It was a test unlike the shining white chambers of Aperture. Those had beckoned to be solved with musical pleas and cool blue lights fading to soft warmth; this was more like a test out of old Aperture: buried deep within Chell's mind, somewhere toxic and guarded and condemned. This test was much more like those, it was meant to remain the way it was left: fully functional, always running, and never solved.

It was condemned for a reason. Some tests were never meant to be solved. Some tests were so dangerous that just stepping into them, just looking at them, was enough to make to the world around you quake and crumble as easily as crumbs of the cake that was a lie.

This was dangerous territory. Chell should not be here. She knew better than to look, she knew better than to move, she knew better than to touch. She knew better.

Yet she knocked the condemned signs to the ground, she opened the vault, and she took a deep breath of the stale, toxic air.

There were more dangerous things in the world than turrets and neurotoxin. There were slow, silent monsters that could lurk inside of you, that could drown you in your sleep, or hollow out your heart, or wind through your lungs until you couldn't breathe. There were things like fear, and hate, and guilt. Anger. Regret. Remorse. Distrust. (It didn't matter what you called them, here they all went by the same name.)

These were the toxic things Chell had locked away in the deepest chambers of herself three years ago. These were the things that she caged because, try as she might, she couldn't destroy them. She chained them, buried them, and built up enough walls and condemned signs to keep everyone out, including herself. Because burying this, leaving it the way it was: raw, and screaming, and utterly unsolved, not wanting to know, not being able to cope with the truth, was a lot like giving up.

And Chell knew then, just as she knew now, that that wasn't something she would be ok with for very long.

She had finally reached that point.

The sight of the place, the feel of it, made her shiver. This was an Aperture of her own creation, which by some miracle of architecture was more gruesome than the original. While the real Aperture's walls may have radiated hate, these walls were built of it.

This was all that had been left of Chell by the time she reached Horizon. Tenacity, and hate, and fear. Sam, Jim, Elizabeth, Claire, Michael, everyone, anyone who tried to touch her, anyone who tried to help her, she gave all of them a run for their money. Because everything was alright, they were going to help her, they were going to get her out of That Place, but they weren't the first to say those things and she had not forgotten, could not, would not forget what had happened when she believed those words the first time.

She was a broken, dying mess, who spent everyday trying to fight the only people who could save her. In the end they had to break her apart to help her. They had to fight her, and break her, and put her back together, and build over what was left.

Which was this. This terrible place constructed of all of her strongest, darkest emotions, and a single question.

Chell was proud of what she was now. Above this raw mess she was built of stronger stuff, gleaming walls of stone and marble: independence, power, strength. She was proud of what she had become, of what Horizon had made her; but it was hard to admire because a castle build on splintering wood was sure to fall, beautiful as it may be. This part of her crumbled more and more each day, and eventually it was going to fall, leaving her to build (yet again) from the ground up.

Chell wondered if she could remove this piece of herself without hurting what lie above. She smiled a grim smile. No, this was going to hurt either way. She didn't care if she had to light a fire between her own ribs, this place was going to burn and smoke.
It wasn't hers at all; it was His. His empire built in her, on her, just like the original which was built on her mistake.

That Place was venom. Chell knew it was, yet when it spoke to them, to her, with its very own voice, Chell had listened to it without hesitation. Though she didn't want it, His empire (well, both of them) was just as much hers as it was His.

She was His, too, because she still hadn't managed to rid herself of Him.

Chell had released Her three years ago, after months of nightmares and hallucinations and hearing things when she was alone, she had decided that enough was enough and she purged what remained of Her, easily. It wasn't instantaneous but it happened much faster than Chell had expected.

Chell understood Her. She understood how She became what She was, what She had been before, why She acted the way did. She was a victim of That Place just as much as Chell was. She understood.

He was different.

He was not her Wheatley (or was he? Or did it matter? Because the words that He said, even if he didn't say them, were said with his voice?), He was the product of fear and power and hate. An example of how poisonous That Place really was, of how it could take something bumbling and innocent and transform it into a monster within minutes. Chell did know that much, but nothing beyond. Had something gone wrong during the core transfer? Had he been using her the entire time? Had he planned to turn on her? Did it have anything to do with Her crushing him? Was it even him? Was there any way She could have arranged the whole thing, stuck one of the Wheatley duplicates he ranted about under the floor and watched the rest? Or did he make a choice to turn on her?

Chell wanted to know, because even though knowing wouldn't change the past, it might change the future, mightn't it? If what had happened hadn't happened because of Her, because of There- if it had only happened because He was a part of him and not a part of Her, Chell needed to know. If there was any chance of Him returning, Chell needed to know. Because she liked to believe that she could help Wheatley. She had saved him from Her, and taken him in, and fed him, and taught him how to walk: she cared about his well being more than she'd like to admit. They were friends again. Chell wanted to say that she forgave him, that she trusted him (she was ready. She wanted to.), but she knew that couldn't be true if she were here. If Wheatley wanted her trust or anything more, then Chell needed to know that He was gone. There could be no future until the past was where it belonged. If this place existed in him too, for a different reason, they would need to take about ten steps backward before they could ever move forward. Chell would need to break him apart as she had been broken, and help him build over was left, and then maybe, maybe there would be trust. Or friendship. Or a future. Or whatever they were missing. But Chell needed to know before she could do anything. She needed to know what was there.

There was only one way to find out.

Cautiously, Chell took a step forward into the darkness. Treading lightly was an understatement when the floor was made of glass. She didn't look down; she looked ahead, ahead into the wall of darkness that lay beyond the open door of the vault.

Part of her had expected crimson eyes with scarlet beams to peer out from the darkness, would have almost welcomed them in comparison to what could be there, what should be there. What was there.

Chell's footfalls came to halt as a single blue light pierced through the darkness. She pretended that the walls weren't shuddering, that the floor beneath her was not cracking. She glared up at Him, the fires already begun in her eyes.

This was the last test That Place had left her, and it was the hardest of all. The one that could break her just by looking at it, the one that could drown her in her own thoughts.

Three years of waiting were long enough: it was about time Chell solved it.

Chell stood in His chamber, still burning after three years (she wouldn't have to start the fires after all); the difference was that the fires were no longer fed by Aperture: they were fed by the rotten wood that lined her ribs.

Her gaze was steady as her eyes met his optic, though the familiar color hurt her eyes. She couldn't speak here but He seemed to hear her question as she thought it.

'Was it you?'

He laughed, and the sound made the ground quake and the flames dance.

"You always thought you were so smart, didn't you?" Chell bared her teeth as He leaned forward. "If you're so smart and I'm such an idiot, then why are you here? Can't you figure it out for yourself?" He gave a bitter laugh. "You don't need my help. You never did." Had He been human His expression likely would have a menacing smile. "Tell me, which one is real?"

There were two (three?) of him standing in front of her. There was her Wheatley in the middle and one more on either side of him, though they all looked exactly alike.

They didn't sound alike.

The one on her left, or rather his voice, kept changing from timid to guilty to teasing to emotional to jealous to shy to just about everything in between. The one on her right was constant. Constant anger, and hurt, and blame.

"Yes you can! You can talk! I'm not stupid!"

"Thank you, Chell. For everything."

"I was nice to you! I woke you up, and got you a portal gun, and, yes, I screwed up, but I fixed it, didn't I?"

"You... trust me?"

"I broke you out and we took Her down... and..."

"I'm sorry. I thought... I thought I didn't have anything else to lose. But I was wrong, I had you. And you were more important than anything else."

"And then you turned against me."

"I shouldn't have pushed you to talk when I knew you didn't want to. You don't have to talk to me ever again. I wouldn't blame you. I don't deserve it."

"You tricked me into thinking we were friends, but then you turned around and took Her side."
"Did you try to pelt me with fruit because I called you stubborn?"

"She was so terrible to you, I heard every word She said to you, yet when I finally did what you wanted, you decided that I was the bad guy!"

"I know you don't want me here in your room, but the thing is, any time anything is wrong, there's this little voice in my head, and it's always saying: find Chell! Get Chell! Because- No matter what's wrong- no matter how bad or big or small it is- you can always fix it. Always. You always make everything better."

"I was only doing what you wanted!"

"You, you got out. You got out of There, you found a town full of people who, who obviously adore you, you got everything you wanted- and you were still worried about me? After everything I did?"

"I was doing it for you!"

"He was touching your hands, and your face, and your arm- at one point he practically had you sitting in his lap! Doesn't he know that you don't like contact like that? How long has he been living in this town? Because I've only been living here for a few months but even I know you don't like-"

"I was going to get rid of Her, I was going to help you escape!"

"I think... I'm in love with you."

"But then you changed your mind."

"What's the difference?" He sneered.

They spoke over top of each other but Chell recognized their words. She had heard all of them before, all of them recently. Listening to them (him? Him?) was hard because they all spoke with the same voice, the same voice with different words, and she had to decide which was more important, the voice or the words. Which was worse? What had been said or who had said it? Who had said it?

"Are you alright in there? Are you ok?"

Did it matter? Chell just wanted this to be over with, to forgive and forget. But you couldn't forgive what you couldn't forget and Chell could never, never forget this, this last test that could break her with a single thought, the only one she couldn't solve-

"Chell? Chell!"

It was a fourth voice. A third pair of eyes which were softer and bluer and more concerned peered down at her from the doorway of the room he was not supposed to be in. The two of them seemed to realize it simultaneously because she offered him a withered look and he responded with a sheepish one, splaying his bony hands out in defense.

"Oh, right, sorry! I know, rules and all, but, you were making these noises in your sleep-" He gave a nervous laugh, and though it was hard to tell in the poor light Chell could've sworn his face turned pink. "Not that I was listening to you sleep or anything, that sounds weird, ahem- no, I was in my room, where you told me to be, and I heard you making these loud noises and so I got worried. And I asked if I could come in, you probably don't remember. Didn't hear me. But I did ask, I did, and you didn't answer and I thought something might be wrong so I just. Barged in. "He wrung his hands together when she didn't respond, his gaze still full of concern. "Anyways. Point is, are you alright? You ok? Because you look, well," He scratched the back of his head, wincing. "Not bad, but, um, like you're seeing double or something. And that's no good, is it?"

Chell sank down as he got closer, hoping her mattress might swallow her. She didn't want his attention, or his voice, or his touch. His concern. She wanted silence. She wanted to think. He wanted to talk. He always wanted to talk. And apparently he wasn't satisfied to do so from the door frame.

Wheatley was a good head taller than Chell, but the height difference had never bothered her until now. His shadow was an absolute monster, and with every step he took towards her she felt as though it were devouring her. In an attempt to make herself feel a little bigger (because at the moment she felt very very small), Chell sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her spine straightening instinctively.

When Wheatley reached her side he was still looking for a response to his previous comments, and his brow furrowed with worry when he finally realized why he wouldn't receive any.

"Oh love," Something in the gentle cadence of his voice made her want to cry like a child. "Can you not talk?" She shook her head the barest bit, avoiding his eyes. "You were having one of those, one of those nightmare things, weren't you?"

Chell knew what nightmares were and that had been much worse. That was something much deeper, much darker.

"That explains all the noise you were making. It must have made your throat lock up, too." His expression was a cautious smile as he looked down at her, his hand hovering over her shoulder. "Can I...?" He brushed his fingers against the soft fabric on her back but quickly recoiled when Chell flinched. Things were icy between them at the moment. After what he had said and how both of them had reacted, it seemed that neither one of them knew how to proceed. It was like they had moved backwards and now there was no safe way to move forward again.

There was a moment of silence before Wheatley spoke again, a grim smile now stuck on his face. "It wasn't Her, was it?" She looked up at him with an expression that could only be described as pitiful. "I'm sorry." He said softly." It's alright, you know? I would never hurt you, not now. Not on purpose. Not for all the money, or apples in the world." Carefully, gently, he sat down beside her and laced an arm behind her, pulling her into his side. "You're ok. I've got you." They both felt his face turn pink as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and after a moment he rested his head on hers, his voice even softer when he spoke. "It wasn't real. Who knows? Maybe it never was."

It was Wheatley, the real Wheatley, her Wheatley. As she sighed and shuddered in his arms she felt the place she had been before sink the tiniest bit. It wasn't gone, not yet turned to dust and ash, but feeling it beginning to slip away was a good start.

Chell knew the difference now.

Author's Note:

When discussing raw, complicated things, why not use a raw, complicated writing style?

I just finished reading a book with a really bizarre, interesting writing style and since I knew this chapter wasn't going to have much dialogue (this is more about Chell processing everything than about anything actually happening) I decided to play around with my own writing style.

This chapter was confusing to write at times (I had to make a list of all the things I wanted to go over so I didn't leave anything out) but I had a lot of fun with it.

What did you guys think of the style?

That one section with the two Wheatleys (three Wheatleys?) took forever. That was the hardest part of this chapter. Going back through all the previous chapters and sifting through them for good dialogue, and then putting it all in the right order. It was very tedious. I hope you liked the end result. XD

This is Chell kind of freaking out about the whole the-man-who-previously-tried-to-murder-me-is-now-in-love-with-me-and-I-might-be-in-love-with-him-too(?) thing. Which is perfectly normal.

Thank you guys so much for all the great reviews! Reading those makes my night. I just love hearing from you guys. If you ever want to ask me questions or talk with me about any of my stories or anything portal related (it would make my day) my tumblr for writing is here ( portalpandawrites). Be warned, it is dead. XD I don't think many people on Tumblr know what Pieces is, but maybe you guys could help me change that. I'd love to hear from you.