"Probably ought to bring you up to speed on something right now."
Wheatley fidgeted, his optic darting around nervously as he glanced at everything save for the lady in front of him. He hated being the bearer of bad news, and what he was about to tell her was pretty much the worst thing he could think of in the realm of things that could ruin escape plans. In fact, if there was a list titled "Things That Could Ruin Escape Plans", he was nearly certain that this would be at the top of it.
"In order to escape, we're going to have to go through Her chamber."
The core paused for a moment to gauge the lady's reaction. Chell gave a light frown, her brow furrowing as she peered through one of the nearby windows at the chamber ahead of them. He noted that she didn't look particularly frightened, though a curious sort of light came to her eyes as she clasped her portal gun a little closer to her stomach.
"And She will probably kill us if, um, if she's awake."
At that, test subject and core exchanged a look of mild alarm, which in Chell's case was mixed with more than a pinch of skepticism. She glanced up at him as she stepped closer to the door, and it almost looked as though she was biting back a doubtful smile.
She really did have brain damage, didn't she?
Maybe if he could just distract her then they wouldn't have to do this.
"If you want to call it quits, we could just sit here. Forever. That's an option. Option A: Sit here. Do nothing. Option B: Go through there, and if she's alive, she'll almost certainly kill us."
Chell shook her head as she brushed past him. Wheatley started so badly he could have fallen off his rail.
Oh Dear God she was going to-
"Okay, I'm gonna lay my cards on the table: I don't wanna do it. I don't wanna go in there. Don't… Don't go in there- She's off. She's off! Panic over! She's off. All fine! On we go."
Was it just his imagination or did the lady roll her eyes at him before stepping into the next room?
Hm.
As thrilled as Wheatley was that the two of them had made it inside Her chamber without being viciously murdered (as there were quite a few ways one could be viciously murdered around Here), he couldn't help but think how ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility- or at least the most important one- and yet it wasn't locked. Aperture was full of empty offices and hallways that lead absolutely nowhere with doors too complicated for Wheatley to crack (even with his arsenal of hacking skills), and yet Her chamber was left wide open. No defense whatsoever. It was no wonder a human had managed to defeat Her so easily: It was almost as though She had wanted whoever ended up killing her to come here.
"There she is…"
—
Wheatley began the day by falling out of bed.
His hatred of silence paired with Chell's now nearly constant absence had lead to him relocating the kitchen radio to one of the side tables next to the couch. Since the white noise helped him sleep at night he lay as close to it as he could, which meant that when he jolted awake that morning his proximity to the edge of the mattress lead to an unscheduled meeting between his face and the floor.
Brilliant.
Wheatley gazed blearily at the clock as he peeled himself off the floor (at least it was carpet), the bright red numbers imprinting on his vision in the darkness.
It was five in the morning.
Even better.
Promptly after flopping back down onto the bed Wheatley cocooned himself in quilt, and he was about to mash a pillow overtop of his head (believe him, nothing good could happen this early in the morning) when he thought to check the hall for signs of life. Cautiously, as if he were searching for something that might lunge out of the darkness and attack him, he peeked over the arm of the couch.
The hallway was completely dark save for a single beam of light that stretched across the floor. This, accompanied by the sudden sound of running water, must mean that Chell was awake.
Wheatley swallowed, something in his chest twisting with concern as he sank away from the arm of the couch.
Chell had been acting rather... strange lately. Granted, Wheatley had always found her actions to be a little strange, but that was because Chell was a flipping genius (if a bit of an eccentric one), and, to put it nicely, Wheatley Was Not. Usually that was fine- almost irrelevant, even- because they were a team. As long as Chell had the plan (and) or the know-how that Wheatley was missing (and really, when didn't she?), she was always happy to share it with him. So despite the fact that his thinking process was about 27 steps behind hers (and that was being generous), he was never left in the dark.
Well….Except for now. Now she had quite literally left him in the dark.
Wheatley hadn't seen Chell in three days.
Now, Wheatley would like to think he was being a bit over dramatic by worrying over that number- after all, this time a week ago Chell had left him alone for five days. But there was a significant difference between now and then, and the difference was that this time, in all that time, Chell hadn't left the house. She hadn't even left her room.
This time Chell was hiding from Wheatley. This time she'd been hiding from him for three days.
And, of course, that wasn't all.
As a result of worrying, and rushing in and out of the cold, and skipping meals, and staying up late, and bottling up her emotions, Chell's cold seemed to have evolved into something much worse. In the days between her... (for lack of better word) breakdown and her disappearance, Chell had been so sick she was miserable.
And Wheatley wasn't sure whether or not it was related, but, much to his dismay, she had also become very hateful towards him.
Ever since Chell explained that Elizabeth was sick- ever since the night she'd allowed to him to hold her as she cried- she'd become extremely weary of Wheatley. Her once seemingly endless supply of patience was running dangerously low, and even when he did nothing wrong (rare as such an occurrence was) she snapped at everything he did or said. She nearly glared a hole in his head (don't you dare) if he so much as looked at her.
So when her cold got worse and Wheatley made the mistake of asking whether or not he should call Sam to come check on her, Chell explained to him under no uncertain terms that she was fine, they weren't dragging her off to the hospital any time soon, and Sam had enough to handle as it was.
And then, for good measure, she locked herself in her room and took the only phone in the house with her.
That was the last he'd seen of her, though it wasn't for lack of effort.
Every day Wheatley left three meals (if bowls of cereal, sandwiches, and bowls of soup counted as meals) and plenty of water bottles outside her door, most of which she took. He would also knock on her door once or twice a day to ask if she needed anything, and remind her that, just in case she had forgotten, he was, in fact, still there and he was more than a tad worried about her. But no matter how much Wheatley rambled and pleaded and coaxed, he only ever received a sharp"Go away." in response. If her tone of voice was any indication Chell was becoming angrier with him every day and Wheatley didn't know why. He'd spent three days doing nothing but pleading and worrying and wracking his brain and he still had no idea what he could have done to make her act like this.
Wheatley curled up into a ball and pulled the quilt overtop of his head.
He was so worried about her. And it must have be his fault that she was acting this way.
Chell was treating him horribly and she would never do such a thing without good reason, she never did anything without good reason, so he must have done something to deserve this.
But he doesn't know what he could have done wrong, and even worse, that doesn't mean a thing. Because Wheatley has become so good at instinctively doing the wrong thing, without actually realizing that he's doing the wrong thing, that at this point his thinking he's done nothing wrong is probably more useful in proving him guilty than innocent.
And as much as he might have wanted to throw himself a pity party for all this neglect, he couldn't bring himself to be angry with Chell. As a core he had always heard that grief made humans act strangely, and if he had to guess he would say that's what this was. She knew that something terrible was going to happen to someone she cared about and there wasn't anything she could do but sit by and watch it happen. Force of nature that she was, she wasn't used to that sort of helplessness. On top of that Chell felt miserable (or at least she sounded it), she was probably embarrassed or at least a bit stunned by her open display of emotion the other night, and he was pestering her to death. When he thought about it like that, it made perfect sense that Chell had locked herself in her room: She was dealing with a growing list of terrible, stressful things on a daily basis, and he was the only one of those things that she could remove. So that's what she had done. The logic checked out perfectly.
That should have been the end of it, right? Jury in, unanimous verdict: case closed. Thank you for your time. That's all 'folks.
But of course it wasn't because there was still one tiny piece that didn't fit with everything else (it was just Wheatley's luck to be left with a puzzle with an extra piece instead of a missing one), and that was that Chell had also started locking the door to her room.
Now, again, at first glance this was no cause for alarm. For the most part Chell had always locked the door to her room when she'd been inside it (especially after a particular afternoon when Wheatley happened to interrupt one of her naps)- what was concerning was that, in the days before her disappearance, she had taken to locking the door behind her whenever she left her room as well as when she entered it.
Which meant that when Chell wasn't hiding in her room she was hiding something in her room.
And Wheatley had no Earthly idea what it could be, or whether or not it had anything to do with everything else that was going wrong.
Wheatley gave a soft sigh as he removed the quilt from his head and gazed down the hallway.
Somehow it felt wrong to even wonder what was going on. After all, he was the one who had caused this, whatever it was, and now, on top of everything else he had done, he had the nerve to question Chell for reacting to it? To suspect her of… of…. He didn't even know what? What was he doing? What was the point of all this worrying? He trusted Chell, didn't he?
Wheatley mashed a pillow over his head as he face planted into the mattress. He wanted to scream.
Of course he trusted Chell. This wasn't a question of whether or not Chell had her reasons for whatever she was doing, because she was far more clever than he could ever comprehend. He understood that. His real concern was whether or not those reasons were dangerous when it came down to what they were doing to her health. That was why he was worried.
Chell was being reclusive and secretive and hateful. She had just found out that someone she cared about was dying. She was sick and it sounded as though she was getting worse. She had locked herself in her room and taken the only phone in the house with her. It was the middle of winter. The roads were covered in snow and everyone else lived on the other side of town, which meant that, when it came to figuring out and fixing whatever was wrong, Wheatley was on his own.
God help him.
Wheatley yawned despite himself.
The living room was warm, and dark, and cozy, and as much as he wanted to help Chell, five AM was not the time to solve life's mysteries, five AM was the time to sleep.
Wheatley thought that he could at least handle that, but as some familiar thoughts filled his head he was quickly proven wrong.
How ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility, or at least the most important one, and yet it wasn't locked.
It was the same dream as before, and once again Wheatley jolted awake.
Now he glared up at the ceiling.
Okay, sure voice in his head, but A. it was really very rude to bother him like this when he was trying to sleep, and B. that made absolutely no sense.
Yes, most of the dream (nightmare? It didn't make much sense: that phrase wasn't scary, and nothing save the location of the… whatever it was was frightening, but for some reason it terrified him enough to wake him, twice. But Wheatley supposed that anything that involved That Place should probably be considered a nightmare automatically) he'd had that morning was a memory of something that had actually happened, but the ending of it hadn't. Wheatley had never thought about any of those things, had never made any of those observations, because he hadn't had time to.
So why-
How ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility, or at least the most important one, and yet it wasn't locked.
Did it matter-
How ironic it was that this was arguably the most dangerous room in the entire facility, or at least the most important one, and yet it wasn't locked.
If-
It wasn't locked.
It wasn't locked.
Wheatley shot back into a sitting position, and if he'd been a character in one of those old technicolor cartoons a light bulb would've beamed from above his head as surely as the cake was a lie.
It was five in the morning. Chell was up and in the bathroom getting ready for the day. She thought he was asleep. And since she required a key to lock her door from the outside (which was much more work than just pressing a button: she would have to find it in the dark right after waking up, use it to lock the door, keep up with it wherever she went, and remember to bring it with her when she returned to her room) Wheatley was willing to bet that her door wasn't locked.
Which also meant that, if he really wanted to, he could (probably) go find out what was wrong.
And Chell would never even have to know.
Wheatley swallowed.
Okay, I'm gonna lay my cards on the table: I don't wanna do it. I don't wanna go in there.
He wasn't going to lie to himself: this was a bad idea. And Wheatley had come to realize quite a while ago that any bad idea that he actually registered to be a bad idea was, in fact, a very very bad idea.
But-
In order to escape, we're going to have to go through Her chamber.
...But if going in there could get the two of them out of this miserable downward spiral, maybe it wasn't a completely terrible idea. After all, Wheatley just wanted to know what was going on. Unless Chell had two separate problems (God help them), something pretty enlightening must be in her room, or else she wouldn't be locking her door whenever she left it.
And all Wheatley would have to do to find out was in there would be, well, would be to go in there. If Chell was just being overprotective and making a fuss over nothing (though if he was honest he'd never seen her do anything like that before…), Wheatley wouldn't say a word. Hopefully whatever little thing it was would blow over soon enough, he wouldn't have to worry anymore and Chell would never have to find out what he knew. But if he saw something serious- something he didn't think that Chell should try to handle on her own (despite the fact that she was perfectly capable of handling just about everything), something related to There, or her health- he would confront her on it and they could try to fix it together.
That covered just about everything, didn't it?
And She will probably kill us if, um, if She's awake.
Wheatley froze.
Right.
That… That was an important bit.
Chell had always been adamant about him staying out of her room, especially when she wasn't in it. During his first few weeks on the surface she had made it clear that that was her most important rule, and if she caught him breaking it in the mood she was in now…
All those weeks ago when Chell had asked him if wanted to leave, for a moment Wheatley had honestly thought she was joking. The question was almost laughable, because why on Earth would he want to leave when she was here?
Wheatley had always admired (and feared) Chell for her skills, and strength, and tenacity, but over the years he had come to sort of revere her as well. Chell was hope. Back when he found her he was a dusty, useless little construct that had been alone and abandoned for longer than he cared to remember. The moment the dreary silence of his dull little world was shattered with the sound of ten thousand alarms- the moment he met Chell- even then she was his last chance at freedom, and meaning, and happiness. Since then she had become his salvation. Time and time again she had saved him, whether it was from Her or himself.
Chell was the first person who had ever cared about him. She was the first person who had ever seen him as anything other than a failure, or a price tag, or an idiot. To Chell he was so much more than any of that, because to Chell he was a friend. Even back when he was still a core, she treated him like a person. No one had ever done that before. Wheatley would never understand why or how, but she saw potential in him long after everyone else had given up.
Even when (especially when) he deserved to be given up on.
Even after he was traitorous and guilty and monstrous, and well deserving of Chell's wrath, she helped dust him off and hauled him to his newfound feet. She hadn't forgiven him immediately. Wheatley lamented that, to that day, Chell had never outright told him that she forgave him. He didn't know if she ever would. But more than that, she had made it perfectly clear that she thought and expected better of him. Chell stripped away the horrible, poisonous things That Place had ingrained into his mind, and had shown him a better way to live. She taught him that it was okay to be wrong. She taught him that making mistakes and asking for help were good things, because that was how you learned. She taught him that it no longer mattered what he had been programmed to do or be as a core, because he was a person now, a human being, and it was up to him to decide what and who he wanted to be.
Chell introduced him to other people. She helped him see that, beyond the walls of Aperture, not everyone was cynical and judgemental, waiting to pounce the moment you made a mistake- and that, in fact, the majority of people were not. The people of Horizon had been nothing but kind to Wheatley, and at first he had thought that this was simply because of Chell. They adored her, obviously, and since she had taken him under her wing (or at least her roof), they felt obligated to be nice to him, too. But eventually he realized that wasn't the case. In Horizon everyone was caring and neighborly. It didn't matter whether Chell was with him or not, if he was out wondering about, anyone he bumped into (literally or otherwise) would give him a bright grin and stop to chat, to ask him if he was doing alright and whether or not he needed anything. The townspeople could always spare a minute to talk or help you with whatever you might need, and each and every one of them would gladly give you the shirt off their back (though of course Wheatley would never ask for it). The town's children adored him and never let him pass by without roping him into some kind of game. Whenever he helped out at the farm he'd be sent home with freshly picked flowers and more food than he could carry. Charlotte wouldn't let him leave the only restaurant in town without giving him a bowl of soup and entire loaf of freshly baked bread. Elizabeth had supplied both he and Chell with a constant stream of gifts (ranging from blankets to winter gear to clothing), and food, and invitations to dine with her and her husband, all of which he and Chell accepted gratefully. Sam and Claire would drive to the other end of town if he had so much as hangnail. Michael was constantly fixing odds and ends at the house, and arguing with Chell as politely as possible when she tried to pay him. And despite the fact that Wheatley was far from his favorite person (he'd made that very clear, much like Chell had once done), even Michael was happy to listen to or help out with any problem Wheatley may have. Horizon had become Wheatley's home and its people were his family. And he had Chell to thank for that.
She showed him all she could of their tiny corner of the world. Back during their escape Wheatley had been fighting for a vague sense of out and away, but Chell had been fighting for the surface. She had been fighting for the grass and the dirt and the trees and the sky, the sunlight and the rain, the seasons, the wind and the snow, and she had taught him the value of all of it. The value of Freedom.
And the value of himself.
Because the most important thing Chell had ever taught Wheatley was his own worth. She taught him that he mattered, and she had made him a better person. More than that, Chell was the only one who ever made him feel like a person to begin with.
And that made what he was about to do all the more frightening, because leaving Chell meant leaving all of that behind.
Wheatley couldn't imagine leaving Chell, couldn't imagine his life without her in it, because, well, because of everything he just explained. She'd been there from the start- literally from the very first moment he arrived on the surface, she'd been there to help him navigate this strange, wonderful world he knew next to nothing about. She was quite literally the reason he was there to begin with, and her being there to help him figure it out made it all the more wonderful. Without Chell he knew nothing about this world, and he had no place in it.
But somewhere between that awful phone call and his first night alone in the house, Wheatley had come to realize that his staying or leaving had very little to do with whether or not Chell stayed in his life. Because here they were, living under the same roof, and she still wasn't there. He was still alone. It didn't matter how great things could be if he stayed here with her, because he was there and they were horrible. Things were going terribly for both of them and it felt as though his being there was only making them worse.
Wheatley took a deep breath to steady himself in the darkness.
If Chell caught him sneaking into her room (because make no mistake, that's what he'd be doing), in the mood she was in now, she would probably kick him to the curb. Because she was running out of patience and he was running out of second chances.
And if he really thought about it, at this point, maybe the only way to make things better for both of them was for him to leave. Because Wheatley had already tried just about everything else (not that Chell was leaving him that many options), and nothing was working.
But that still didn't mean he wanted to leave, and it certainly didn't mean he was willing to break Chell's rules when she could come in and catch him at any second. That was below even a Wheatley grade plan.
Nervous blue eyes glanced back at the clock.
Five minutes had passed since he'd woken up, fallen on the floor, and heard the shower in Chell's bathroom start. Which meant that, if he was lucky (which he usually wasn't), he would have about ten or fifteen minutes to get to Chell's room, find what he was looking for, and get back into bed before she emerged from the bathroom.
Alright then.
This was a terrible plan.
Wheatley could feel his hands shaking as he stood in the darkness. He was going to do this. He was really going to do this. He was going to sneak into Chell's room and find out what she was hiding. From here on out there were going to be no more secrets.
Oh boy.
Wheatley made his way down the hall as carefully as possible, wincing at every creaky floorboard and silently bargaining with the others to please remain silent, placating hand gestures and all. By the time he made it to Chell's door he had half convinced himself she must have heard him, that she was standing on the other side of the bathroom door waiting to jump out and strangle him to death with a towel (what a way to go), and that combined with his proximity to her current location (somewhere he was well aware he was not supposed to be) made him suddenly freeze to the spot with fear.
Forget kicking him out, she was going to kill him, wasn't she?
After a few minutes of standing there stock still in the darkness, he managed to place his hand on the doorknob to her room. But even then he couldn't bring himself to turn it.
If you want to call it quits, we could just sit here. Forever. That's an option. Option A: Sit here. Do nothing. Option B: Go through there, and if she's alive, she'll almost certainly kill us.
He entered under penalty of death, or worse, Chell's rath.
Was this really worth it?
Okay, I'm gonna lay my cards on the table: I don't wanna do it. I don't wanna go in there. Don't… Don't go in there-
In one swift motion Wheatley flung the door open and flicked on the lights.
And he while he wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected, this wasn't it.
Chell's room was a mess.
The bed was unmade, its pillows scattered across the room as if (for some reason) Chell had hurled them in a fit of rage. Half the blankets were hanging off the bed and drooping onto the carpet. Every drawer in the room was open, their contents either halfway hanging out or sitting in one of the many piles of clothes that were strewn across the floor. Wheatley noted with alarm that even the books Chell loved so dearly lay discarded on the floor.
This made no sense. Chell always kept everything neat, nearly to a point of obsession. She'd worked hard for her house and she kept it perfect. If Wheatley so much as left a drawer gaped in his own room she would scold him. The last time Wheatley had been inside her room it was immaculate. What on Earth had happened?
Wheatley felt like screaming.
He hadn't wanted to come in here in the first place, but he had at least hoped that he would come out with some answers. Now he only had more questions, and as he stood there alone in the eerie silence, surrounded by this mess, a terrifying sense of foreboding began to seep through his skin.
Something really was wrong.
What could he do?
Should he wait for Chell to come back? It would be sort of the opposite of what she'd done to him over the past few weeks: he could just wait for her to come in and (on the off chance she didn't kill him) she would have to answer his questions because there wouldn't be anywhere to run. Chell would be cornered.
Wheatley shuddered (at both the thought and the temperature. It was cold in here) and shook his head. He didn't like that line of thought.
Though the next one wasn't much better.
Should he… look around?
At this point Wheatley had already realized that this mess could be here simply because Chell was upset. That was the most logical explanation: She had started locking her door because she was embarrassed by the mess, and the mess was only there because she was too grieved about Elizabeth to bother with straightening up. Only a week ago Wheatley had seen Chell, master of stoicism, break down crying right in front of him. There was no denying how emotional she was about all of this.
But… Two weeks had passed since Chell had last been the hospital. If she was this distraught over losing her friend, then why had she stopped visiting her? Why was she locking herself away in her room all the time? It didn't make sense.
And though Wheatley felt guilty for even thinking such things, Chell was too clever for her own good. If she was hiding something from him, she could've made this mess on purpose to distract him from what was really wrong on the off chance he somehow made it in here. That sounded like something she would do.
Either way, it was unlikely that Wheatley was going to get another chance to look around like this. He might as well make the most of it, right?
Wheatley raked a shaking hand through his hair.
No! Wrong!
He was invading Chell's privacy just by being here. Breaking her rules was bad enough: what was he going to do next, search through her belongings? No thank you! One count of treason was bad enough, thank you very much, he could well do without two. Especially when he had no clue what it was he was looking for- if there was even anything to be found!
Wheatley tried to calm down and think, neither one of which he was very good at. He needed help. He wasn't smart enough to figure all this out on his own, he needed-
The phone! Of course! Why hadn't he thought of that before? That should've been the plan all along! Chell had brought the phone in here with her, and if he could find it he could take it with him and call for help! All the numbers were in the kitchen on the fridge! But where was the-
Wheatley's blood turned to ice as the door clicked shut behind him.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Wheatley was currently facing away from the door, and very glad of the fact. He froze completely, held his breath, even, in the futile hope that maybe, just maybe, if he stood still enough, Chell would somehow overlook him.
But of course he knew better.
He'd wondered for days now what her expression would be when he finally saw her again. If she would be sad, or sorry, or angry. Wheatley had hoped she would finally be happy again. He'd hoped she would finally feel better. But now, as Wheatley pursed his lips together and slowly turned to face her, Chell just looked tired. And not just physically tired. Tired of him. She wasn't angry (furious) like he expected her to be. It was etched into the ice of her eyes as she stood there, rigid: Chell was done with him.
And that was far, far worse.
He swallowed thickly as he stood there, shaking under the weight of her glare, trying to scrounge up something to say.
"Oh! Chell, I-" His voice was an embarrassingly high pitch as he looked around for some semblance of an excuse, his gaze frantic and somewhat hopeless as he looked around the room. "You're, um, all quiet and ominous, I see." Chell didn't bat an eyelash. "You're- You're probably wondering what I'm doing in here. Good question! The answer… is… thaaaaat I was just looking for-"
By some feat of miracles still not large enough to save him, the little book of poems sat on the edge of Chell's bed. It was nowhere near an adequate excuse (nothing is) and Wheatley knew it, but nevertheless he lunged for the book.
Chell got there first and several things happened at once.
Wheatley flinched once as he heard the book hit the floor, a result of Chell hurling it across the room, and again as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him down to eye level.
It seemed that now she was ready to be angry.
Chell's eyes were molten silver, full of sparks and fire and the purest scalding hot rage he'd ever seen. Usually the picture of composure, she was now so angry that even her breathing was louder than usual. This was by far the most enraged Wheatley had ever seen her, and this was the woman he'd once made so angry she had shot him into space.
"Get out." She growled, alarmingly soft. "Now."
Now she was in front of him, driving him back towards the door. Wheatley attempted to scramble away, terrified and angry (thoug his anger seemed more like a minor annoyance in comparison to Chell's). He knew exactly what she was going to do: she was going to pitch him out into the hallway, slam the door in his face, and leave him alone again for God knew how long.
"I- No!" Chell's grip slacked in surprise and Wheatley managed to break free. If his shoddy cover wasn't blown before, it certainly was now. "You-You made me promise to stay out of your room- you made a rule that I had to keep away and you told me that if, if I broke it I'd be breaking your trust-"
"I mean it, Wheatley! Get out! Now! Or I'll-"
"No!" He snapped, rising to his full height and stepping back, away from her and the door. Insult flickered across her face. "I'm bigger than you and-and you can't just make me leave!"
Chell shook her head, something dark in her eyes.
"You do not understand-"
Wheatley flailed.
"That's exactly right! I don't understand!" The scowl on Chell's face faltered for the briefest of seconds. Wheatley offered her a genuine (albeit concerned) smile as he tried to take her hands in his, but she shied away. "You already told me what's wrong. Chell I'm not mad at you, I'm worried about you. You said you're worried about Elizabeth but you're not even leaving the house anymore to go visit her! You're just locking yourself in here so you can be alone all the time! You're sick and you're not taking care of yourself!" Wheatley wanted so badly to be closer to her, to hold her and tell her that everything would be okay, but her eyes were full of unease and every time he took a step forward she took a step back. He hoped he sounded as worried as he felt. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"
For a moment she looked as though she might tell him. Chell's expression softened, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly as she took an uneasy breath. She was tired. This was tiring, whatever it was, and Wheatley could tell that she didn't particularly want to keep it up.
Chell looked him straight in the eyes.
And nearly glared a hole in his head.
Her voice was more warped and strangled than he'd ever heard it: cold and disappointed and deeply hurt. Chell looked so angry and yet she sounded as if she wanted to cry.
"I trusted you."
Wheatley couldn't tell whether or not that was the answer to his question, but it sent him over the edge.
"No you didn't! No you don't!" He snapped, ludicrous. "I've followed all of your rules up until now, and I still don't have your trust! And you know what? You don't have mine, either!" Based on the flash of pain across Chell's face he wasn't sure who was more hurt. "You spend every day upset, locked up alone in this room and you won't tell me why! Meanwhile I spend every day, alone, worrying about you! And I can't help you, can't do anything but watch you make yourself sick, because you won't talk to me!" By this point he was trying not to cry. "You don't care about me! You don't trust me! All you want is to be alone!"
Wheatley took a shaking breath as his voice rang across the house, and as it did so the truth of his words soaked through his skin.
"Well I may be a moron but I'm not that dense. I'll go. I just- I'll leave, and you can be alone for as long as you want-"
"Don't act so dignified." She stepped back, away from him, and despite the fact that her lips were moving, that was not her voice. "I asked you months ago if you wanted to stay here- I offered to take you somewhere else- and you said you wanted to stay with me. You made a choice. It's not my fault that you made the wrong one."
Chell had never ever been like this. Wheatley had never seen her act so coldly towards him or anyone else.
"Do you- You really do want me to leave, don't you?"
She looked him dead in the eyes.
"Am I being too vague?"
That was the end of it.
Wheatley stood there, the world around him reeling as he tried to figure out what to do next. He was alone now, as simple as that. He was going to end up alone, he was going to have to live without Chell, so where was he going to go? He could go to one of the neighbors houses but he couldn't stay in town, he couldn't stay in Horizon, because everyone was going to find out what had happened, they were going to find out what he did to make Chell act like this, and they loved her, they were all going to take her side and though they'd probably be right to blame this on him, he had no earthly idea what he'd done wrong to start all of this.
Wheatley was doing everything in his power not to have a meltdown. He had just lost everything: his entire world was entwined with Chell.
She stepped behind him and he heard the door open. He knew without looking that she was standing there, watching him, probably disgusted and already ushering him out.
'Good riddance.'
Maybe it was only because Wheatley used to be a form of computer, but he really wished that life had an undo button. Because there were so many things he would love to go back and fix, and for some reason most of them involved Chell.
Wheatley had never meant to hurt her. Never. And they had gotten so much better in the past few months. They were friends again. They had made so much progress.
He'd just ruined all of it.
Wheatley didn't want to leave like this. He didn't want to leave at all, but he really didn't want to leave like this. He knew he couldn't fix whatever this was, but maybe there was some way he could leave things so it didn't feel as though everything they'd done was for nothing.
And then he remembered.
'Hope is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm…'
The little book of poems was sitting forlornly on the floor, half hidden under the drooping duvet. It would be a small gesture, tiny and insignificant in comparison to all the terrible things he had said and done just today (before six o'clock in the morning, even), but Wheatley decided that since it would be the last thing he ever did for Chell, it might as well be something nice.
Wheatley wanted so badly to say that he was sorry, even though he had no idea what he'd done wrong. But then he remembered what Chell had told him the first time she had slammed the door in his face, the first time she'd locked herself in her room.
'Don't apologize.' In that same God awful voice that wasn't her's.
So Wheatley wouldn't apologize. He would hand her the book and thank her for everything she's done for him and tell her that he's- no. No. He would only say thank you, because Chell didn't want to hear that he was sorry and he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye.
That, at least, was a good plan.
But like so many of Wheatley's other plans, it spiralled out of control very quickly, in ways he couldn't begin to imagine.
Wheatley had always found the color red rather alarming.
That color always made him think of turrets, and while they didn't shoot at cores, it still scared the living hard light out of him when he rounded a corner and there was one waiting for its next victim, chittering away with that terrifyingly soft voice. Orange had been reassuring up until now. Orange was her color, a flash of orange had always meant that Chell was still alive, orange on the walls meant that she was right behind him, that everything was going according to plan.
But the two colors together, in the form of stained tissues and pill bottles that filled the little waste basket beside Chell's bed, meant the exact opposite.
And to think he'd felt frightened when he'd heard the door close.
Wheatley tried to form words, a very difficult endeavour when one can't breathe.
"What is-" His voice caught somewhere in his throat. "Chell, are you- Chell?" The room was spinning. "Oh my God. What is- is that- blood?" Wheatley wanted nothing more than to look at Chell- to see her standing there, alive and well, perfectly fine- and listen as she gave a perfectly logical explanation as to what was going on and how she was okay, but he couldn't manage to tear his eyes away from the monstrosity before him. "What's wrong? Are you okay? What-"
Wheatley finally managed to look at Chell for some confirmation that the world wasn't ending.
He found none.
It had taken Chell a moment to realize what Wheatley had seen, but that was all it had taken for her to freeze; for all the color to drain from her face. He had never seen her so caught off guard- so openly afraid.
She looked for all the world as if she'd watched someone impale him.
'So close…'
The two of them stood there frozen and horrified, each of them temporarily relying on Wheatley's previous strategy of survival: If they stood still enough, maybe the world wouldn't fall apart.
Chell spoke, her voice soft and low. Almost back to normal.
"You should have left."
And then she cried.
Oh no.
Oh no.
"Chell?" Wheatley's voice cracked like a sheet of glass. He stumbled to where she had sat on the bed, her head in her hands, before sinking to his knees at her feet. "Oh no, don't- don't- there's no need to cry, love." He choked through tears. "Don't cry. Please don't cry. Whatever's the matter-" He gave a strangled huff of laughter as he weakly squeezed her hand. "I promise, it'll be okay."
He was lying and he knew he was lying but he wanted what he had said to be true and please dear God let it be true.
Chell was realizing far too late that her ability to control her emotions no longer worked. A lot of things no longer worked.
Poor Wheatley was sitting in a heap at her feet, a shivering, sobbing mess. He was making an attempt to comfort her, but between the two of them she wasn't sure who was worse off.
Chell tried to collect herself for his sake.
"No."
Her voice came out strong and clear, and at the sound of it both of them managed to stop crying. Wheatley's expression was purely devastated as he looked up at her and squeezed her hand too hard.
"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I told you about Elizabeth? About how she's sick?" Chell gave him a weak smile. "I'm the same way, Wheatley." Her hand was shaking in his. "I have an illness that Sam can't treat, and I'm not going to get better."
Wheatley wasn't sure exactly what Chell had just said, but all of a sudden there was a faint ringing in his ears.
"No," His hand slipped from hers. "No, you're fine. You're going to be fine. You have a cold." He shook his head. "You're upset about Elizabeth. You're mad at me for something I did wrong. You want me to leave, so I'm going to leave- and you're going to stay here and you're going to be okay. You said- you told me you were fine! You said not to worry about to you! That it was nothing! You said!" Chell reached for him but he recoiled, he somehow hauled himself to his feet and stepped out of reach. "And, and you can't have that because there's no-" His breath hitched in a sob. "You would- You can't!" Wheatley wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could in attempt to keep himself from falling apart. "Please!"
He can't breathe someone help him he can't breathe-
"I'm so sorry, Wheatley." Part of Chell wanted to come closer but she didn't and she wasn't sure why. She stared at the carpet. "This is why I lied to you. Why I've been so hateful towards you lately." She gave a bitter smile. "I was trying to… to make you upset with me. So you would leave. And then you wouldn't have to find out-" Chell swallowed. "I didn't want to do this to you."
"I don't understand." Wheatley said shakily.
"Sam told me about a month ago." Chell looked up at him meekly. "The night I got the phone call... it was about Elizabeth. That they'd taken her to the hospital, and I went to see her." She closed her eyes. "While I was there I got pretty upset. I started coughing and Sam didn't like the sound of it." Chell examined her hands. "She wonders if it made its first appearance around Christmas."
When Wheatley finally spoke he somehow sounded hollow.
"You've been this sick for that long, and you never told me."
Chell regretted it now. There was no doubt in her mind this would have paid off if Wheatley had left, but now she had only wasted time making both of them miserable.
"I'm sorry." The words felt empty despite how much Chell meant them. She sounded small. "I wasn't this bad at first. And this will pass in a few days: I'll be better for a little while before I get worse again."
It all made sense now. Her hiding in her room all day wasn't to avoid Wheatley, it was to keep him from seeing this. To keep him from seeing how sick she was. She left the mess on purpose to distract from what he'd found. This was what she was hiding.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Wheatley whimpered. "You could've told me."
Chell shifted uncomfortably.
"You're human." She said gently. Wheatley recognized his own words being used against him. "There isn't anything anyone can do other then take me to the hospital and keep me comfortable." Chell looked up at him with a soft kind of light in her eyes. "I don't want that. I would rather stay here-" She bowed her head, her voice going quiet. "with you."
Wheatley was incredulous.
"No- No you don't." He cried. "I'm terrible! I'm- I'm awful! I tried-" Wheatley choked on his words, and both of them froze at the horror in his eyes. Suddenly he was white as a sheet. "I did." Shaking hands clawed through his hair. "Oh G- Oh my God."
It would have been so much better if he'd run. If Wheatley had listened to her, if he'd believed all the God awful things she'd said to him that morning, he could have left town, started a new life somewhere else, and hated her. The realization wouldn't dawn on him quickly, but over time his guilt would boil to something deeper, thicker, and one day instead of berating himself over what he'd done wrong (nothing) he would tell himself how hateful and cruel and awful she was, and ask himself why he would ever have wanted to stay there with her to begin with. Why should he believe a single word she said?
"Wheatley-"
But he didn't listen to her. He didn't run away, he didn't believe her lies. So now he was going to stay. Wheatley was going to be stuck Here just like her.
And he was going to Know.
"The gels." He choked, pathetically. "The chambers with the gels were condemned because they- all the humans that tested with them-" Wheatley saw the shadows under Chell's eyes, the sickly pale hue of her skin, heard the strain in her breathing, and he could have drowned in the shame. "You were down there. With them. Because I-" He sobbed. "I did this to you! I k-"
The rest of the words wouldn't come out.
Wheatley was falling and the sky was falling and the entire world was falling, endlessly.
The floor was rushing up to meet him, and that when Chell (who had previously been on the other side of the room) caught him.
Wheatley wanted to cling to Chell like a frightened child but a venomous voice in his head told him he did not deserve comfort, he did not deserve her touch, he had done Enough. He put up a half hearted fight for her sake because his touch was poison, but her grip was iron. Chell held him at arm's length, her hands firmly secured around his wrists.
"Neither one of us had much control over what we did back there." Chell's eyes glinted as Wheatley tried to pull away, blatantly ashamed. "You got me out." At that he went still. "Maybe you did it a little bit differently than we planned, and maybe not for as long as we planned… but I got out of there because of you. If it hadn't been for you, I would be there right now. If I had managed to survive that long, or was ever woken up at all." Somehow Chell almost looked happy. "And I would rather have lived three years up here than three hundred down there."
She pulled him into a hug but Wheatley could only stand there, shaking.
For the first time in weeks she spoke with her own voice.
"Breathe."
Wheatley choked out a sob as he stood there, refusing to let himself reach for her.
She smoothed a hand across his back.
"I know. It's okay."
'Blasphemy.'
"How can you say-"
Once again Chell held him at arm's length, though now the expression she wore was much lighter. She wore a soft smile and her eyes were brighter than Wheatley had seen them in weeks.
Her voice was warm and her words made the sky fall all over again.
"Because I forgive you. For everything."
Wheatley had waited so long to hear those words. He had always imagined that he would feel lighter after Chell said them, as if a literal weight had been lifted. But now they did the exact opposite. Those perfect words were crushing, because as much as Wheatley had wanted so desperately to hear them, he would trade never hearing them- would gladly trade Chell hating him- in a heartbeat for her health.
Wheatley finally managed to hug her back as something inside of him broke in two.
"I'm sorry!" He wailed, wrapping his arms around her stomach as if he could hold her there forever. "You have to be okay!" His breath was hitched with sobs as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.
"It's okay. It's okay."
Her voice was soft and even, but she was crying, too.
How ironic it was...
"I know it doesn't feel like it now, believe me," Chell gave a wry smile that Wheatley couldn't see. "But you're going to be okay."
Wheatley clutched at the fabric of her shirt.
"No-"
"Everything is going to be just fine. I promise." His breath caught as Chell rested her forehead against his. Her eyes were bright- determined- despite the tears. "You just have to trust me, okay?"
No defences whatsoever.
That, at least, was easy.
Wheatley nodded.
"Okay."
No wonder a human had managed to defeat Her so easily: It was almost as though She had wanted whoever ended up killing her to come here.
AN:
Surprise!
Hello dear readers! We're finally back! And we have a lot to talk about!
First off, Pieces is complete! Hooray!
This is not the last chapter, but the last chapter has already been written, and so we're back to weekly Friday updates until the end of the fic! Wohoo!
I'd like to give a huge thank you to The_Pie_Is_A_Lie and mango-sass for betaing these giant chapters. Thank you to wheatleyandchell (faroutfangirl) for your constant support. Thank you to the portal writer's discord and everyone who's listened to me fight with and rant about Pieces over the years. And thank you, thank you, thank you to those of you who stuck around through this hiatus (of nearly two years!) and all the ones before. You have been so patient and kind, and your support has meant the world. Thank you!
I am very sorry, both for the long hiatus and the sadness. This chapter is the reason Pieces was kept on hold. I would much rather have you guys return to a sad chapter than leave you hanging with one for months and months before I finished the next one. Which is why I waited until everything was finished to post this. I feel bad leaving this for just a week. I couldn't make you wait any longer than that for the next one.
Please do not give up on this fic if you don't like this turn of events (You've waited this long! XD) There will still be cuteness and fluff, I promise you. Please keep reading.
Now. You knew this was coming.
We've gone without updates for nearly two years. I worked on this chapter for over seven months. The finished product is 37 pages and well over 9000 words. The cut content for this chapter alone is 52 pages and close to 10000 words. If you're glad Pieces is back, please please please review! Thank you!