Chell wasn't exactly sure when she'd first realized it, but Wheatley could (occasionally) be very charming. He could also be very annoying (though she was well aware of that). And sometimes, in his own unique Wheatley-way, he could manage to be both annoyingand charming at the same time.

This was one of those times.

"Wheatley?" Chell crossed her arms as she turned to where he was sprawled on the pull out bed of the couch, wearing an expression that was suspiciously innocent. His demeanor changed into something much more sheepish when she spoke, though: That was her warning voice and he knew it.

"Chelley?" He echoed cautiously.

He flashed her (what he hoped was) and appeasing smile, but the bright shade of pink he was turning did not aid the nonchalant air he was going for.

Chell shook her head as she smiled down at him. "Have you seen my book?"

Wheatley pressed his palm to his chin in what was very obviously mock though. "Your book?" If the ridiculously confused tone he was using was any indication he had never seen (nor heard of) a book in all his life.

Chell began to develop a creeping suspicion that 'Dear God, he's up to something, isn't he?' as a tiny bit of patience drained from her patient smirk.

"Yes." She nodded down at him exaggeratedly, trying not to crack a smile at how quickly his gaze was flitting about the room. Sometimes she honestly couldn't tell whether or not he was being serious. "I left it right here on the corner of the bed, and now it's gone."

To alleviate any confusion that Wheatley might invent, she tapped the spot on the mattress where the book previously sat.

"Huh." His thoroughly dumbfounded expression might make one think he'd watched it disappear himself (and Chell was certain he had). After a moment of thoughtful 'hmmm'ing and intense staring at the mattress, he looked up at her with a very serious expression.

"Do you think- is there any way your house is haunted?"

At that Chell's expression turned flat.

Wheatley gave a very fake, impressively high pitched laugh when he saw her annoyed expression. Chell resisted the (very strong) urge to press her hands into her eyes as he shot her a smile that was half wince.

"I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but maybe a ghost or, or a spirit or something just magically entered your book, spawned legs, and climbed up to a very very high shelf,"

Chell looked up from staring at the carpet (and wondering why and how on Earth she'd ever left this man alone for more than five seconds) when she noticed that something other than nerves and forced innocence had slipped into Wheatley's voice. This realization was a little alarming because the last time Chell had heard this in his voice hadn't been much fun for either one of them, but there was no mistaking it; Wheatley thought that he was being clever. He almost sounded proud of whatever he had done.

As his eyes met hers Chell couldn't help but wonder if they were a bit too blue.

"Where you'll never be able to reach it."

Wheatley looked up at her slyly, and she tried a bit too hard to ignore the strange feeling that was beginning to settle in her chest.

"A very high shelf?" Chell repeated slowly, eyeing him ever more suspiciously.

Wheatley always squirmed whenever she gave him one of her 'warning looks' (as he called them), but Chell couldn't help but think that this wasn't nervous squirming; this was more like the squirming of a child on Christmas morning.

He gave her a coy smile.

"Yup. You'd probably need my help to reach it, and as much as I love helping you- it's easily my favorite thing in the world- I think that in this case I could better help you by, um, by not helping you. Do you catch my drift?"

Chell briefly considered giving him the driest deadpan expression she could muster, because over the entire course of their relationship (whatever it was) he had made it very, very clear that he was excellent at talking, but it seemed as though he could only talk in half circles. After a brief moment of thought Chell decided to whip up one of her more charming, borderline flirtatious smiles to help get her point across. Wheatley's face turned bright pink as she knelt down next to him, her face suddenly inches from his.

When she spoke her voice was deathly soft.

"If your drift was that you stole my book and put it where I can't reach it, then yes."

Though Wheatley was nearly certain that Chell was only playing, her eyes screamed murder; the sparks in her eyes had ignited into white hot flames, and he did not want to get burned.

His immediate expression of open panic very clearly (read 'Oh crap.' and) conveyed that (like most things) he hadn't thought this through very well at all (The bright shade of red he turned at her proximity said something, too, but that was something they weren't going to discuss at the moment).

After seeing the genuine look of horror in Wheatley's eyes Chell decided to tone things down a bit. While she had to admit that toying with him like this could be fun (especially when he deserved it), there was a difference between teasing and being mean.

Allowing herself one last savory moment of glaring (poor Wheatley's eyes had grown to the size of an owl's) Chell gracefully rose to her feet. Her demeanor softened as she crossed her arms; she exchanged her sadistic smile for a gentle sort of smirk to indicate that (no) she wasn't really mad.

"You know I own more than one book, right?"

Wheatley had just witnessed Chell transform from the most innocent looking thing he'd ever seen to a killer that ripped AI's to pieces and then set said pieces on fire, and back again. Needless to say he was vaguely terrified.

But of course he could still talk.

"Well-Well maybe I put all of them on very high shelves." His voice wavered a bit when he spoke, yet he somehow managed to look proud through his fear.

Though Chell had absolutely no idea why hiding her books was anything to be proud of.

"Really?" Her eyes glittered as she registered the challenge he was offering, her fierce competitiveness actually visible.

Wheatley had never been very good at winning. It was hard to forget that there had once been a time when it came down to door vs. Wheatley, and the door had won by quite a lot. Sometimes Wheatley felt as though he was destined to lose at everything- or at the very least he was destined to lose against everything- because when it came down to water vs. Wheatley, or kitchen appliance vs. Wheatley, or gravity vs. Wheatley, he could tell you who the winner would be before the face off even began.

And yet despite all that he really, really wanted to win against Chell. Because this was far more important than books or pride, and he wasn't fighting against her, he was fighting with her. Surely she would recognize the difference?

He copied her smirk (though his may have been a tad more affectionate) as he leaned closer towards her.

"Really."

Wheatley could be stubborn, too; and this was as good of a reason to be stubborn as any.

He had been "collecting" Chell's books for a few weeks now, and slowly but surely he'd found (what he hoped was) all of them. If he was realistic he could admit that she probably had a few more stashed away somewhere, but, really, how many books could one person own?

Her eyes never leaving his, Chell opened the drawer of the table beside her.

"Including this one?" She waved the book towards him haughtily as she watched his shoulders droop.

Their poetry book. How could he have forgotten their poetry book?

"Rats!" He snapped. "Can I just-"

Chell stepped back as Wheatley lunged at the book in her hand.

"Nope!"

He miscalculated the distance by quite a bit, so Chell watched with mixed concern and amusement as Wheatley actually flung himself off the bed in his attempt to snatch the book away from her, and landed in a heap on the floor at her feet (Gravity wins again).

Chell's laughter was cut short by a cry of pain.

Wheatley hissed as he cradled his arm, which (now that Chell looked) he seemed to have landed on. His expression was one of genuine pain as his eyes met hers. "Okay, ow- time out, uncle, truce- that really, really hurt."

Chell dropped to her knees on the floor beside him as he shifted away from her.

"It's alright. Let me-"

But before she could finish Wheatley was suddenly halfway across the room, and she was no longer holding her book.

She heard a triumphant "Hahaha!" as he dashed down the hall (she was almost certain there was no way he could move that fast without sliding across the floor in socked feet) and slammed the door to his room.

"Wheatley!" Chell tried to hide the utter surprise (she couldn't believe she'd fallen for that! How could she not have seen that coming?) in her voice by masking it with anger, which wasn't hard considering the volume she had to use in order for her voice to (hopefully) reach him. "What's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into me?" He called dubiously as somewhere in his room another door closed (the closet, Chell thought dryly, trust Wheatley to come up with such an original hiding place). If she could think a little more clearly she would almost venture to say that Wheatley sounded insulted.

Not that she cared very much about his opinion at the moment.

When Wheatley emerged from his room he was immediately aware that if Chell had been taller he would be in for it. The dangerous look she was giving him very quickly reminded him that she was, in fact, a killer, and she was (as she had always been) perfectly capable of killing him if she wanted to.

It certainly looked like she did.

Wheatley raised his hands in surrender as she began to slowly stalk towards him. He found himself walking backwards as she moved closer, her eyes void of any kind of light. She was actually mad at him (really mad at him).

He suddenly realized that he might want to make an argument as to why his life should be spared (at about the same time that he realized he was trapped at the end of the hallway).

Wheatley had done this- stolen- er- hidden- Chell's books for a very good, logical reason, but at the moment she was unaware of said reason. Revealing it to her might help his case, but it would also, almost certainly, hurt her pride.

"Chell, love," Wheatley's voice was now nothing but nerves and earnest concern, "I have nothing but respect for you, really, and I don't mean to be a pest, but- you're- you're not taking care of yourself and I'm starting to worry about you!"

Much to his relief, she stopped her slow descent towards murder.

Chell no longer sounded angry, but she wasn't happy, either. "What?"

Wheatley swallowed. She wasn't going to like this.

"You're-You're staying up all night reading! Every night!"

Or maybe she was.

Chell laughed at his accusation. As per usual he was being dramatic and over exaggerating by quite a bit.

"Wheatley, I don't stay up all night."

"You stay up long enough." The stern disapproval in his voice surprised them both. "Listen. I know from, from There, that you can function with very little sleep."

"Which is why I'm perfectly fine and you worry too much." Chell crossed her arms, the spark in her eyes turning stubborn.

"Nope! No, wrong- that's why I'm right- you didn't sleep at all the entire time we were escaping, and you did an absolutely flawless job, but now, well-" He frowned. "you've been acting all... funny lately."

Chell almost looked insulted. "Funny?"

"Strange. Bad. Different. Not good." He gave her a worried look. "I saw you-you burnt your arm this morning!"

Alright, that was true.

Thankfully it hadn't been at the fireplace. A burn from an actual fire likely would have been much more severe, but glancing her arm on the side of the oven had been enough to make Chell nearly drop the tray she was holding. And leave a nasty burn.

And of course she had to go and burn herself right when Wheatley was watching her.

He looked worried now, just as he had then. "You never make mistakes like that!"

Chell shook her head.

"I'm human." Her words were gentle but firm; this was something she often had to remind him of- something he would much rather forget (or at the very least ignore).

Wheatley didn't like to argue with her- hated to argue with her- but this time she really was wrong and he knew it.

"You're tired."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

It struck him that the glint in her eyes was playful again. Chell was trying to brush this off as nothing. She thought this was funny- or she wanted him to.

His voice turned softer as he captured her wrist.

"I'm serious about this." Wheatley tried to give her a serious look but she continued to smile as she shook her head. "How much sleep are you getting a night?"

Chell smirked as she looked away.

"Enough."

He tried not to smile.

"And since when has enough ever been enough for you?"

"I've had enough of this conversation." She looked a little less playful now. Wheatley could tell that she was beginning to get annoyed with him.

Wheatley smirked.

"Good, because you're going to sleep."

And for the second time that night Wheatley moved before Chell could stop him, and he turned out the light.

Pouting, like a child being sent to timeout, Chell climbed into bed and retreated to her corner; as far away from Wheatley as possible.

It was much darker now but he could still see her thanks to the firelight.

For a moment or two they watched each other in silence. Chell eyed him with something between a glare and a thoughtful look as she burrowed under the blankets. Wheatley couldn't help but think that she looked rather like a cat watching a mouse and debating over whether or not to kill it.

That must've made him the mouse.

"Don't you give me that look." He took on one of her warning tones, but his voice was audibly laced with nerves (Still, Chell wasn't sure whether or not she liked the fact that he was attempting to copy her. He'd done that several timestonight hadn't he?).

"What look?" Her eyes glittered innocently as they reflected the firelight.

He wasn't sure what it was, but something about that look put his mind in a blissfully dazed sort of haze that made him echo the question back to himself.

'What look?'

Wheatley answered them both.

"The one that very clearly says 'I killed Her, so just think of what I could do to you if I wanted to'. It's teasing, I am aware. You'd never actually hurt me. You like me too much." He teasingly scrunched up his nose as he added in the last part. He only said it because they were at the point in their relationship where he knew he could get away with it.

Chell crossed her arms.

'Wanna bet?'

Wheatley cleared his throat as he shifted away from her.

"It is however still a bit... Creepy."

Chell gave him a look of mild interest as she stretched. "It's also a valid point."

Much to her surprise, he laughed.

"You know, you like to act all big and scary, but that's not really- well- it's not really you? Is it? I mean, granted, you can be scary when you want to be. You've definitely still got that going for you." At that she shot him a weary look. "It's just that, I think I know too much about you now to be frightened of you anymore."

And at one time he had been very, very afraid of her. Wheatley had never actually told Chell about all of that, about how he had nearly left her behind out of pure fear, but somehow he was sure she already knew. She seemed to know everything.

Though at the moment she seemed a bit confused by what he was talking about.

"Like what?" She asked.

Wheatley wasn't sure how he recognized it, because Chell's voice rarely revealed any emotion that she didn't want shown, but he swore there was the slightest bit of unease in her voice.

He gave her a smile that hoped was reassuring.

"You cuddle, and giggle, and read poetry." Chell managed a small smile as he gave her a look of open admiration. She would bet just about anything that his face was red again. "You're like that little kitten the twins have over at the farm: ferocious and cute at the same time."

That was when her smile disappeared.

"I am not cute." As she said it she looked dangerous, and, honestly, pitiful. Which, of course, only served to make her look even cuter.

Wheatley shouldn't have found it amusing, but for some reason he did. Her turning away from him so she could pout at the wall did not help.

"That's true," He said as she turned away from him (so she could pout at the wall), "Sometimes your stubbornness cancels it out."

'Dear God, he's beginning to sound like Michael.'

"Like now." For the first time Wheatley really noticed how far away she was. "Why are you all the way over there?"

No response.

"Oh," Chell could practically saw core-Wheatley rolling his optic in a sarcastic arc. "Getting the silent treatment now, am I? Did I insult a certain someone by giving them a bedtime?"

Chell was beginning to wonder whether or not he actually expected her to answer him (or if maybe he was talking to himself).

"You know, I wouldn't have to boss you around so much if you'd just take better care of yourself."

Chell stuck her tongue out at the wall.

"Stubborn." There was fondness in his voice; teasing. Affection.

Pleading.

"Are you really going to sleep all the way over there?" He asked, loneliness seeping into his voice. "It looks like you're literally dangling over the edge of the bed. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

Wheatley was very, very good at guilt tripping and or puppy dog eyeing (Chell didn't care if it wasn't a verb) Chell into doing things (or allowing him to do things) that she wanted no part of. All it took was a little bit guilt, a pinch of self loathing, and a dash of sadness, and Wheatley could get away with just about anything. And unfortunately for Chell, he was very much aware of it.

"You're going to fall off the mattress in the middle of the night and hurt yourself." Now he really sounded sad. "You can't cuddle with me, either. Not if you're all the way over there. You're gonna get cold."

Her voice was utterly smug.

"So will you."

As far as Chell was concerned, she was allowed to be coy because it didn't matter if she was cold; if he was cold too then she still won.

Not for long, though.

The not so stealthy sound of fabric sliding against fabric could be heard for a few moments before Chell felt an arm wrap around her stomach. She wanted to bury her head under her pillow (or maybe smack him with the pillow) as she felt Wheatley snuggle up next to her.

"Wheatley." She used another one of her warning voices, this one utterly exasperated, before promptly hiding her face in her pillow.

Chell may say she wasn't tired, but she certainly sounded like it.

He offered her a peace gesture. It wasn't really something Chell had taught him, but he had picked it up from her and tried it for himself once before after she'd woken from a nightmare. At first she had tensed at the contact, but she never said anything in protest, and after a little while the gesture actually lulled her back to sleep.

Chell closed her eyes as Wheatley began to trace patterns onto her back.

"Chelley." His voice was soft but teasing as he copied her's.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" He asked softly. "Because- believe it or not- that was not my intention. Making you angry is never my intention." Wheatley gave a sad sort of smile before he remembered that Chell was facing away from him. "It's just- You're not programmed for this, you know? I mean, I'm not either, at least not in a traditional sense, but I'm better at it because it's new to me and I haven't spent my entire life surviving by… by ignoring my survival instincts." Chell could practically hear his baffled expression. "How did you manage that?"

It seemed like a silly question at first, but the more Chell thought about it...

Chell slowly turned towards him as realization began to dawn on her . Her expression could best be described as confused and slightly irked as she met his eyes.

"Oh, have I lost you? What I was trying to say is that when I come off all bossy- you know- 'Chell have something to eat, Chell go to sleep, Chell stop reading in the dark'- I'm really just trying to, well, to sort of take care of you." He looked and shrank away from her as he said it. Something in her twisted at his words. "And I know that sounds outrageous- That dork thinks he can take care of me? He can hardly take care of himself!- but, well, not to be mean, but, you're not very good at the whole taking care of yourself… thing."

Chell bit the inside of her mouth until she tasted blood.

"I mean, think about it. Do you know how long you were… There?"

She didn't, and after about four years it wasn't worth worrying over. Though Chell wondered if Wheatley ever pondered over his time There.

"I think about twenty years passed between the time you, um, decommissioned Her, and when I woke you up. I'm not sure how long you were There before that. I never read your file, but… you were There for a pretty long time. And in all that time, whenever you got hurt, or tired, or hungry, you just… ignored it. You had to. It a was great ability to have, then, because it kept you… you know, alive and all, but the thing is, you did that for so long that you got used to it. You're still doing it. Have you noticed?"

Chell... hadn't really noticed. Or rather, she hadn't analyzed it in the way that Wheatley had. She recognized that she would often put off things like eating or sleeping if she was doing something that she deemed more important, even if she was hungry or tired; what she hadn't realized was that this was yet another side effect of her stubbornness (that was a little unnerving, wasn't it…?).

But the problem wasn't that she hadn't noticed, it was that he had noticed. Which was worse.

His worry was evident in his voice.

"You still don't always eat when you're hungry, or sleep when you're tired, or admit it when you're in pain."

Something about Chell's demeanor was very vulnerable. It was as if she was bitter that he had to remind her of this, because (to some degree) she may have been unaware of this problem in specific, but she would never forget nor escape it's source.

It was like another night, months before, when they'd sat in that exact same spot and Wheatley had found a scar on her arm. He'd asked her about it, and brushed his thumb across it about as gently and humanly possible, but Chell had become so utterly caught in the shock of feeling such sudden vulnerability that for a moment she'd been unable to speak to tell him, yes she did know that was there and please, don't touch it.

He sounded apologetic now, just as he had then.

"You've made a habit of ignoring those things- of not taking care of yourself. You didn't have another option when you started it, but now you do." His other arm found its way around her stomach. "So please don't be mad at me. I'm not trying to boss you around, or be a pain in the neck, I just… I…" Chell noted the pause. He either didn't know what to say or wanted to be very careful about how he said it. Both were rare occurrences for Wheatley. "You've been through enough." They could both hear the guilt in his voice. "And I… I caused about half of it."

She was nearly certain that he intended to say more, but she covered his hands with her own in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"I worry about you. Someone has to, right? And besides...This isn't so bad, is it?"

Not so bad?

He had spent the evening lying to her, tricking her, pushing her to discuss things she clearly didn't want to, attempting to control- to manipulate her-, and blatantly ignoring her attempts to keep him away from her-

No- he was worried about her, trying to take care of her because she wasn't taking care of herself, and

'Yes it's terrible because The Cake is a Lie, The Cake is a Lie, The Cake is a Lie-'

For the first time in years there was another voice, a new voice, asking cautiously, hopefully,

'But what if it's not?'

Chell gave a sigh of defeat as she snuggled into his chest.

"Go to sleep."

Behind her Wheatley smiled to himself in the soft glow of the firelight.

He knew he could win.

Sorry for technical diffiulties on this one! It was completely my fault. I was being a Wheatley. Carry on.

Chapter 22: A 4756 word chapter In which everyone is a loveable mess.

A couple important things have come up since the last time I updated so PLEASE KEEP READING!

Weekly updates

I want to start on my original writing asap, so I need to get Pieces finished. For this reason I've decided to give up Tumblr six days out of the week (*cries*) in an attempt to return to weekly updates of Pieces. As soon as I get them back from my beta, they will be posted. This chapter was a long one but I think some of the next few are supposed to be shorter, so hopefully they'll be done even faster.

Pieces of Christmas

Pieces of Christmas is a cheley fic about Wheatley's first Christmas with Chell. I update it with four new chapters every year on Christmas Eve, and the chapters are based off of prompts submitted by you guys! If you have an idea for a prompt, message me and let me know!

Reviews

I've been getting a lot more of them here lately, so thank you guys so much! Your thank yous and feedback mean the world to me, and I hope they continue as I try to power through the rest of this fic. XD

One thing I would like to remind you of, though, is that every chapter of Pieces is based off of a prompt, so the plot of every chapter of Pieces has already been decided. It has been from the very beginning. For a long time now I have received many reviews and comments asking me to change the plot of Pieces to include this or that, and while I really do appreciate your feedback and your input, the plot, or lack thereof, of Pieces has already been determined. Please refrain from leaving comments or reviews asking me to change the plot of Pieces. If you have an idea for a fic, and I mean this genuinely, and in the nicest way possible, go write it! XD Our lovely fandom could use some new fics, and I've received some great ideas from you guys.

Thanks for reading! Please review!