulled back. "I—I'm Wheatley, I'm a core, but nevermind me! The lady is sick, please…!"

The man breathed out quietly, and suddenly he felt the lady shift. His unlit optic would have brightened for a moment if it were not broken, but he quickly realized that the lady had not moved herself. What hope had sparked within him was chased out by mingled anger and terror. "STOP!" he called again, narrowing his optic and thrashing his handles, nearly striking the lady. "Don't hurt her! D-don't you dare! If you hurt her… you'll… you'll regret it."

It wasn't a threat.

"I won't," the man said gently. "There's a town a couple miles out from here. I can take her to someone who can treat her. Make her better."

"Y… you could really do that?" He tilted his optic, arranging it into a more hopeful expression.

"Absolutely." And a rough hand grabbed his upper handle, hoisting him into the air. "Let's get you two out of here."

The bed was soft, although not nearly as comfortable as she would have hoped, but it was nice to be sleeping in a bed nonetheless. Anything was better than those hard test chamber floors, or the rusty, cold catwalks. While she didn't open her eyes immediately, she could hear the muffle of voices—some unfamiliar one droning, while another higher-pitched one shouting frantically. She knew that one. It was the core, coming to ask her to leave with him, because the facility was going to…

With a sharp gasp, she sat up, eyes wide, and immediately began blinking in the bright light of the room. Her breathing quickened—no, she couldn't be back here—she'd gotten out, why was she back in a test chamber, how—

Her memories came back to her in a dense fog, while her vision cleared, showing that wherever she was, it was not the sterile chambers of Aperture, or even the musty hotel room of the extended relaxation vault. It was an old, yellowed room with a few hospital beds, shelves lined with medical instruments and medicines, and two windows, through one of which the sun shone directly onto her bed. She tried to turn and felt a jerk at her left arm, and looked to find an IV attached.

The memories, meanwhile, were still foggy, and showed no sign of clearing. She could remember the storm well enough, but after that, it was all a haze of walking and stumbling and coughing and listening for Wheatley's voice to keep pulling her forward.

Wheatley…

"…please please please just let me in, she won't know where she bloody is—heck, I don't know where I bloody am, just let m—OW, OW!"

"Look, we can't let that thing in there. It's covered in dirt and probably rust and it won't be good for that woman to be around it."

"W-well stop poking at me, at least…! A-and… and at least let me know if she's all right…"

The voices were coming from outside the door—so Wheatley was still here. How he'd gotten her from the middle of a forest to an inhabited building, she wasn't sure, but she wasn't about to just let them take him away from her. Without any other way to make her presence known, she forced herself to cough loudly, even when the action hurt her throat.

"AH! Did you hear—"

The door opened, and an unfamiliar human in white robes stepped in. "Finally, you're awake. Are you feeling all right?"

Given the fact that the last thing she remembered was feeling so sick she could barely think, and given the fact that she actually could think now, she nodded.

"You were sick and severely dehydrated when Erik found you by the stream. You're lucky he found you when he did—you weren't going to last much longer."

So someone just happened across her unconscious form? She gave the human a suspicious look.

The human stared, appearing more concerned by the minute, and she suddenly realized that he was waiting for a response. Quickly she pointed to herself, shook her head, and covered her mouth.

"Oh," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Sorry! Would you—would you like paper and a pencil? I can—"

"What's goin' on in there?!" a frantic voice cried from the hallway. "L-let me in, please…!"

Chell glanced toward the door, then back at the human, her brow furrowing.

"That—that's the machine we found you with," he said, shaking his head in disbelief as the voice continued to cry out desperately. "It hasn't shut up in two days, and we've—"

She held out her left hand, mimicking a writing motion over it with her right, and the man quickly moved over to a table, fetching a pen and pad and bringing it over to her. She accepted it, quickly scrawling out a message and holding it out to him.

The man looked over it, adjusting his glasses as he looked up between her and the paper. "…Look, I don't think that's a good idea. That machine is filthy and we're trying to—"

Chell pulled the notepad away and chucked it at the man's head. While it didn't hurt him, he got the message, holding up his hands in defeat and backing away into the hallway. She waited, fists clenched, until he returned, carrying a squirming core into the room.

"PUT ME DOWN PUT ME DOWN WHAT ARE YOU DOING HELP!" Wheatley was crying out, and she gave him a serious look before turning that look to the human. He gave her a baffled look, but she simply pointed at a spot on her bed. He held out the core at arm's length, carefully setting him onto the bed and immediately backing away, as though he expected it to suddenly bite him.

Chell relaxed a fraction before pointing at the man, then at the door.

The man dropped his hands to his sides. "All right, all right," he sighed, making his way to the door.

Her gaze softened, and she signed a "thank you" to him as he left. Once he was gone, however, she turned to face the core, her brow furrowing again.

"Wh—where am I now? Who's there?" Wheatley whimpered, his broken optic turning this way and that. The aperture had contracted, and Chell noted with distaste that another fragment of it had fallen out. They'd been tampering with him, likely in an effort to get him to shut up.

Fortunately, Chell knew how to do just that.

She reached out, placing her hand over the lower part of his faceplate, and immediately the core stilled, his handles drooping and his aperture relaxing. "L… lady?"

She nodded his faceplate.

"Y-you're… you're okay! You don't feel hot anymore, and, and—and lady they wouldn't let me see you, wouldn't even talk to me, wouldn't tell me how you were doing, I was so scared—"

He quieted when she placed her hand over the lower part of his faceplate again, and she continued to stare at him seriously, though she knew he would never see it.

She had a lot to think about.

For starters, she'd gotten herself sick in saving him from that rainstorm, and afterward, he'd gone and babbled on as though nothing had happened. He'd apparently kept babbling, too, attempting to lead her and urging her onward even when he couldn't see and even when she was sick to the point where she shouldn't have been walking about in the first place. He must have recognized that she was dehydrated too, somehow, and led her to that stream where she'd passed out. And after that…

Drawing in a breath, she reached out, tapping him on the side before writing a sequence of letters and signs into his casing:

What did you do?

Wheatley's sightless optic blinked, shifting this way and that. "I… y-you'd crashed, lady, wouldn't wake up… a-and even if you were awake, n-no offense, but you… you can't talk. So I… I called for help. A-and that human came, and…" His upper eye shield drooped. "I-I just wanted to help."

Yes.

"I… did I?"

Yes. Yes, he had. That stupid, sightless hunk of metal, the one that had led her clumsily throughout the facility, the one that had betrayed her, the one that tested her and shouted at her and tried to murder her… the one that had gotten himself blinded and guilted her into taking him with her, the one that had slowed her down, the one that had never shut up…

Had it not been for him, she would have died out in the forest.

Slowly she scooped him up and set him in her lap, ignoring the pain in her arm and the weight of his casing. With one finger she began tracing into his side again:

W-H-E-A-T-L-E-Y.

His optic narrowed and tilted for a moment before widening in shock.

She wasn't done. With careful deliberation, she wrote out three more words: I… forgive… you.

Wheatley began to tremble, and his optic looked about wildly, not sure where to settle. She carefully guided it in the direction of her face, and he stilled. "Y… you do?"

A simple "yes" didn't seem appropriate, so Chell decided on a new sign. Bending down, she wrapped her arms around the core in a hug, and he leaned into her side.