Wheatley wasn't sure how long he and Chell stood there holding each other crying, but when he broke from the dream like trance he was in it felt as though an eternity had passed. Chell pulled away from their embrace, smoothing a hand between his shoulder blades as she laced her fingers through his, a clear sign that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Between fatigue and emotion Wheatley felt as though he was about to fall over, and her touch was immensely comforting: grounding as she gently led him to the living room, closing her bedroom door behind them as they left.
They stumbled down the darkened hall and into the living room, where the last embers of the fire were slowly dying. Chell deposited the protesting, half asleep Wheatley on the edge of the pull out mattress before kindling the embers back to a small blaze. He watched in a daze (how on Earth was she still standing?) as she padded across the carpet to the table where the little radio sat. There was a soft click as Moonlight Sonata was cut short. Silence spilled across the room, and she disappeared into the shadows of the kitchen to return the radio to its rightful place. Moments later her tawny skin was illuminated by golden light as she returned, and she fell next to him on the bed in a heap.
Wheatley, in his grief stricken zombie like stupor, decided that everything was terrible except for this. This little slice of peace and warmth and closeness they had both missed so much- this was the only good thing left in the world.
It was so familiar that it made something in his chest ache: Just to be able to hold Chell again, just to have her close again, was an immense comfort.
So that's what he did.
Wheatley pulled Chell up next to him as carefully as possible. She allowed him to prop her up with pillows and cover her in quilts and curl around her; she traced gentle patterns onto his back as she hid her face in the crook of his neck. Wheatley's voice was shaking just as badly as Chell's small frame as he murmured reassurances into her hair.
Everything was going to be okay. She was going to be okay. He didn't care what anyone said. He was right there. He wasn't going anywhere, and nothing was going to hurt her on his watch. He promised. He might not be very frightening or strong or any of that, but anything that wanted to hurt her was going to have to go through him first.
Chell managed a smile.
That was how they fell asleep.
When Wheatley woke, Chell was gone.
He had hoped that she would sleep in that morning (for both their sakes), but he was disappointed to find that the space she had occupied next to him was completely devoid of warmth; the blankets she'd been using had been piled on top of him before she'd left. For a moment Wheatley panicked, thinking that Chell had returned to her room, locking him out once again, but as he jolted upright he was hit with the scent of coffee and bacon.
At that he gave a sigh of relief, and reluctantly pried himself from the nice warm bed to go investigate.
Wheatley groggily padded across the carpet, pausing for a moment at the border of the kitchen before he remembered he could once again cross it.
That was where he found Chell.
She stood in front of the stove, a skillet in one hand and the house phone nestled between her shoulder and her ear. The moment she saw Wheatley she removed it, murmuring something about having to go before cutting off whoever was speaking (and Wheatley could pretty easily guess who it was) mid sentence.
Something in his chest ached when he looked at her.
For whatever reason Chell looked close to guilty as she put the phone down. Her hair was free from its usual ponytail, and she tucked a stray strand behind her ear before chancing a look up at Wheatley. She didn't meet his eyes.
Sorrow hung in the air like a fog, and both of them were lost in it.
Chell spoke first.
"Good morning."
Was it?
"'Morning."
Silence.
Wheatley swallowed, looking away. "...I-"
He stopped.
It felt as though the events of the morning had punched a hole through Wheatley's chest. There were so many things he wanted to say to Chell, but it somehow felt wrong to say any of them. Wheatley didn't know what to say, and for the first time in his life that was actually enough to keep him from speaking: Forget what he had thought before- his words were worthless, because no words could fix what was happening to Chell. And it was all his fault.
"I'm sorry." He said, peeking up at Chell. His voice was small. "Remember how you almost kicked me out yesterday?" He tried at a smile and failed. "I was really scared. Because I didn't know where I would go or what I would do without you. I never want to live without you." His voice cracked. He swallowed. "But I almost wonder- if it would be better if I left. If I did leave."
Chell crossed her arms, though her expression was far from angry.
"It?"
"...You?"
"Wheatley."
"No." He said. "I- You don't- you don't want me here for this. You have Michael, and Jake, and Auburn, and Sam- they're better. You can't possibly want me for this. You don't need me."
Chell looked genuinely confused.
"What are you talking about?"
"This is my fault! I did this to you!" Wheatley wasn't sure who looked more hurt. "You can't... honestly want me here when this is my fault. I know… there's no way you can still consider me… anything after I… You're just… pretending. Because you're wonderful, and you're trying to spare my feelings. But I know- You must be mad at me. You must hate me. You have to. And I definitely, completely deserve it. In fact, I might actually hate me more than you do." Wheatley backed away, his hands in the air. "I'm so sorry. I keep trying to make things better, but I just keep hurting you." His voice was heavy as his eyes met hers. "You're the nicest, most patient, understanding person I've ever met, and you've been through more than anyone else on the planet, and you don't deserve any of it, and over half of it is my fault. Because I ruin everything I touch. And I thought that was something I could change- you know, no more programming, freedom and all that- but I can't. I'm too much of a screw up to fix."
He gave a funny little smile as he tried not to cry.
"But I can leave. You'll be better off if I do. I'll go. And you'll never have to worry about me ruining anything else. I promise."
Wheatley made a beeline for the living room, but he didn't get very far.
"I was mad at you."
Wheatley stopped.
"What?"
"When I first came here." Chell said. "I was so angry at you, I couldn't even bring myself to look at the sky. I couldn't look at the stars for months. I hated the color blue. Sam once tried to put me in a blue room on one of my early days at the hospital, and I panicked so badly they had to knock me out." Wheatley looked at Chell, horrified. "I've already told you that I collapsed before I made it to town. What I didn't tell you was that because you told me you would help me, and then did what you did, I fought the people here when they tried to help me. I hurt them, because they were trying to save me. Because you hurt me after telling me you would save me. I was incapable of trusting people for a very long time." Chell pried her gaze from the floor to meet his. "Part of me did hate you then." Wheatley cringed, and waited for the worst of it: what was sure to follow.
"But I wasn't even angry with you when I found out I was sick."
"Why not?"
Chell gave an exasperated little laugh.
"You didn't wake up this morning, and decide to make me sick, Wheatley. What caused this happened nearly four years ago." Chell paused to let that number sink in. Wheatley blinked (He'd never thought math would ever make him feel better). "Do you honestly expect me to blame you, here and now, for something that happened four years ago? Look at how much you've changed in just the last eight months." Chell gave another huff of laughter as she motioned to him. "You didn't understand the concept of eating when you first came here. You were stranded on the couch for an entire week, because you didn't know how to walk; you could hardly even stand." Chell's voice softened. "But that didn't keep you from walking on eggshells every time you spoke to me, did it? Because that was back when I wouldn't speak to you. Or look at you, for that matter." Chell crossed her arms, affection glinting in her eyes. "Your attempts to stay on my good side weren't always successful, but I could tell you were always worried about my reaction to every little thing you said or did. You were so afraid of disappointing me. Or making me angry or upset. And though I usually wasn't thrilled with your antics, I noticed that you were trying to make things easier. And I appreciated that." Wheatley was somehow fighting back tears and a smile. Chell was fighting the former, but not the latter. "Since you were able to walk you've been trying to help me with everything you could. At first you were only trying to appease me, or maybe evade my wrath, but… I don't think it's a stretch to say you've grown to truly care about me over the past few months." Something in his chest twisted pleasantly, then painfully as their eyes met. And he wondered how he had ever thought he knew anything of human emotion, or human pain.
Wheatley received a healthy dose of both as Chell closed the gap between them, entwining her hands in his. Her voice was low. Heartfelt.
"Wheatley, in all that time you haven't done anything to hurt me. But you've helped me in so many ways. You've kept me company, and made me laugh. You've read to me. You've helped me around the house. You've gone with me on trips into town. You've talked me out of nightmares. You've taken care of me when I was sick. You've reminded me to take care of myself. To eat and sleep and drink and stay warm. The people of Horizon love me, I know they do, but in three years most of them haven't managed to do as much for me as you have in the past few months."
As she spoke she wound her arms around his back, pulling him into a hug and resting her head on his chest. He was reluctant to touch her at first, but his arms eventually found their way around her smaller form. She was so close he could feel her voice vibrate through his sternum when she spoke.
"And you can say that you deserve to be kicked to the curb for what you did in the past…. But, Wheatley, I yelled at you every day for a month." Chell couldn't see Wheatley's expression, but he hugged her, hard. "I ignored you and abandoned you and did every mean, hateful thing I could think of, because I was trying to make you leave. But you stayed. For me." One of her hands trailed up his back. He was trembling. "If you really were as horrible as you're treating yourself, you would have hated me for what I did, and you would have told me as much. But you didn't. You took it all, practically without complaint, and still you tried to help me. Still you came to the door and talked to me and took care of me every day, even when I yelled at you. And this morning? The way I looked at you? I could have set your hair on fire. I said things…" Chell closed her eyes. "I never should have said. Horrible things I probably wouldn't have said even back when I was angry with you." Wheatley wondered when he had started to cry. "But still you stayed. Even after I had kicked you out of my house- even when you had nowhere to go, because of me- even then your first priority was to do something you thought would make me feel better." Wheatley couldn't see her face, but somehow she sounded happy. "Don't you see? You would never hurt me, Wheatley. Not now."
Chell paused before speaking again.
"I've thought about everything that happened back There a lot lately." She felt Wheatley tense. "I still don't know if what you did... was even you. What I do know is that, when you started testing me, you didn't make the tests. You stole them from-" Chell stopped. For whatever reason she never finished that sentence. "And do you remember what was in them?"
"The gels." Wheatley said softly.
"Which means that, if you hadn't pulled me out of testing to escape, I probably would have been forced to solve the exact same tests and been exposed to the exact same chemicals even sooner than I was." Chell reached up and gently cupped the side of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "This is not your fault. There's no point in blaming yourself for this, because the exact same thing would have happened either way."
'But I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so so so so sorry-'
"It's alright. I'm right here." Wheatley hugged Chell as if he could hold her there forever. He didn't know if he was crying because he felt guilty, or because Chell believed he wasn't. "There's no sense in worrying. Nothing's going to happen anytime soon. Okay?"
Wheatley nodded blindly, though he couldn't bring himself to speak. All he knew was that if she could face this with so much strength- could forgive him- then he had no choice but to do the same.
"Good."
Chell released him.
"Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?" She lightly punched him in the shoulder, still smiling softly. "You stole my books."
Wheatley laughed through the tears.
"I did."
Chell had always found solace in cleaning.
Scrubbing and dusting and washing and vacuuming were soothing, rhythmic activities that required just enough focus to distract from whatever one might be worried about. Cleaning in general was a healthy way to use negative energy: to focus it into something productive and put it to good use. Energy of any kind was too precious to waste, and Chell loved her home far too much to sit by and do nothing as it fell into a state of dilapidation.
That being said, with everything that had been going on as of late, it had been... awhile since she had found the time to clean. That was why, (especially) after enduring the silence of breakfast (companionable as it was), Chell decided this would be a good activity for both her and Wheatley.
"We're going to clean."
She announced this as she stood to clear the breakfast dishes.
"Clean." Wheatley echoed. He looked up at her with a fragile smile that she was proud of him for attempting. "I'm not trying to be difficult, or judgemental, or anything like that, but you've hardly been home for a month, and now that you're finally…back… the first thing you want to do... is clean?"
Chell smiled.
He was trying at a joke.
"Yes." She turned the kitchen sink on full blast. "Open the blinds, please."
Wheatley did as he was asked, and Chell turned to survey his work, hoping that the added light would make the house look a little bit better.
"Huh." She laughed, and he smiled nervously at the sound of it. "I think that actually made it look worse."
Chell would've loved to do the entirety of her spring cleaning in that single February afternoon (and probably could have), but for the sake of saving energy she settled for the basics; along with finishing some household chores that had piled up.
"Dishes first." She decided. Wheatley fumbled as Chell tossed him a dish towel. As it fell Wheatley grumbled a reminder that it was, in fact, a towel, not a rug, and if it would be so inclined as to stay off of the floor- to make a bit more of an effort, really- that would be very helpful. Wheatley became the slightest bit distracted by this very one sided conversation, and he felt quite a lot like throwing the dish towel over his head when he looked up to find that Chell had been watching his odd little intervention, and was now smirking at him, her expression warm and clearly amused. He then felt himself turning bright pink as she mercifully turned her attention back to the sink.
Embarrassment aside, seeing Chell smile felt strange and painful to the core of his being. The complexities of human emotion was still fairly new territory, but this was something Wheatley didn't want to ask about- didn't know if there was an answer to. Shouldn't Chell be sad? Weren't both of them supposed to be overcome with sadness- and nothing else?
Chell submerged her hands in the sink, and flicked a bit of water in Wheatley's direction. He didn't understand this. She was still smiling (though now it was more teasing). He wasn't the one who was… sick… and his insides felt as though they were (once again) made of metal: weighed down with grief and fear. How was Chell smiling? How did she make him feel like smiling back and bursting into tears at the same time?
"I assume you don't want to wash?"
"No, thank you." Wheatley managed. Chell's fingers brushed against his as she handed him the first clean dish. He swallowed, and tried to think of something intelligent to say. "Why the dishes first, if you don't mind me asking?"
Chell chuckled.
"Because we're nearly out of clean ones."
They didn't talk much. Wheatley briefly abandoned his post to fiddle with the countertop radio until he found some of the old timey music that Chell enjoyed. They fell into a comfortable sort of rhythm as she washed and he dried: the music punctuated by the sounds of clinking dishes, and the sloshing of warm soapy water- occasionally phased out by the feel of her hands against his. It took about an hour before all the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, but the time passed slowly. Wheatley couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed when the last dish was put away: Somehow washing dishes had made him feel a little bit better.
"It actually did feel pretty nice to get that out of the way." Wheatley found himself on the edge of a genuine smile, something he was reluctant to try. "What's next?"
Chell stretched, yawning as she stood on her toes. She looked sleepy as she ran a hand through her hair.
"Go get the laundry basket."
The laundry room in Chell's house was really more of a closet. Her clunky old washer and dryer sat side by side behind a pair of folding doors in the breakfast nook, with a shelf that ran the length of the wall a foot or so overhead and not much room for anything else. Wheatley retrieved the laundry basket from where it sat atop the washer, and returned to find that Chell was pulling the contents of the bed onto the floor.
"I thought we were supposed to be cleaning." Wheatley said. "It looks like you're just making a bigger mess."
Chell smirked before throwing a blanket over top his head.
Sheets, blankets, and pillowcases were gathered up and squashed into the laundry basket, which Wheatley dutifully hauled back to the kitchen for Chell. He then watched as she sorted everything into piles, one of which she loaded into the washer. The rest were stacked atop the drier.
After a moment Chell paused in her work and turned to face him, her expression playfully begrudging. Wheatley chuckled nervously (really, he couldn't help his height anymore than she could help her's) and happily retrieved the detergent from the shelf she couldn't reach.
Once the first load of laundry was in progress they returned to the living room, where Chell bent down to grab one of the bars on the couch.
"Help me lift this."
After living with Chell for a while, Wheatley had learned that, if one must ask a question, it was best to question while obeying.
"You're putting the bed away?" He asked.
Why was it so heavy?
"Yes."
"But don't we need to sleep there?"
They had to lift it again?
"Yes. But we're not going to sleep right now, are we?"
"Well," He paused. "No. I guess we're not."
Wheatley then helped Chell reassemble the couch that he hadn't seen in months, a process that was only complete once its various cushions and pillows (which had somehow become scattered all around the house) were located.
"Wow." Wheatley blinked as he took a step back from the finished product. "This room looks a lot bigger now."
Chell rubbed her now sore hands together.
"I know."
After that they picked up the pace: divided and conquered.
Wheatley dusted the living room while Chell scrubbed down the kitchen. He vacuumed. She gathered the rest of the laundry. Each cleaned their own bathroom while the other cleaned their respective room.
That was the only part that made Wheatley uneasy.
Chell eyed her bedroom door as if a monster was lurking behind it. Strong as she was, if she planned to fight it off with the garbage bag and dust rag she held in her hands, she likely had another thing coming.
He peeked out from where he'd been cleaning the mirror in his bathroom.
"Need any help?"
Was it just his imagination or did she flinch at the sound of his voice?
"No. Thank you."
A lump formed in his throat as he watched her disappear behind her bedroom door.
Chell stayed in her room for longer than Wheatley would have liked, given... recent events. But since he had decidedly spent enough time waiting for Chell to come out of that room in the past few weeks, he thought that finishing the rest of his housework, and getting cleaned up would be a better use of his time than pacing.
Sure enough, by the time Wheatley was done with all that, Chell was finished too.
One glance revealed that her room was once again in pristine condition: The bed was made, the floor was completely clear, and, Wheatley noted with a pain in his chest, the waste basket was empty.
He also noticed that Chell had made a point of leaving the door open behind her.
At that particular moment in time she was getting cleaned up, but soon enough she joined him in the living room to finish up their work.
Perfectionist that she was, Chell wasn't satisfied with simply cleaning the house; It still needed something else. After a moment of contemplation she tossed some extra logs on the fire, then padded into the kitchen where Wheatley heard her rummaging in the cabinets under the sink. A few minutes later she returned with an armful of candles, which she lit and arranged throughout the house.
When her work was finally done (Wheatley would have loved to help her with those things, but Chell no longer allowed him around fire) she plopped down next to Wheatley on the couch.
"Much better."
And she was right: the little house that had felt so cold and dark over the past few weeks was once again filled with warmth and light.
Speaking of which, Wheatley wanted to ask Chell why the candles were necessary (well, alright, he probably would have found a better way to phrase it than that)- don't misunderstand him. They were very pretty. A nice finishing touch they were, but they were also a touch formal for just the two of them. Wheatley was going to ask Chell about the candles, but he lost his train of thought when she snuggled up next to him, and wrapped his arm around her waist. Blue eyes watched in mild alarm as she made herself comfortable. Chell was so small she could fit entirely on one couch cushion. She did so now, tucking her legs to one side and leaning against Wheatley on the other. Once she was situated, Chell pulled the elastic out of her hair, and allowed her head to lull against Wheatley's shoulder.
Wheatley couldn't seem to form words, and Chell seemed as though she didn't want to.
For that reason Wheatley remained silent and very still. He tried to focus on the flickering flame of a nearby candle instead of the smell of her hair, or the feel of her breath, or the arm around her waist (his arm, which she had placed there), but Wheatley knew with increasing certainty that this battle was a lost cause before it started.
As carefully as possible Wheatley peered down at Chell.
She was asleep.
He laughed despite himself.
On the night of that horrible thunderstorm all those months ago- Wheatley's first night sharing a bed with Chell- it had taken him quite a while to realize when she'd actually drifted off. This was because, unless she was having a nightmare, Chell was a very still, silent sleeper. Though Wheatley didn't know all of Chell's history (and doubted that she did, either) he reasoned that this was likely a skill she'd picked up Back There. And impressive as it was, Wheatley had slowly picked up on the subtle differences between resting Chell and sleeping Chell.
Now was a good example.
Waking Chell was alert and straight as a board. Sleeping Chell was much more relaxed. As Wheatley looked down at her now, her fingers (previously balled into fists) were uncurled; her hair had fallen into her eyes (that in particular made his breath hitch); and she had slumped ever so gently against him. Her breathing had also evened out. Again, she didn't snore- Chell was almost completely silent when asleep- but her breathing was also much softer and leveled as she slept.
Wheatley smiled bittersweetly at her sleeping form.
Chell made him feel… a lot of things.
He tried to focus on her weight against him, on the fact that she was okay. Chell was right next to him, warm, and safe, and alive, and she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She had told him as much herself.
Wheatley froze as she shifted, then eventually returned to breathing.
He wanted to think that Chell no longer trusted him- and part of him didn't want her to trust him- but he knew she must to do this: to fall asleep next to him. Granted, Chell had fallen asleep next to him that morning too, but somehow this felt different. What had happened that morning was more for Wheatley's sake. This was for Chell's. She was tired, and she wanted to rest, and she had decided that she wanted him there next to her when she did. So not only did this mean that Chell trusted him, it also meant that she enjoyed his presence and wanted him there, close to her.
Wheatley gently rested his head atop hers. The thought of Chell enjoying his presence as much as he enjoyed hers made him feel pleasantly warm (which made him feel terribly guilty).
And if Chell trusted him, after everything he'd done... maybe he should trust himself, too.
For the third time that day they slept.
Until the doorbell rang.
The entire town of Horizon visited Chell's house that night.
Not everyone came at once; throughout the evening there was a steady stream of people coming and going, often teary eyed as they offered their condolences to both Chell and Wheatley (because, that's right, every single one of them had known that Chell was sick), along with their help for anything either one of them might need, and more food than would fit in the fridge.
Wheatley had not been given prior notice that any of this was going to happen, but if he had to guess, it had probably been a motivator for the cleaning spree that morning.
And the sole reason for the phone conversation Chell had cut short.
Though he was stuck on the other side of the room (per Chell's request), Wheatley noted that Chell seemed to feel like herself again. She was obviously fatigued, and sad at times throughout the night, but she was no longer overcome by these things. She held herself with pride despite her circumstances; the tenacious spark had returned to her eyes.
And it was a good thing, too.
Long after everyone else had left, Sam, Michael, Claire, Auburn and Jake shuffled into the house together, the last guests of the night. And if Chell's stony expression was any indication, that was far from coincidence.
The kids gave her a quick hug (Chell whispered a promise that they would talk later) before joining Wheatley on the couch.
Michael leaned close to Chell, and said something that sounded like "High noon." Wheatley had no idea what that meant, but it made Chell smirk. Her eyes glistened darkly as the pair lead her out of sight: through the entryway and into the spare room at the front of the house.
Wheatley was left alone on the couch with the kids, whom he now turned to.
"What's going on? What's all that about?"
Auburn looked to Jake as if he would have a better answer.
"Probably nothing." Green eyes winced as Michael's terse voice was heard from the other side of the wall. "Maybe."
The trio sat there in silence, straining to hear what was happening on the other side of the wall but not really wanting to know.
A happy distraction for Wheatley was that Auburn and Jake were apparently a couple now (Wheatley noted with pride that this was something he had had a hand in), and a cute one at that. Concerned as they were, each spent most of their focus on comforting the other: whether it was exchanging nervous smiles, telling cheesy little jokes in hopes of making the other laugh, or simply leaning on each other (both figuratively and literally). Their hands were linked the entire time they sat there.
Several times the kids tried to start up a conversation- they hadn't seen Wheatley in about a month- but such things were short lived and halfhearted. No one was in the mood to talk; not even Wheatley.
They sat there for nearly two hours wondering what was going on.
When they finally got an answer, they wished they hadn't asked.
Chell sat back on the raggedy couch in her spare room and tried to remember that patience was a virtue. The voices that surrounded her were placating. They meant well, she knew, but they were also very tiring.
"Will you at least consider it?"
'Let's see….'
"No."
"Michelle."
Sam, much like Elizabeth, was someone Chell hated to disappoint. For that reason she was trying to be gentle, but this was the third time they'd had this conversation that night.
"I've already considered it and decided against it. It wouldn't be any different, and you know it." Chell glared up at Michael in silent warning. "The only difference between staying here or there is that here you can only try to contradict me once a day. Max. If I moved into the hospital this would be constant." Chell smiled softly up at Claire. "I might have to kill Michael."
"It's not like you haven't already tried."
Claire rolled her eyes.
"It isn't that simple."
"Killing Michael?"
"That either." Claire smirked as her brother nudged her, though the smile quickly faded from her face. "Chell, it's the middle of winter. The roads are nearly useless this time of year. You have to understand: If something goes wrong and we can't get here-"
"I know."
Silence.
"It would be easier for you. For both of you."
"It wouldn't."
More silence.
Michael dug his palms into his eyes.
"You're not going to be reasonable about this, are you?"
Chell smirked.
"Define reasonable."
Michael gave a bitter smile.
"Are you even going to talk to him about this?"
Deafening silence.
"That's what I thought." He sighed as he ran both hands through his hair, then gave Chell an apologetic smile. "I'm really sorry about this."
Michael took a deep breath.
"Hey Wheatley, come here!"
Chell sat up.
"What on Earth do you think you're-"
She stopped as Wheatley appeared in the doorway, Auburn and Jake not too stealthily hiding behind him. Chell swatted them away, her panicked glare flickering back and forth from Wheatley to Michael.
"No, no, no! Go back to the living room!"
Michael solemnly shook his head.
"No, don't listen to her, Wheatley." Chell scoffed, insulted. "She means well, but she's not in her right state of mind."
Sam told the kids to go outside. Each exchanged a worried look with Wheatley before they did so. That didn't make him feel any better.
Chell stood. Took a step toward Michael. Wheatley took a step back.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Michael's mouth was set in a hard line.
"Decision time, 'Shell. Either you can tell him what's going on, or I will. You pick."
"Michael James, I am not going to-"
"Alright then."
"That's not what I was- This is not funny."
"I'm glad you're finally willing to admit that."
Michael turned to Wheatley.
"Now, there are some things you need to know that 'Shell isn't willing to tell you, so I'm going to-"
"Shut up!"
"Don't push it, Chell."
"I mean it Michael, leave him out of this!"
"That is enough!"
Michael snapped up as if he'd been bitten, towering over her. Wheatley was terrified, because height had nothing to with it; he had never seen anyone make Chell look small before.
"We've already been through this! All of it! We figured out that you don't like our help a long time ago, but you told us you would talk to him last time so we could send Sam over here to check on you, and you waited a month to tell him anything! Was that fair to him? Was that fair to you?" To Wheatley's surprise Michael looked much more hurt than angry. "We all know you couldn't care less about what happens to you-"
"That is not fair-"
"But the rest of us do." He pointed at the door. "Those kids outside? They are devastated by what is happening to you. So even if you don't care about the fact that you're hurting yourself, you should care that you're hurting them. That you're hurting all of us. This disease is killing you, Chell, and if you stay in this house pretending that nothing is wrong, you are only going to help it."
Chell was shaking. When Michael realized this he looked up at her apologetically. When he spoke again his voice was much more gentle.
"You know I respect you, 'Shell. But you get like this sometimes, and it's bad business for everyone involved. You go all human shield on us, and you don't take care of yourself. Right now you cannot afford to do that. So I'm not giving you the choice. I can't."
"Wheatley," Michael turned to him with tired eyes. "Every doctor in this town has tried to convince Chell that she needs to go live at the hospital, because she's sick, and it's the middle of winter, and it would generally make a lot more sense if we could keep an eye on her without having to drive across town in the snow." Chell was attempting to glare holes in the back of Michael's head. "But Chell doesn't like that idea, and we're big ole softies. So she's going to stay here, and this is what's going to happen."
Chell looked up at Michael here, and despite the pain in her eyes Wheatley couldn't tell whether she was more angry or amused at the idea that she could be controlled.
Though her expression quickly changed.
"Starting now Chell is going to eat three meals a day. She is going to drink seven glasses of water a day. She is going to stay inside this house and keep warm. She is going to allow Sam or Claire to come over here and check on her every day, and she is going to cooperate with them fully and do whatever they ask of her. She is going to take any medication they tell her to take as often as they tell her to take it. She is going to be in bed by nine o'clock at night, every night, be asleep by ten o'clock at night, every night, and stay in bed until ten o'clock in the morning, every morning. Between those hours she is going to spend at least six hours off of her feet-"
"No!"
"Every day. All cooking and cleaning will be done by either you or the neighbors, every one of which has been by this house tonight offering to help."
Chell looked away. She turned to Sam and Claire, seeking help, but they only nodded in silent agreement. Something in Wheatley's chest ached at the desperation in her eyes.
Michael continued, his voice heavy.
"And if Chell refuses to comply with what I've just said, or becomes unable to do so- if anything goes wrong- you are going to call us," He turned to Wheatley. "Immediately. You are going to call this number every day at twelve o'clock noon regardless of whether or not anything is wrong so I know Chell hasn't taken the phone away from you, something I know for a fact she has done before." Chell glared at the carpet. "But she isn't going to take the phone from you, because if she refuses to help herself or allow us to help her here, she will find herself living in the hospital where we can."
He looked at both Wheatley and Chell.
"Have I made myself perfectly clear?"
"Yes." Wheatley said.
Chell glared up at them with a silent scowl, her eyes glistening with angry tears. She was shaking.
"Yes."
That one syllable was filled with emotion and pure hate. Wheatley had never seen Chell look so utterly hurt: Like a child who'd been yelled at, and sent to bed without dinner when she'd done nothing wrong.
To his credit Michael was obviously very sorry about all of this.
"I'm sorry, 'Shell." He murmured. He tried to take her hand, but she wouldn't let him. "I tried to make it easier. I did. I'm sorry it had to come to this, but it's for your own good."
Chell looked him dead in the eyes.
"Get out."
Michael gave a terse nod.
"Good idea." He said.
He then turned to Wheatley.
"Why don't the two of us step outside? I'd like to speak to you alone for a minute."
Chell shook her head, still glaring up at Michael.
"You don't have to listen to him, Wheatley."
"You most certainly don't." Michael smiled wryly. "But you should."
And he did.
For a reason Wheatley couldn't seem to place, he found himself following Michael out the front door.
Wheatley waited until the door closed to speak.
He and Michael were alone: Sam and Claire had stayed in the house with Chell, and since it was freezing outside (something Wheatley had forgotten, along with a winter coat), the kids were huddled together in the car.
Which was good, because Wheatley was furious.
"Why did you yell at her like that?"
"Wheatley-"
"No!" He snapped, surprising them both. "There's no excuse for that! I know you're only trying to help her, but she doesn't feel well as it is and you didn't have to be so harsh about it!"
"Yes I did."
"Why?"
Michael sounded tired.
"Because I know her, Wheatley. Better than you do, believe it or not." Michael gave a huff of laughter that spiraled into the frozen air. "I know that she's stubborn, and she doesn't take care of herself, especially when there's someone else around for her to take care of." Why did Wheatley feel insulted? "You've seen it. I know you have." Michael shook his head. "The only way to get her to listen is if I threaten to haul her off to the hospital. I wish it wasn't, but it is."
Now it was Michael's turn to look insulted.
"Do you think I enjoyed talking to her like that? I hate fighting with her. And after that, I'll probably be lucky if she ever speaks to me again." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But if that's the cost of keeping her alive, so be it."
As Wheatley watched Michael stand there and press his palms into his eyes, he felt something he almost recognized but didn't understand. It definitely wasn't jealousy… it was more like…
Oh God.
Michael turned his attention back to Wheatley.
"Wheatley, please understand, I don't want you to do these things just because I'm telling you to do them. I want you to do them, because they're going to help Chell stay safer and healthier longer. I need you to do these things for her. As demanding, and harsh, and mean as this may seem, all of it is for her own good." Michael looked up at him seriously. "Which is why I need you to do what I asked even if, and especially if, Chell tells you not to."
Wheatley frowned. Knowingly, willingly disobey Chell? Right in front of her? Constantly?
"Will you do that?" Michael asked.
Chell really was going to kill him.
"Yes." Wheatley nodded.
Michael gave him a pat on the back.
"Thank you."
Wheatley didn't have time to respond.
"Everything I've told you tonight is written down here." Michael pulled a notepad, cord, and cell phone out of one of his coat pockets. "Here's a cell phone and a charger. Always keep that phone charged in case you need it. Charge it every night, so you'll have it with you during the day." Wheatley nodded as he took everything. "If you have any questions or you're worried about anything at all, go ahead and call. Either Sam or Claire will be out here every day to check on her, which should give you some peace of mind, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"And Wheatley?"
Michael gave a satiric smile.
Wheatley tried not to wince.
"Yes?"
Once again there was a hand on Wheatley's back, though this time the gesture wasn't nearly as friendly.
"If anything happens to Chell, because of you?" Green eyes glinted dangerously. "You'll have both of us to answer to."
Wheatley shuddered.
"Understood."
He was released.
"Good. Now go inside before you freeze to death."
"Good idea."
"Thanks again for the help." Michael raised a hand in farewell as he headed towards the car. "Try to stay to stay on her good side."
Wheatley would certain try to do just that, but it wasn't going to be easy.
Chell made a point of getting into bed at 9:01.
One week later Wheatley leafed through the book of poems as Chell coughed. They were curled up together on the bed of the pull out couch, covered in blankets, with a small pile of books at their feet. It was nearing the end of a quiet day in the middle of a quiet week.
Whatever sickness Chell had had reinstated its presence in the past few days. As much as Chell hated Michael's laundry list of rules (and had originally found tiny ways to rebel against most of them), she had spent most of the week in bed with too little energy to fight them.
Though she tried to hide it, Chell was miserable and in pain, and to a degree, because of the medication she was taking, she was not herself. As much as Wheatley hated this, he couldn't do a thing about it.
So he did what he could for everything else.
In the days before and the days that followed, Wheatley was constantly at Chell's side. He brought her whatever she needed, and offered what comforts he could; If she was feeling clingy he would cuddle up next to her; If she needed space he would retreat to the other side of the room. When she spent the entire night coughing, unable to sleep, Wheatley remained calm and assured her that everything would be okay as he called for help. Wheatley followed all of Michael's rules, and got Chell to do the same, but he also spoiled her with hot chocolates, and movie nights, and books. He tried to make things easier for Chell. He tried to make things better.
Most of the time Chell was quiet and still, curled up against him as they sat in silence and watched the snow fall. This was because the medicine she took made her passive and sleepy.
Sam came over everyday with more medication, and a question in her eyes. Wheatley wasn't completely sure what the question was, but Chell's answer was always the same.
"Not yet."
Wheatley closed the book as Chell tugged at his sleeve.
"What's the matter, love?" He gave a lopsided smile as she yawned. "Tired? All finished with the books for today?"
She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.
Wheatley wasn't surprised. Sam had left about half an hour earlier. Every evening she came she gave Chell some kind of medicine that made her sleepy. She tried to fight it off for as long as she could, sitting there in a half dead trance, but sleep was good for her and was becoming harder to come by.
"That's alright." Wheatley nuzzled her gently as his head came to rest atop hers. "Just cuddling is good, too."
He ran a hand through her hair as they looked out the window.
Chell blinked back tears.
"It's snowing."
Wheatley watched as Chell woke up.
A grimace flickered across her face as she tried for a deep breath, then relaxed. After a solid week of misery she was finally beginning to feel a little bit better.
Michael and Sam warned them not to push it.
"Morning, love." He purred, squeezing her hand from where he was kneeled at her side.
"Good morning." Chell was about to get up when Wheatley placed a tray in her lap.
"Breakfast."
Chell made a disgruntled noise.
Wheatley hadn't given her much, a small bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, but she didn't have much of an appetite these days. Her eating habits lead to more arguments (more like threats to call Michael) than anything else. Apparently Wheatley's solution to this was to pin her. Literally.
Chell wrinkled her nose at him as took a bite of cereal.
Come to think of it, Wheatley was acting rather strange in general that morning.
He usually lounged around in bed long after Chell had left (or at least he had before Chell had gotten sick), and it was a true rarity that he would get up before her. Wheatley had always found physical contact reassuring, and, much to Chell's begrudging amusement, greatly enjoyed cuddling.
The point was, Wheatley would usually invent reasons for the necessity of Chell's presence (or go to her himself). He never passed one by when it came his way, and yet here he was, up, showered, dressed, with a meal already prepared for the both of them before she had even woken up. To top it all, Wheatley was far from a morning person.
"You've been up early this morning."
He repeated her disgruntled noise before heading towards the door with a stack of blankets.
She laughed.
"Wheatley? Where are you-"
"Ah, ah, ah!" He pointed at her. "Stay right there. It's a surprise."
Chell looked skeptical.
"I don't like surprises."
"You'll like this one." Wheatley smiled as he opened the front door. "I promise."
He returned a few minutes later, blanket free. Chell had to show him her empty dished before she was allowed to get up.
"Alright! The surprise is outside-"
Chell crossed her arms.
"I thought I wasn't allowed to go outside."
"Whoops." Wheatley looked down at her blankly before tossing his cell phone onto the carpet in the front room. "I seem to have dropped my phone. Such a shame, that. Oh well."
The light in Chell's eyes could have rivaled the sun. Wheatley felt his face turn red as her hand found his.
"The surprise is outside, so you can't see it until you bundle up. And I mean, really bundle up. Four layers of clothes, gloves, hat, scarves, fuzzy socks, winter boots-"
"I get the idea."
He squeezed her hand.
"As long as you don't get sick."
Chell stood on the front porch of her house wearing four layers of clothes, two winter coats, and a very confused expression.
"A bench?" She asked.
That was the surprise: a wooden bench with a stack of blankets sitting on top of it.
"Yup."
Wheatley looked proud of himself.
Chell didn't own a bench.
She fought back a laugh.
"Where did you get this?"
"Top secret."
The neighbors house.
"And what's it for?"
"Um… sitting?" Chell looked up at him, deadpan. "Okay, okay. It's-you've-" He cleared his throat. "Since you're… sick, and it's winter, and you have to follow all those silly rules, you've been stuck in the house an awful lot. And I know you hate it. I keep seeing you look out the window all longingly, watching the snowfall and-" He gave her a lopsided grin. "Someone who cares so much about freedom should be able to experience it whenever they want." Chell blinked. "I thought you might like to watch the snow from outside. Not behind a window." Wheatley suddenly looked concerned. "Are you okay? Or was that- that was a stupid question."
"I'm fine. I-" Before either of them knew what had happened Chell had trapped him in a hug. Wheatley had momentarily stopped breathing. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"We don't have to stay out here if you don't want to, but I thought it might be nice. The layers and blankets and everything should help to keep you warm, for a little while, at least. We can sit and watch the snow fall."
"That sounds perfect."
Chell had always wanted to do something like this. In past years she had spent afternoons playing with the children in the snow, but because Michael took the porch swing down in the winter, there was really no place to sit outside and watch the snow fall.
Now she was huddled with Wheatley on the little wooden bench under a pile of blankets. He was sweet in his fussy mannerisms: making sure she was covered up and comfortable, squeezing her gloved hand with his as if attempting to keep her warm.
The snow fell all around them, drifting lazily to the ground where it lay in a perfect blanket of white.
Underneath the blankets Chell pried one of her gloves off. It took a moment to free her hand from under the pile (just about every blanket she owned was out here), but once she did she reached down and collected a handful of snow. She shivered as it melted in her palm, her eyes lit with childlike wonder.
"It's always colder than you think it'll be." She said, holding her palm up to show Wheatley.
"Well don't do that." Wheatley scoffed. "Here," He took her bare hand in both of his gloved ones. "Your hands are so tiny." He smiled at her. "Sometimes I can't get over it."
"What?"
"I don't- don't take this the wrong way- but," He blanched. "You were terrifying."
Chell's expression was caught between amused and insulted.
"What?"
"You were! I was scared of you. Everyone was scared of you! I mean, She was essentially God, right? And you dethroned Her in, what, ten minutes?" Chell looked stunned. "It's funny!" Wheatley laughed. "You wreaked so much havoc, but you're so small. How could such a little lady cause so much trouble?" His voice was teasing, but his eyes shone with admiration. "You know what else is funny?" He gave a goofy smile as he helped guide her hand back into her glove. "I never really noticed how small you were until I came here." Chell gave him a questioning smile. "You loomed large back There. But in reality- you're so small. And nice. You're not scary at all. Not really. You're a sweet little lady who likes books and hot chocolate and keeping house. And-" He stopped. "I didn't know." He almost looked sad. "I never realized just how… how human you were."
Chell's breath hitched.
She and Wheatley were sitting very close, huddling together for warmth and all, but at some point during that conversation they had moved much, much closer. One of her hands had moved to his face, seemingly of its own accord, and suddenly Wheatley's breath was just a little too close to hers, just a little too warm. Everything was too warm. Her face was turning hot; she felt flush under all those layers of clothes and blankets. The way her breath caught somewhere in her chest was both pleasant and painful as her pulse beat harder, hopeful and frightened, and she knew she shouldn't but she found leaning forward, closer, and-
'Neither did I.'
Chell froze.
As gently as she could manage, she freed her hand from his and pulled away. She was infinitely grateful for the cold, because her hands were shaking and she knew that the temperature had nothing to do with it. She only hoped Wheatley would mistake it for the cold instead of realizing it for what it really was.
Chell offered a placating smile in attempt to appease the confusion (disappointment? Panic?) in his eyes.
"Not always."
AN:
Forgiveness, and fluff, and angst, and Michael, and sickness, and an almost kiss!
How you doing there, reader?
I hope the pacing on this wasn't terrible. Where I've shortened this fic I've got to fit many things in not so many chapters. So now we have sections! Pieces of Pieces of Pieces.
I think most chapters from here on out have a few sections, but there's only one that has nearly as many as this chapter. This was a lot, I realize.
Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please please please review!
Also! Just a quick note since I got a few comments on this: Elizabeth and Chell are not dying of the same thing. Eliza's an old lady with heart problems. Chell was exposed to Bad Things in old Aperture.
Thank you! See you next week!