Wheatley blinked and recoiled into the corner of the couch as Chell suddenly appeared in front of him. He had been half asleep and she had scared the living daylight out of him, so of course his natural reaction was to yelp like a frightened dog.
"AH! Oh, it's just- it's you!" Wheatley gave a nervous laugh, gingerly looking up at her and trying to ignore the uninterested expression she wore. "Don't scare me like that, lady! Er, please? It's not very n- I mean, um, I would greatly appreciate it if you did not sneak up on me in the silent darkness when I am attempting to rechar- Um- Sleep. Yes. Please don't do that again."
Something about the look that Chell was giving him told him that she would likely make it a point to do that again.
She was standing stock still, tense, erect, and using every inch she had on him (while he was sitting down) to her advantage. Her grey eyes were bright and alert, glinting with the dangerous determined sparkle that he had become familiar with during their days in the facility. Only this time it wasn't directed at Her, it was directed at him.
Wheatley's nervous smile melted away.
A few days ago Chell had rescued him from Aperture after She had brought him back from space and ripped- and transferred him into a human body. At the time Wheatley had been relieved (and exhausted, and in pain, and scared out if his mind), thinking that Chell saving him meant that she forgave him... but now he wasn't so sure.
While it was true that Chell had rescued him from Her and given him a place to stay, she was also being very distant towards him. In the past few days, the ex-test subject had tended to his cuts and bruises, brought him food and water, and even helped him around the house (as he hadn't yet mastered the art of walking), but she hadn't once looked him in the eye. She wouldn't stay in the same room with him for longer than a meal (and Wheatley got the feeling that she only stayed that long because she was afraid he might choke to death otherwise).
Now was a perfect example.
Chell was towering over him, avoiding eye contact and making no attempt to reply to anything he said. She looked tired, as if he was trying her patience- yet she was offering him something. Wheatley had been so busy trying to make small talk and stay on her good side (two things he could rarely accomplish st the same time) that he hadn't even noticed the thing that brought her over to him in the first place.
In her arms she held a pillow and a blanket, both of which looked very soft and much more comfortable than the bony hand he had been propping himself up with earlier.
He blinked up at her in surprise when he noticed the offerings, and, with her watching him, carefully took them.
"Um...Thank you." Wheatley attempted to look as small and grateful as possible. "These are nice. Definitely much better than my hand." He gave a nervous chuckle then, shaking out his sore wrist. "I should be able to make a very comfortable, er, bed, sleeping nest, thing, with these. Nice and toasty. So, um. Thank you."
Chell gave what might have been a microscopic nod before she took the offerings back, gently prying them out of his hands and arranging them for him. She propped the pillow up against the arm of the couch, lightly pressed down on his chest until he put two and two together and later down, and then drapped the quilt over top of him. His eyelids dropped instantly (Wheatley had had a crazy week and Chell knew that he had to be tired) as he burrowed down into the blanket.
She began to make her way towards the light on the other side of the room
"I- I don't understand you." Chell paused, forgetting about the light that needed to be switched off and instead turning back to Wheatley. "You hate me. I know you hate me. I stabbed y-you in the back, and-and punched you down an elevator shaft, and t-tested you, and screamed at you. I tried to kill you." Chell pretended that she couldn't hear his voice cracking as she gave the lamp across the room a hard stare. "I-I tried to kill you, and you can't stand to look at me- can't stand to even be in the same room as me- and I know that you hate me."
Even Wheatley could hear how tired he sounded.
"So why am I here?" His eyes and throat were beginning to burn as if they were trying to tell him to stop talking but he couldn't. The words were just spilling out. "Why are you tending to me like some-some injured little fledgling if you can't even stand the sight of me? Why did you bring me here? Why did you save me from Her? You don't forgive me. You hate me. So why are you doing all of this?"
Wheatley wanted to cry but he couldn't. Instead, he buried his face down into the pillow in a poor attempt to hide from Chell. He was just so tired of hurting and being guilty and confused. He wished that he could do something right for once instead of being so useless. Wheatley was sick of himself, he knew that Chell had to be sick of him too.
Through the muffled silence of his pillow, Wheatley heard soft footsteps padding through the carpet and across the room. The lamp turned off with a quiet click and darkness spilled across the room. A moment later he felt a cool hand resting on his cheek.
They both tensed at the contact, Wheatley suspecting that this was a gesture that was supposed to be much more comforting than it actually was. Her hand then moved to his hair, running soothingly through his soft auburn curls. His anger subsidised and he began to fall asleep.
Chell slowly rose from her crouched position beside the couch, just as confused as Wheatley. In all honesty, she didn't know why she had brought him back with her. Part of her had thought that he deserved whatever She wanted to do to him, but the other part of her hadn't been able to leave him there. Chell was caught at a bit of a stalemate with herself: she didn't want to be mean to Wheatley, but she wasn't ready to forgive him either. Chell had no idea what to do with him.
She watched him for a moment as she stood, taking in how innocent he looked in his sleep.
'Looks can be deceiving.'
Chell started to make her way towards the door when she was stopped yet again. She looked down to see that a bony hand had lightly captured her wrist. Apparently, Wheatley hadn't been asleep after all.
His bright blue eyes (which almost seemed to glow in the darkness) gave her a thoroughly broken, pleading look.
"I don't deserve this."
Chell's only response was to take her arm back and leave him alone in the darkness.