Another week passed, and things continued to get worse. Wheatley begged, and threatened, and pled, and whined, and snapped at Chell in an attempt to get her to tell him what was happening; Nothing worked. Things were getting worse between them by the day because he could not force himself to stop talking, and everything he said only served to make Chell more upset. All too soon it seemed they were once again nearing square one: There were times when stopped speaking to him altogether, and she began avoiding his eyes whenever they were in the same room. They fought more in that one week than they ever had in the first few months when he'd been new to town- more than when they couldn't stand the sight of one another. Back then their problem had been clear; now Wheatley had no idea what was wrong. All he knew was that Something Bad was happening, and there was no end to the fighting in sight.

He decided early on in that second week that he would leave if he could- and he actually made an attempt to- but the snow made any kind of travel virtually impossible. That, and the only neighbors they had were gone whenever checked.

So was Chell for that matter.

She had left him alone again that week; this time for five days. It was late afternoon of the fifth day, and she still wasn't back. Wheatley hadn't heard from her once since she'd left. Every other day Michael came with food (at least Chell wasn't angry enough to let him starve), and a few days back the town's children came to visit (how they got there he didn't know) but other than that Wheatley was alone for nearly the entire week. He wondered if Chell kept leaving for longer periods of time because she was starting to feel less guilty about leaving him.

He wondered if one day she might leave and never come back.

But apparently that day was not today.

The lonely silence of the house was broken as the front door opened, allowing a gust of frigid winter air into the house as it did so. Wheatley looked up from the book cover he'd been reading (dear God he was bored out of his skull), and he nearly dropped it as he watched Chell bow her head toward the crook of her arm and cough.

'She's gotten herself sick again.'

Before all of this nonsense (or whatever it was) had started Wheatley had been trying to sell her on the idea that she needed to take better care of herself. After her having spent so much time There it seemed as though she saw any problem, emotional or otherwise, as something that needed to be hidden for her own protection. Feeling or expressing any sign of vulnerability made her see herself as weak, so she would bottle her problems up until they revealed themselves through whatever health effect they may have (as they had now). Wheatley didn't want her to do that to herself. He wanted her to understand that getting sick was okay, and taking care of herself when she was sick was better than okay- it was a good thing. So was sleeping whenever she was tired, or eating whenever she was hungry (he knew that sounded stupid but he had seen her skip meals more times than he could count, and he doubted it was because she wasn't hungry. He wondered how many times she had done it just this week since he hadn't been around to call her out on it). Wheatley had hardly any insights on the whole 'being human' thing, and he meant no insult to Chell- she was brilliant- but even to him these things seemed trivial knowledge. Yet for some reason it had taken weeks of work and plenty of coaxing to convince Chell that doing these things was okay, normal even. And that he could help her deal with them if she would allow him to do so. She had begun to cave (she hated it when he made sense), too, and then the phone rang.

Now it appeared that was all out the window.

"'Cold." Chell elaborated as she yanked the snow covered boots off her feet. She glanced towards him, her gaze calculating (likely trying to gauge whether or not he was annoyed at her, he thought). "Sam already checked it out. I'm house bound for the rest of the week. I've been ordered to get more sleep and spend less time out in the snow." Chell gave him a rueful smile, and though her expression was playful her eyes did not meet his. "You were right."

That was something Wheatley certainly hadn't expected to hear that day.

"Naturally." He tried to sound suave (more like casual) but he fell flat.

An awkward silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Chell offered a nod and turned towards her room.

Something in Wheatley's chest hurt as he watched her walk away. He didn't want her to leave again, it wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her, he just didn't know what to say. Every time he spoke he said the wrong thing.

"Hey," Wheatley called, a bit too loudly. He cringed at his volume, face turning pink as Chell backtracked towards him. He continued cautiously. "I'm sorry for being so… Clingy lately." Blue eyes glanced up at her sheepishly and she smiled down at him. "I really hate arguing with you, it's just that-"

'No, no, no this is supposed to be an apology what are you doing-'

"Chell- It's nearly been a month now, and you still won't tell me what's going on. You're hardly ever even home anymore! I'm stuck here alone all day because you're gone, and the neighbors are gone, and there's snow everywhere. I'm trapped here alone all the time!" Wheatley tried to remind himself that the point of this wasn't to argue with her, it was to make things better- but she'd left him alone for nearly a week- she never gave up on anything and she was giving up on him. He wasn't half as angry about all of this as he was hurt.

"Remember when you cared about that? About me feeling trapped?"

Chell bit the inside of her mouth when she heard the pain in his voice. This wasn't his fault, yet it was becoming more and more evident that he felt as though it was.

On the contrary, Chell thought Wheatley had every right to be mad at her; she was mad at herself.

"I'm sorry. I should've-" Chell cut herself off as she looked down at the floor. She needed to speak carefully or she might slip up, and that was the last thing she needed. She knew that Wheatley hated silence, and that she'd left him alone for over half the week now so he was likely eager for conversation, but in this case it would be best to say the bare minimum.

Chell tried again. This time she sounded less annoyed and much more gentle.

"This isn't your fault, Wheatley. I know I've been acting different lately, and I don't like it anymore than you do. I just need you to understand that, every bad thing I've ever had to deal with, I've dealt with it alone up until now. I don't know how to share the weight." Her expression softened as she looked down at him. "And when it comes to you, I don't think I want to."

Wheatley looked up at her eagerly.

"But I-"

She cut him off, frowning.

"I'm not trying to fight with you all the time, or shut you out, or ignore you, but this is the only way I know how to deal with things, and when I'm trying to… process things... and you come in asking me the same questions over and over again, that just makes it harder on me. Which makes me lash out at you, which makes you lash out at me, and then we're both miserable." She wondered if he understood that this was hard for her, too. That she was the one who had to actually keep This up, despite how much she hated it. This was taking a much bigger toll on her than she could ever show. "I know that you only want to know what's going on, but if I'm not telling you something, you don't want to know what it is. Trust me."

As she turned back towards her room, Wheatley noticed something in her eyes for the first time. He realized then that he'd seen it many time before; It only appeared for a split second before those sparks of tenacity lit her eyes, or she gave fake smiles or glares of annoyance, but this was much more important (and alarming) than any of those things, and now that he'd seen it he wondered how he'd never noticed it before.

What it was seemed obvious, yet he could hardly bring himself to say it.

"You're scared." Wheatley finally managed. He sounded as taken aback as Chell felt, though she didn't stop walking and he didn't stop talking. Suddenly everything made much more sense to Wheatley. "You're afraid of something. Is that why you don't want to talk about whatever is going on?"

Chell's pace slowed but still she walked away, and without acknowledging that he'd spoken.

Wheatley was running out of options. No matter what he tried she was just going to ignore him- just like she'd been doing for two weeks- ignore him, and abandon him, and shut him out, and- no-he wasn't going to let her do it again.

In an attempt to make her stay (or at the very least to make a point), he said something that neither one of them wanted to hear.

"It's Her, isn't it?"

"Don't!"

To his horror she moved to cover her ears, almost reflexively. Chell managed to stop herself before she actually did it, some voice in her head instinctively screaming 'You're not supposed to do that!' loud enough to prevent her from completing the action, but not before Wheatley saw her.

"Please," She whimpered, "I don't want to think about-" Chell stopped herself, the glint in her eyes springing from scared to panicked as she realized she was caught.

Both of them froze, exchanging looks of open horror before Chell spoke again.

She collected herself with impressive speed, her voice leveling out to something close enough to calm.

"No."

Wheatley sounded a bit more bewildered, and more than a bit concerned.

"What's going on?"

Chell may have been stubborn but even she knew when it was time to give in. Feeling more defeated than she would ever admit, she sank down next to him on the couch.

Wheatley started (and very nearly yanked away out of surprise) as Chell laced her fingers through his; something she hadn't done in weeks. He appreciated the gesture- he found contact reassuring and he'd been without it for about two weeks now- but he noted that, regrettably, it now felt much more alien than comforting. There was a bittersweet glint in Chell's eyes as she looked up at him, and her voice reflected their melancholy.

"Remember when you thought I was perfect?"

For some reason that question made Wheatley sad. Yes, he did remember when he'd thought she was perfect, and it hadn't been all that long ago. It felt as though a lot had changed since then.

Chell looked down at their hands.

"Right now, I think you're better off not knowing what's going on, because- you aren't ready for it. And I'm not sure I'm ready to talk to you about it just yet."

She knew that she was being selfish (that she had been acting selfish for far too long, now), that she was trying to make this decision for him- trying to influence what he wanted based on what she wanted (or at the very least what she thought was best for him)- and that she had no right to do so.

'Who are you to speak of Freedom?'

Chell blinked.

"But I won't make your decisions for you." There was obvious hesitance in her voice. "If you really want to know what's wrong, I'll tell you."

She was scared.

There were certain aspects of being human that she had wanted to explain to him delicately- as carefully as possible- and over time. She had hoped that some of the cons of being human wouldn't make themselves quite so painfully clear this early on, that he might have a few years of peace, as she had. Chell knew now that would not be the case, and there was nothing she could do about it save for hide the truth from him for as long as she could.

But what good would it do if he didn't want it hidden?

Wheatley knew that he was certainly treading on dangerous territory if it was somewhere that Chell didn't want to go. He also knew that it would probably be in his best interest to listen to her advice, because she always knew what she was doing and he (almost) never knew what he was doing, but it was becoming more than a tad obvious that whatever she was hiding was hurting her. Maybe if she shared it with him it wouldn't be as hard on her; and, really, it wasn't a difficult decision to make when he thought about like that.

"I want to know."

Chell had to admit that part of her was proud of him for seeking the truth despite knowing it was painful. That was a very human endeavor. Still, she stiffened at his response.

When she spoke her voice was heavier than he'd ever heard it. She wanted to meet his eyes but couldn't tear hers from their hands.

"Mortality."

As that one word hung in the air, the cold she'd let in before became much more noticeable.

Wheatley shuddered as long ago echoes of 'You'll die if…' and the wave of terror that followed rang through his head. Back There the only people- cores- that died, died because (well, it sounded a bit harsh, but because) they deserved it. Everyone was warned about what was and wasn't acceptable behavior, and of the consequences for the latter. Those who didn't listen, those who paid the price, consciously chose to do so; to accept the risk. They were the ones who fell off their rails, or turned themselves into flashlights, or became corrupted- and all because they didn't listen. Bad cores died; good cores didn't. Good cores lived forever.

Not anymore.

Chell sensed Wheatley's fear (it would've been hard not to, the color was draining from his face at a rather alarming rate) and gently brushed her fingers against the back of his hand.

She didn't want to speak, but she didn't have much of an alternative.

"People-"

'Careful.'

"People usually live for a very long time. Some people have lived to be over a hundred years old, but no one lives forever. And sometimes age has nothing to do with it. Sometimes people go to sleep and they don't wake up. Sometimes people get sick, or hurt, and they just don't get better."

For the second time that night Wheatley froze, paralyzing fear (great- thank you, human body- he needed more of that) surging up his spine even faster than before as some rather interesting pieces clicked into place. Chell had been acting strange (isolated, depressed) for two weeks, and she refused to tell him what was wrong, claiming that it was for his own good. Now she was getting sick, and to top it all off, they were having a conversation about death.

'Dear God, no- nononononononononono-'

"Chell," Wheatley's voice wavered as he squeezed her hand a bit too hard. "Why are you telling me this?"

Her voice was tight, void of emotion.

"You know Elizabeth. Our neighbor."

Wheatley was simultaneously flooded with intense relief, remorse, and a healthy dose of shame.

'Oh.'

"She's had health problems for a few years now, but- they've gotten worse in the past few weeks. A lot worse." The mix of emotions Chell was feeling was already strong enough to make her eyes sting ('That didn't take long.'), and she hated it, she hated it, she hated This. "Sam doesn't think-" The heat in her throat stole her voice, and at its disappearance she curled in on herself, and away from him.

'Stop it.'

"Chell." A few tears escaped her eyes as he began to trace patterns into her back. "Why didn't you just say something?"

At that she sat up, tear stained face stubborn as ever.

"Because it hasn't even been a year. I didn't want you to have to think about this yet." She looked away as her face tinged pink. "And I knew if I told you about it, I'd end up... like this."

His voice was gentle, almost teasing.

"Crying?"

"Yes." Chell felt pathetic as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but to him she looked strong as ever.

"Why, cause I'm the toughest man alive?" To his delight his joke earned him a little laugh. She leaned against him, be it somewhat reluctantly, allowing him to wrap an arm around her stomach as she rested her head on his shoulder. He nuzzled her gently, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. His voice was dripping with warmth; understanding. "You can cry, Chell. You're human. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

'When did he become the mature one?'

"No it's not, but it sometimes it feels like it is." Wheatley felt her squeeze his arm a bit more tightly. "I fought Her because I was sick of being treated like an animal. Like something people could cage and control whenever they wanted. I told myself I fought for my humanity." Chell gave a bitter huff of laughter, her voice twisting to match. "Now I'm finally free and all I do is fight my humanity."

Wheatley hadn't really thought about it, but he supposed that was somewhat true. It was sad to think that Chell had fought so hard (and so long) for something, only to lose that something to the fight.

Though that was a rather exaggerated assessment of situation.

In Wheatley's opinion Chell had taught him everything he knew about humanity (which was far more than he'd ever expected to understand), and must have had quite a bit of it to bring herself to forgive him. Much less return There and save him, or share her home with him, or dedicate so much of her time to helping him with whatever he needed. It wasn't as if she was trying to suppress every human instinct she had; just the ones she didn't want people to see.

Or maybe not.

"She's been like a mother to be me." Chell snuggled into his side, hiding behind his arm as a frightened child might cling to a parent. Something in his chest hurt when he saw the just how pained her expression was (when he heard it in her voice), but he knew there was nothing he could to help. He could only listen. "The day I came here- when I collapsed- she's the one who found me. She was the first human I had seen in years. She and Sam saved me. They've looked after me ever since. And now-" Her voice caught and she hid her face from him. "I can't- I can't." She choked, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, love." Wheatley's presence- his voice- was starting to feel more and more like a security blanket (not that Chell would ever- had ever- stooped to one of those): warm, and reassuring, and comforting. "You're okay. Perfectly fine. You don't have to tell me anymore if you don't want to. We don't have to talk at all, if you don't want to. We can just sit here."

He felt her nod.

Wheatley held her as she cried, and it was terrifying and comforting for both of them. Hearing Chell sob was a bit like watching a mountain crumble at his feet; terrifying and unnatural. It was also a little uncomfortable because Wheatley's shoulder was growing very wet, and he still wasn't a huge fan of water- but Chell needed this.

It was a big step on her end. Crying in front of anyone would have been unlikely; crying in front of Wheatley- actually allowing him to hold her as she cried- felt absolutely unreal (and part of her hoped it was). It also made her feel better than she had in weeks, because, ironically enough, he fussed over her more when she was trying to hide her problems from him than when she was actually reacting to what was wrong.

If Wheatley had to guess he'd say Chell had been bottling all of this up for awhile now, because she cried, coughs mixing with her sobs, until she didn't have the energy to do anything save for sit there and let him hold her. He hoped she would fall asleep. She'd obviously been tired since all this had started, since Elizabeth had gotten sick, and he wouldn't mind to stay like this all night. Chell had returned to sleeping in her room (without him) since the first day she'd come back from the hospital, and... he missed holding her like this. Especially after the scare he'd had a minute ago, the contact was reassuring for him, too. Wheatley hoped that he was helping. He tried to comfort Chell by running his fingers through her hair, stroking her back; copying subtle comforts he'd picked up from her. He realized it wasn't much, but it was all he could offer. He just wanted her to be okay.

Chell shifted against him as if she was going to say something else, then untangled herself and stood. Alone, the air felt much colder to both of them.

"Thank you." She wanted to stay there with him so badly (it was warm, and safe, and he understood, it was okay-), but she couldn't. If Chell stayed much longer she was certain Wheatley would lull her to sleep, and there was no telling where her emotional stability would be when she woke. Considering all the things she'd said and done that day, Chell was surprised she'd been able to stand being around him for as long as she had. "I'm sorry."

As he watched her retreat down the hall, Wheatley wanted to believe that Chell was okay now. She had finally told him what was wrong: There were no more secrets and just her clearer conscience would probably make her feel a lot better. She should stop hiding in her room all day. She should start talking to him again. Things might finally got to go back to normal. They might finally get better.

He doubted it.

She was silent again. There was a creak as she opened the door to her room, and a soft click as she locked it behind her.

Poor babies.

I feel like Chell (my Chell especially) would have a very hard time openly expressing emotions in front of other people. It's better for her to be alone during a crisis because that's how she's grown accustomed to handling emergencies, and she'll allow herself to express emotion when she knows she's alone. However, if she's surrounded by people when she's struggling she just bottles everything up and it gets to be too much. She can't cope. And in general she doesn't very good care of herself, either.

I hope this didn't seem overdramatic(?). It's just that I usually write these chapters more from Wheatley's point of view and this time I did Chell's, and the fact that Chell is being dramatic (if that's the right word) about this is supposed to convey how upset she is. Hope I didn't over do it.

Angst is newer to me, so feedback is greatly appreciated.

Let's see how many Pieces puns I can sneak into this fic (my favorite one isn't going to get written anymore AUGH).