Though Wheatley was loath to admit it, the hospital was a very nice place, and the people of Horizon made it much better.
Still, it couldn't have been more different than he'd thought it would be.
Decades down There combined with months of daytime television had lead Wheatley to believe that hospitals were cold, blindingly bright buildings covered in white tiles and filled with miserable people who wanted nothing more than to escape.
Wheatley also fully expected their first day in the hospital to be miserable. He had seen the facility's infirmary back when it had still been operational, and what he had gathered there entailed that a hospital was a place you were dragged away to be poked, prodded, and filled with nasty medication: Nothing Chell would enjoy or tolerate.
Wheatley was wrong on both accounts.
The hospital was clean, yes, but it was also old. Not old as in outdated- old as in it looked like it was built in the wrong time period. There were no white tiles or blinding overhead lights to be found; there were creaky old floorboards and antique light fixtures that gave off cozy glows. The walls were adorned with floral prints or pastel paints, not panels. There were no elevators, either. The hospital was only two stories, the uppermost of which served as the residence of the people who lived there, and was accessible by a large wooden staircase in the front room. All the patient rooms were downstairs, along with a kitchen and den area, none of which felt cold or frightening because they were frequented by people who cared about both Chell and himself.
That was why on their first day in the hospital, Wheatley woke to the sound of laughter.
He had been placed in the room directly across from Chell's (he wasn't quite sure how to feel about that), so it didn't take long before he was in front of her door, requesting entrance as he listened to the commotion inside. When the door finally opened he was surprised to find that the room was full: Chell sitting in bed while Michael and Jake sat on the floor, all of them staring up at the small television that sat on the dresser across from the bed.
"Stubborn here was up at nine o'clock this morning." Michael explained. A crashing sound came from the television, and he glanced at Chell.
"Cmon, you can do better than that." She scoffed. On screen there was another crash, this one much louder.
Michael smirked, "That's more like it!"
Wheatley looked to Jake for guidance.
"We used to play this game all the time when we- when Chell lived here." He smiled, offering up his controller. "Wanna play?"
Wheatley looked down at him blankly.
"Is there another…?"
"Controller? No, but you can take mine." He grimaced at the television. "I'm losing. Badly."
"Uh… I think I'll just watch, thanks."
There was a fierce competition going between Michael and Chell, and a rather violent one for a go-kart game. Every race was a frantic frenzy of flying shells and banana peels (Wheatley really didn't understand this game), where each player (save for Jake) possessed deadly aim and showed no remorse for knocking their opponent clean off the road. Jake was rather unfortunate to get caught in the crossfire of the game, because Michael and Chell were merciless. Whatever they threw onto the road that didn't hit their intended target usually hit him.
Meanwhile, Wheatley sat beside Chell and tried to piece things together.
He noted with almost dubious relief that Chell was happy. She was smiling and laughing as she played the little racing game. She wasn't alone in her room, brooding, giving the world the silent treatment as he half expected her to be; she was surrounded by people who cared about her, and she was genuinely enjoying their company. Better yet she didn't seem to be in pain (her coughing wasn't as bad that day), and the empty plate on the nightstand indicated that she'd already eaten breakfast.
Finding nothing to worry about, Wheatley turned his attention back to the game.
"So… Jake is the little turtle?"
"Yup."
"And Michael is the guy in the red hat?"
"Uh huh."
"And Chell is the little green…"
"Dinosaur."
Wheatley blinked.
"I really don't understand this game."
Despite the fact that the match ups continued all day, he never really did.
But he enjoyed the highlights.
Chell and Michael tickling Jake until he couldn't breathe for sneaking past them; Sam and Claire ganging up on Michael when Chell took a break; Listening to Auburn and Jake flirt as they teasingly sabotaged each other.
Sitting there with Chell all day. Seeing her smile and hearing her laugh.
The game was constantly interrupted as people shuffled in and out, chatting with or fussing over Chell. The players switched continually, but the console was never abandoned.
And neither was Chell.
Not only was the hospital not cold and drab as Wheatley had expected, it was fairly homey. All the rooms contained medical supplies, yes (it was still a hospital), but they were tucked away in dressers and nightstands until they were needed. The furniture also provided storage for one's personal items, and a home for the various knick-knacks that each room was decorated with.
While poking around at these one lazy afternoon, Wheatley discovered something interesting about the small porcelain box that sat atop Chell's dresser. It was ordinary enough at first glance- and pretty, too. It's lid adorned with painted roses- but at the back of the box a kind of metal knob stuck out of the glass.
Curious, he brought it to Chell.
"Do you know what this is?"
Chell, who was sitting in bed, put her book down, marking her page before carefully taking the box from his outstretched hands. She smiled as she turned it over, almost as if she were remembering something, and took a moment to examine it before cranking the little knob.
Wheatley watched in fascination as she did this, then in amazement as she opened the lid. The silence of the room was broken as soft, shiny music spilled from the box. The tune was gentle and quiet, reminding Wheatley of something from the old animated films the children often watched.
Though Chell's rendition was much better as she began to hum along, her delicate voice joining the melody.
Wheatley listened in a blissful trance, smiling at her helplessly until the music stalled, and the lid was closed.
Chell had picked up a strange new habit since moving to the hospital.
Her hands were constantly in her hair. More often than not she left it down (no more ponytails), and whenever she was stressed or nervous, she would subconsciously twist it into complicated braids which, once completed, were raked out and recreated.
Wheatley wondered why Chell was doing this (or where she had learned to do this), but because he wasn't entirely sure Chell was aware she was doing this, and at times it seemed to make her feel better, he left it alone.
...He wasn't of much use to her anymore.
In a way, he knew he should have been relieved. That that nagging little voice of worry, the one constantly reminding each of them throughout this downward spiral that they had to take care of the other, that they were counting on each other no matter what, was finally gone. It wasn't like that anymore. It was no longer Chell's job to worry about Wheatley, and it was no longer Wheatley's job to try and take care of Chell. In a way it was nice knowing that the weight of the world no longer rested on their shoulders, but at the same time it felt as though a distance was growing between them. Chell missed seeing Wheatley constantly grow and learn, and Wheatley missed being able to make Chell smile and laugh and feel better. Even though he knew it shouldn't, his entire world revolved around her. If he was of no use to Chell, then what was he good for?
"What's wrong?"
At the sound of Chell's voice, he jolted back to reality.
They were in her room, her sitting in bed while he sat in a chair next to her. They had talked for awhile, but then Chell became distant (hands in her hair again), and in the silence he had gotten lost in thought.
"What?"
"You're staring at me." Chell said, trying not to smile. "Everything alright?"
Wheatley scuffed at the floor.
"I guess."
She frowned.
"You guess?"
Wheatley looked away.
"I'm… not useful anymore."
Chell blanched.
"What?"
"I'm not!" He gave a dull laugh. "I was only ever good at helping you with things- well, I wasn't even all that great at that, but at least it was something. But now-" He smiled bitterly. "You don't need me anymore. No one does."
Wheatley hadn't seen the determined glint in Chell's eyes in a good long while, but at his words it came back in full force, along with a healthy dose of concern.
"That's not true."
"It is true." He said, shoulders drooping; and then, almost hopefully. "Name one thing I can help you with."
There was a sound of shuffling as she turned her attention to something in the nightstand, and Wheatley flinched as Chell tossed a brush into his lap.
"What?" He asked. Then, when she made no move to answer: "Your hair? You don't need me to-"
"Please?"
Her eyes- her voice- were tired and sad and sweet- and he couldn't say no.
Like in most things, Wheatley was sweet and awkward. He sat on the bed behind her, humming nervously as he gathered her hair in his hands, being overly cautious in his attempts to rake the brush through her hair without causing her pain. His touch was gentle beyond need, endearing and comforting. Chell smiled softly, though he didn't see it. She found it funny- or at least ironic- that despite his awkward mannerisms and lanky size, he could be so careful and gentle when he really wanted to. When he focused. She said nothing as he did this, but allowed her thoughts to wander.
The two of them were growing distant- had been growing distant since they arrived here- and though she knew it was for the best, she was selfish, and she hated it. She hated that he thought she didn't need him, and she hated that she did need him.
"'Don't know why you wear your hair up all the time." Wheatley mumbled, fondly threading a hand through Chell's hair. He realized very slowly and all too late that he should not have done or said that. Chell's eyes were silver glass, curious and light and the tiniest bit suspicious as she turned to face him. Wheatley swallowed, only slightly removing his hand from her hair. "I mean-" He fumbled, "It looks nice- very pretty- no matter how you wear it, but- I think- it looks just as nice like this."
Wheatley waited for her response- her rage or her cold shoulder (why was he being so selfish, she couldn't have been anymore clear in saying she didn't want this)- but for whatever reason Chell smiled (she smirked, he hadn't seen her smirk in ages), easing his hand from her hair and entwining it with one of her own.
She wasn't sure who was more thankful.
Chell winced as the door creaked open, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden light. Enough of this. She just wanted to sleep- couldn't they just let her sleep?
"Please no." Chell allowed herself to sound pitiful, because maybe if she sounded bad enough they would leave her alone and let her sleep. But of course this strategy backfired: as her eyes adjusted to the light she realized that the person in the doorway wasn't who she'd thought.
"Wheatley."
He sat down beside her, obviously trying to keep his composure as he gave a wobbly smile.
"I have another surprise for you."
She coughed.
"I don't-"
"I know, I know," He smiled weakly. "You don't like surprises."
She gave the container in his hands a weary look.
"I'm not hungry."
"Chell," The low tone of his voice made her close her eyes. Eliza used to use that tone with her. "You have to eat."
"I'm not hungry." She repeated.
Wheatley popped the lid off the container, and nudged it in her direction.
"Not even for dessert?"
"You-" Chell stuttered as she looked inside. "Where did you? How did you?" Grey eyes looked up at him, baffled. A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Ice cream?"
Wheatley smiled.
"Let's just say I'm eternally indebted to Charlotte. And the kids, whose arms are about to fall off." He flailed his arms experimentally. "Mine too, though."
Chell was too tired to laugh, though she looked up at him endearingly.
"You made me ice cream. In winter."
"Technically I helped make you ice cream in winter." Wheatley said, feeling his face turn warm. "It was my idea, though." He nudged her gently as she smiled up at him. "Ice cream in winter sounds a bit like a Wheatley idea, doesn't it?"
She smirked weakly.
"It sounds good to me."
"Well you see, that's the thing about Wheatley ideas," He gave a smile that was half wince. "They do sound good, at first, but then the other shoe drops."
Chell crossed her arms and tried not to look as tired as she felt.
"And what would that be?"
Wheatley squirmed.
"Even though I'll be faced with an angry Chell and a room full of angry teenagers for doing this- and frankly, I don't know which is more frightening- I'm going to say… you can't have this until you eat something… real." He offered an apologetic smile as he replaced the lid on the container. "But since I already owe Charlotte my now very mortal soul, that can be anything you want."
He looked down at her hopefully, offering his hand.
"Deal?"
Chell squeezed his hand.
"Deal."
As per usual Wheatley spent the afternoon chatting with (or rather to) Chell. It was dreary outside, but Chell's room was cozy, and she smiled absently to herself as Wheatley rambled beside her.
"You're not gonna believe what happened to me this morning." He gave a bright goofy smile, the kind that usually meant he had gotten into trouble minor enough to laugh about. "I was just minding my own business, trying to make myself a bowl of cereal in that creepy, deadly silent kitchen down the hall, and then out of nowhere Auburn and Jake popped up from behind the counter and scared the living daylight out of me!" Chell tried to hide her smile as Wheatley gestured wildly. "Charlotte is going to kill me when she sees the kitchen! I mean, believe me, I did try to clean up the mess, but cornflakes flew everywhere! Under the fridge, in the cracks between the counter and the stove- she's going to be livid! And-"
"Stop."
Chell squeezed Wheatley's hand, her expression freezing over with something he didn't recognize.
"What?" He asked, stomach twisting with fear. "What's-"
"Listen." Chell stopped him yet again, mouth melting into a smile as she pointed at the ceiling. "It's raining."
And then they were up.
"Um," Wheatley started as Chell tugged him down the hall, "I don't mean to- wow- hang on a second- isn't the expression- isn't it 'rain on your parade'? That's pretty ironic, as it were. But, well, I don't mean to rain on your parade or anything, but I fail to see the significance of-"
Here Wheatley was cut off once again, not by Chell's words, but by the wonderful light that only came to her eyes when she spoke of the surface- of freedom.
"It's the first rain of the season."
"Right! Rain! Seasons!" Wheatley cheered, looking down at her in mild amusement (and confusion) as she tugged him towards the doors that led outside. "And we are…?"
Chell gave a sneaky little smirk as she peered down the hall.
"We're going to go outside and watch."
"Is that so?"
The pair skidded to a halt at the third voice, and Wheatley swore Chell shrank an inch as she turned to face Sam. She smiled timidly at the older woman, not unlike a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"Please?"
"Michelle," Sam gave an endearing smile. "You know I can't let you go outside in the rain."
"I don't have to be in the rain, I just want to see the rain."
Sam crossed her arms.
"You can see the rain from the window in your room."
"That's not the same." Chell drooped.
"Maybe not. But if you go outside you're going to get cold and wet, and I'd much rather you be bored than coughing your head off all night."
Wheatley cleared his throat, his face growing warm as all eyes turned on him. "...I think those are all excellent points." He smiled uncertainly as he looked down at Chell. "What about a compromise?"
Once again Chell found herself sitting on a bench in the cold, Wheatley beside her and both of them covered in blankets.
The circumstance made her feel giddily uneasy when she remembered what had happened the last time they'd done this, but this was much different. The bench was the same, the blankets were the same, the warmth was the same, he was the same, but she was not- their circumstances were not. They weren't sheltering from the cold of winter on the front porch of her home, weren't watching the snow fall. They were watching the rain from the porch of the hospital.
It was pouring now, big fat raindrops drumming on the earth, creating a surprisingly soothing sound. The air was cool, but the two of them were safe, and dry, and warm, and after awhile Chell allowed her head to lull to Wheatley's shoulder as she closed her eyes and listened to the rain.
"Thank you."
It wasn't until the morning when Wheatley heard the birds return that he realized how much he had missed them.
Spring had arrived.
Chell beamed up at him for the next few days, sick as she was, encouraging him to go outside and explore. This was the last season he hadn't seen, and she wanted to know what he thought of it. Wheatley didn't want to leave Chell, but she wouldn't hear of it, saying that he already spent too much time cooped up indoors and that he deserved to go outside and enjoy himself.
Eventually Auburn and Jake managed to coax him from Chell's side, Jeffery and the twins following close behind as they lead him outside.
New as he was to all of this, seasons didn't change overnight and Wheatley knew as much. However, in the weeks since Chell had been admitted to the hospital, he hadn't been outside much, and significant changes had taken place since then.
It was warm. The snow and dark clouds were gone, replaced with sunlight and soft blue skies. Wheatley later decided that spring was the most indecisive season, because one minute it could sunny and clear, and the next it could be pouring down rain.
Wheatley still wasn't a huge fan of water, but he had to admit that he enjoyed rainy days, as they meant watching the children chase and splash each other until they were soaked, listening to them laugh without a care in the world.
The children dragged him outside almost every day, away from Chell and (usually) into some kind of trouble.
The entirety of the surface seemed to bloom and grow as the season progressed. From the grass to the brave little stems poking out of the ground, everything was a bright, healthy green. Then, one day, as if someone had flipped a switch, the world was covered in flowers: beautiful, delicate blooms in every shade.
Even the critters that inhabited the surface were new: all fluffy and small. Tiny rabbits hopped about clumsily; fawns walked beside their mothers on wobbling legs; baby birds chirped from their nests, nestled in down.
Wheatley had never seen so much life before; so much newness, and color, and growth. The more time he spent outside- the further spring progressed- the more he admired the surface.
And as all this new life began to grow, Chell's began to fade.
Morning had always been Wheatley's least favorite time of the day, but living in a hospital made it ten times worse. Chell was different every day. Her mood, her health, everything was different every day- every morning- and so he didn't know what was happening or what was going to happen that day until he opened the door to his room.
But this morning he could hear from inside. Could hear her coughing nonstop; could hear her broken voice yelling between coughs; could hear Sam's voice which was absent of anger but matched her's in volume.
Wheatley was out the door in two seconds flat, and Michael was in the hallway, waiting.
He shot up from the folding chair he'd been sitting in, blocking the door to Chell's room as amiably as possible.
"Wheatley-"
"Is she okay? Is she-"
"She's fine. She'll be fine." Michael said calmly. "Sam's in there with her. Everything's under control." Much to his relief, things on the other side of the door began to calm down. Michael tried for a sympathetic smile as he continued. "But Chell doesn't want any visitors today. Sam doesn't want her to have any visitors either."
Suddenly, Wheatley looked very pale, and Michael looked much farther away than he should've been.
Green eyes turned concerned as he frowned.
"Are you okay?"
If Wheatley could've spoken he probably would've said that was a great question, but at present his hearing was doing something strange- ringing and echoing at the same time, the sound all blurring together. His vision wasn't too much better; everything turning fuzzy at the edges before going completely black.
This had happened before.
It was a different time and a different place, and with different people, but all of this had happened before.
Chell was there. She was sick or hurt- badly- something was wrong and it was his fault and he only wanted to help, he needed to see her, to be with her, but-
There was someone else there. A man twice Wheatley's size, and stronger than he could ever hope to be, was blocking the door to Chell's room.
"You can't go in there." That was all he ever said in that cold, hateful voice. "No visitors."
Wheatley could see Chell through the glass, see her lying there, motionless and alone, but each time he tried to get closer he was pushed away.
"You can't go in there."
Something inside of him broke.
"N-No, no, you don't understand." He was trembling, and so was his voice. "I'm her- I'm- I need to go in there. I need to see her. It's all m-my fault, and she's all a-alone, and she's in p-pain, and I can't just leave her here all alone, I have to see her, you have to let me see her- p-please." And though Wheatley couldn't seem to stop trembling, his fear turned to something else as he met the man's eyes, and stood a little straighter. "I'll do anything."
Wheatley shot up with a gasp, scaring Michael half to death.
"Don't tell Chell!"
"What?"
"Please, please don't tell her about this! Please- I'm not worth it, really, she has enough to worry about as it is. Please don't tell her. You can't tell her!"
Wheatley was all but hyperventilating as Michael crouched down beside him. It wasn't until then that he realized he was back in his room, and that didn't make him feel any better.
"Calm down." Michael tried to sound reassuring. "Breathe."
Wheatley whimpered, his own health the last thing on his mind.
"Can't I just go sit with her?"
Michael almost laughed, despite himself.
"Right now you need to tell me what the heck just happened."
Wheatley ran a shaking hand through his hair.
"I f-fell. I just- I tripped. I'm clumsy. Remember?"
"Wheatley."
"I don't- I keep having these- memories." Wheatley choked, curling into a ball. "And they hurt, and they don't make any sense. Because- the thing about memories, is that you're actually supposed to remember them! They're supposed to have actually happened! And none of these-" He sobbed. "I was only trying to help her! And look at what I did!"
"Okay." It seemed Michael had heard enough, because instead of pressing for more he gave Wheatley an awkward pat on the back. "It's alright. You're okay."
Wheatley shrank away, trembling.
"No I'm not!"
"Wheatley, look at me. You have to calm down."
Both of them took a deep breath, and Michael continued, calmly.
"Chell doesn't have to know about anything you don't want her to. Don't worry about that." He paused for a moment. "And believe it or not, I think what's happening to you is normal."
Wheatley sniffed.
"It is?"
"I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I think you're stressed, and tired, and emotionally drained. Your brain is going into overdrive. You might be having anxiety attacks."
"What do I do?"
"First off, let's have Sam look you over just to be on the safe side." Wheatley felt himself turn green (What if something was wrong with him, too? Would he tell Chell? Could he keep something like that from her?), and Michael tried not to notice. "You need to rest for a few days. Take it easy. Try to relax."
Wheatley uncurled a bit, looking worriedly across the hall.
"But what about-"
"Don't even say it." Michael warned. "We'll look after her. And besides, she doesn't want any visitors right now anyways." He gave a thin smile.
"She doesn't need to know."
Eventually the weather turned warm again, and everyone was well enough to go outside.
Chell and Wheatley wandered about the yard, walking and talking and admiring the wildflowers that grew at the edge of the woods. Chell hadn't been outside in weeks, and so she was thrilled: taking in the sunlight and the sights of spring with childlike enthusiasm which Wheatley matched. He hadn't seen her this happy in a long time. His concept of time was fuzzy, but nearly a year had passed since their first adventures in the outside world, and he missed getting into trouble with her.
So now he showed Chell everything he could. The creek just beyond the yard; a nest of baby birds; the colorful winged insects that liked to flutter between the flowers. Wheatley showed her everything he'd seen without her- everything that made him think of her- and listened to her explain and marvel at the beauty of the surface with complete adoration. It was perfect- just like old times.
But Chell was unsteady on her feet, and Sam was watching them like a hawk. Soon enough they returned to the porch to sit and read.
And that was okay, too.
Until one of the twins came running up the street, screaming.
"Chell!"
She was up in an instant, and would've been half way across the yard had Sam not caught her by the arm.
"Chell, help me!" Daniel looked terrified as he bolted towards them. "It got Danni! It's gonna kill me!"
By this point both Chell and Wheatley were white as sheets, and looked to Sam (who still wouldn't release Chell) as if she'd grown a second head. Chell tugged at her arm furiously, but she wouldn't-
"Let go!"
Sam only shook her head, a knowing look in her eyes as she pointed towards the road.
That was when the barking started.
Several seconds later a very small fur ball came bounding behind Daniel, and quickly overtook him. He gave an exaggerated scream as he toppled to the ground, and the tiny creature yipped and growled and licked his face.
Wheatley looked to Chell for guidance as Daniel rolled on the ground, shrieking.
"It's got me!"
Wheatley thought nervously, that it (whatever it was) wasn't the only thing that was going to get him, because (once she remembered how to breathe) Chell looked mad.
Sam released her, smirking. Wheatley followed from a safe distance as she slowly stepped down from the porch, and marched across the lawn with fire in her eyes.
Daniel didn't even see her coming.
"Help!" He yelled, and Chell chose that moment to grab him by the arm and hoist him into the air.
He smiled sheepishly as he met Chell's glare.
"Thanks."
She dropped him.
Wheatley wasn't sure whether to laugh or look mortified as Daniel fell for real. He, however, chose mortified very quickly as an angry Chell loomed over him menacingly.
"Don't scare me like that."
"Sorry! I'm sorry!" He held up his hands in surrender from his place on the ground. "I just thought you'd want to meet the newest member of the family."
It was then that all eyes turned to Daniel's furry companion, which seemed to have taken an interest in Chell.
The little creature was hopping about at her feet, scratching at her pant legs while making noises that Wheatley recognized as heartbreaking (even though he still didn't know what it was). A hesitant smile crept across Chell's face as she looked down at the fur ball, and she glanced to Wheatley before dropping to the ground.
He frowned.
"Uh, Chell?"
Now the animal seemed to be doing much the same as it had done with Daniel: sniffing and walking all over her, emitting a range of excited noises as it nuzzled her face. Chell seemed to be enjoying herself, too, whatever was happening. She was smiling- a big, open grin- and laughing, one of her hands tangling softly in the creatures fur.
For whatever reason this reminded him of his first encounter with the town's children: her on the ground, laughing and very much in the know while he was left in the dark, unsure of whether to be amused or alarmed.
He chose the latter, flailing as the thing began to lick her face.
"Oh God! It is hurting you? Is it trying to eat you? Why are you laughing?"
Chell finally managed to pry the creature back, still smiling as it squirmed in her arms.
"It's a puppy, Wheatley."
Living in a hospital meant that Chell was constantly being threatened in the most loving way possible. The most common of these threats was one that Wheatley had heard for weeks on end now: that if Chell didn't eat and drink, Sam would have to put an IV in her arm to help do the job for her. It was a subject that made everyone in the room uneasy, and usually made Chell bitterly angry, but for the most part it also did the trick in getting her to eat, which meant it didn't have to be fulfilled.
Until it did.
Wheatley realized several days into their hospital stay that Chell wasn't just being difficult, she really didn't have much of an appetite anymore. Everyone in the building tried everything from bribery to the aforementioned threats to convince her to eat, but these things only worked for so long. And so one day Wheatley returned from his adventures with the kids to find a silent Chell with a tube in the back of her hand.
She sat in the dark, her arms crossed with her now injured hand tucked beneath the blankets. Wheatley wasn't sure if this was because she didn't want him to see the IV or because she didn't want to see it. Either way it was pointless: the tube could be seen trailing from her hand up to the IV pole that sat beside her bed.
His stomach twisted at the sight: her expression was hard and cold and obviously upset. He wanted to help, but he wasn't sure she wanted his help.
He bit his lip as he rapped lightly on the door.
"Can I come in?"
Chell continued glaring at the blankets, giving no indication that she'd heard him.
"Um… you're doing the whole…. not speaking thing again, aren't you?" Silence. Wheatley shuffled awkwardly in the doorway. "That's alright. Understandable, really. You're obviously not too happy about the uh, the situation, as it were. But, um, you didn't say no, didn't tell me not to come in, and so, unless you'd like to add that, uh, now," He paused, glancing up at her nervously. "...And you can do that in any way you'd like. Shake of the head. Thumbs down. Hurling the nearest object." He winced, waiting, but nothing came hurtling towards him. He smiled weakly. "... I'm gonna go ahead and come inside."
Chell glared at the quilt as Wheatley stepped inside, and glanced to her for permission she didn't give before switching on the lights.
"Let there be light." He tried for a smile that he didn't quite reach.
Chell still wouldn't look at him.
He approached her cautiously, uneasy and uncertain of what to do. He knew that she was either very angry or very sad, and one wrong move could lead to a fight or a breakdown.
Wheatley didn't think they could stand either one of those.
"Is it okay if I sit?"
She gave a microscopic shrug that he took as a yes.
"Can you look at me?" Chell slowly turned to face him, and her eyes were frozen fire: bitterly baleful as they met his. "Great." His mouth twitched into what might've been a smile. "Now can you look at me like you don't want to kill me?"
No. The answer was no.
"I know, I know. I'm not funny." Wheatley bit the inside of his mouth as he looked down at her hand. "Can I see your-" He reached for her injured hand, slowly, but she saw what he was doing and yanked it away- "No, no, no, don't-" out of its new radius.
Wheatley hissed in pain for her, berating himself as Chell screwed her eyes shut, pain lancing through her hand as she covered it, holding it as far away from him as possible.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, love!" He wanted to reach for her again (he just wanted to help), but backed away, giving her space as he thought better of it.
Chell stayed frozen, and Wheatley couldn't help but remember the last time she'd been frozen like this.
"You're afraid of me, aren't you?"
"It's okay. You're okay." Wheatley hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder, allowing his fingers to gently trace the fabric of her top. His voice was soft and low. "Do you remember what you told me the morning I found out… you were sick?" Chell squeezed her eyes shut tighter. "You told me I needed to trust you. That everything would be okay as long as I trusted you." Wheatley gave a wobbly smile that she couldn't see. "Well I do trust you. Always have, really." His gaze shifted to the quilt. "And I know I don't deserve it- don't really have the best track record with trust, if I'm honest- but I need you to trust me, too." Heat built in his throat, and he removed his hand from Chell's shoulder. "That feels unfair to even ask, though." He said quietly. "I mean, you did say you forgive me, but I don't. I will always feel guilty. I will always be sorry. For what I did to you. And I really don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't think I ever will." He made a pained noise as he raked a hand through his hair. "Which is why this is so hard to explain. Because, even though I did those terrible things then, I would never do them now. I don't know much about anything, but that's the one thing I know for certain." He meant his next words so much that it hurt. "I would never hurt you. Not now. Not for anything in the world." Wheatley wished she would look at him. "I know it's not fair of me to say it, and that it's probably, actually, a pretty lousy thing for me to say, all things considered, but you're my- my favorite person on the face of the earth, and I need you to believe me. I need you to let me help." He sounded almost as desperate as he felt. "Please."
When Wheatley finally looked back up at her Chell's eyes were open, watching him through tears. He smiled pathetically through his, reaching a hand out towards hers.
"Can I see?"
Her expression was hard and unreadable, and Wheatley half expected her to tell him to get out.
She surrendered her hand instead.
His smile turned goofy then- relieved- and he gave her hand a little kiss (very carefully) before wrapping her in a hug.
"You're still perfect, love."
He held her as she cried.
"It'll be okay. It'll all be okay."
On the night of Elizabeth's funeral Wheatley tried to grab what was most important from Chell's home. Claire gathered her necessities (and Wheatley packed his), but Wheatley tried to figure out what she would want. What might distract Chell or make her feel better?
Chell being as immaterial as she was, he could only really think of the obvious.
Her favorite quilt might be a comfort, and at that time of year it was impossible to have too many blankets on the bed. Elastic bands for her hair were a must. Her comfy rainy day sweatshirt couldn't hurt. She'd probably like to rewatch some of those black and white films she loved so much.
Chell greatly appreciated all of these, but her favorite things from home were the books Wheatley had thought to grab. He couldn't bring all of them (though he could always go back to the house and get more), but he'd brought her an entire box, the contents of which were spread out at her feet nearly every afternoon. She and Wheatley still read together, though their arrangement was a little bit different.
For one thing, the books they read were much happier. Though Wheatley had still brought it, just the sight of the poetry book was enough to bring back sour memories for both of them. Now they'd moved on to more lighthearted adventures: The Hobbit being their current favorite.
Another difference was that Wheatley almost always read aloud to Chell. Nowadays she preferred to keep her voice to herself, and (if she was perfectly honest with herself) she enjoyed his commentary on the stories they read as much as the books themselves.
And she wasn't the only one.
Lazy afternoons spent with the two of them curled up under the blankets of her bed, side by side as she listened to the lull of his voice, were pure bliss, but the afternoons where the children snuck into her room, when they watched from the doorway a little too obviously, or snuck inside and joined them- sat at their feet, completely enraptured- those were perfect.
Sam insisted that, at this point, sleep was the best thing for Chell. But with what was now persistent pain and coughing, it was becoming harder and harder for Chell to get any rest.
She was offered pain medication, something to help her sleep, but because it made her groggy and distant she hated the stuff. She didn't want it, and they couldn't force it upon her.
Sam and Claire had (as politely as possible) informed Wheatley that they'd rather he stay in his own room at night so that Chell could rest, and usually he was all too happy to comply, but at the moment he couldn't leave, because she had fallen asleep next to him.
It had been the first time in several days in which Chell wanted to spend time with him. Wheatley hadn't had to ask if he could come in or sit down, he had been invited to do so. Chell had asked him if he'd like to watch a movie with her, and he'd happily obliged, feeding the tape she'd selected into the VHS player and settling beside her on the bed.
Then Chell did something she'd only done once before: wrapped his arm around her waist and snuggled up next to him.
Wheatley couldn't focus on the film very well after that.
He was hyper aware of Chell's every movement: every time she coughed (which, he noted with guilt, was too often), or shifted, or leaned a little further into his side. All he could think about was her, from the smell of her hair to the soft feel of her breath, and it took restraint not to look at her whenever she moved.
When he finally did she was asleep: her head lulling gently against his shoulder as she dozed. Then Wheatley was stuck there in the best (and worst) way possible, smiling at her helplessly, hoping she was comfortable, and wondering how many more nights like this they had left.
The movie droned on in all its charm, but Wheatley rested his head atop Chell's and began to drift off.
"Goodnight, my someone,
Goodnight, my love,
Sleep tight, my someone,
Sleep tight, my love,
Our star is shining its brightest light,
For goodnight, my love, for goodnight…"
Chell wouldn't eat.
Wheatley was informed of this by a very placating Claire: that morning Sam and Michael tried to convince Chell to eat breakfast to no avail- Charlotte told her she could have anything she wanted and still she refused. This time they couldn't bribe her with ice cream, because this time she wouldn't eat the ice cream by itself.
Of course, that didn't stop Wheatley from trying.
The scene was the same as before: Chell trying to sleep and Wheatley interrupting her, the light from the hall shining right in her face as he opened the door. The difference was that this time Chell knew what was happening- knew better than to whine or talk. She glared at the ceiling before sitting up, coughing, and wincing in pain as she did so.
"Hey," Wheatley looked small as he stood there in the doorway. "I brought you something."
Chell wanted to glare a hole in his head when she realized he was holding a container of food, but paused as he came closer, her heart twisting when she saw what the container held.
"Say apple." Wheatley smiled weakly as he sat down beside her. She looked away.
"I know you don't want to eat." He said quietly. "You're not hungry, and you just want to sleep… I can't say that I blame you." Wheatley swallowed, a stubborn kind of light coming to his eyes as he met hers. "But the only way you're going to get any peace and quiet is if you eat something." He crossed his arms as Chell gave him a challenging look. His cadence softened as he nudged her, gently. "And you know what they say about an apple a day keeping the doctor away? This might get two or three of them off your tail."
The light in her eyes flared bitter melancholy as she took the container from his hands, and she thought with pain how their roles had reversed.
Apple sauce.
Chell ate it reluctantly, noting with a pang that Wheatley actually drooped with relief as she did so. It wasn't all bad. It was cold and sweet and filled her with nostalgia. Wheatley was smiling again.
But Chell knew it would only do her so much good.
That was the only thing she ate all day.
The people of Horizon were infinite in their kindness, but even then there was no adjusting to life in a hospital. Everything was constantly changing. Wheatley's life, as always, revolved around Chell (though he was hardly complaining), and she was supposed to be constant. She had always been constant. Strong, and determined, and, in this strange new world, more reliable than the sun. But now Chell seemed to be fading, one by one the traits that made her her were disappearing as her health declined. She had taught Wheatley how to take care of himself, but now she refused to do the things she had taught him. Chell wouldn't eat. She only wanted to sleep, and she struggled to do even that. Her moods, once impossible to read, were drastic and constantly changing. She was furious, or beaming, or else completely shut down.
Her moods towards him were especially complicated.
Wheatley had told Chell before, toward the beginning of their hospital stay, that she didn't need him anymore. And though she argued that he was wrong, he knew he wasn't. This was his fault. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he cared, all he ever did was hurt her. Now he had hurt her enough- already hurt her as badly as was physically possible- and he deserved to disappear off the face of the Earth. Chell should want him to disappear- should want him as far away as was possible.
And sometimes she did.
More and more often days came where she asked the others to keep Wheatley away, but in a manner that was very polite. No visitors, they said. Chell doesn't want visitors today. Sometimes, to soften the blow, they said that Sam didn't want her to have visitors. Though Wheatley never outright asked, he knew that the reasoning behind the statement always changed. Michael would sometimes tell him, or else it was plainly in his eyes (his glare), Chell was too sick for visitors that day. She was miserable, and ashamed, and didn't want him to see her in such a state. Otherwise she was upset. She was angry, or depressed, or had once again shut down, and she wanted to be alone.
And, sometimes, Chell just didn't want to see him.
Others were allowed in- the children, or Michael, or Claire- but not Wheatley.
That was okay- again, that was what he deserved, what he wanted for her sake- and yet, for every day that Chell kept him away, there were days she spent entirely with him. Days they dedicated to books, or black and white movies. Days that were almost painfully similar to the ones they'd spent at home, curled up on the couch, warm and together, completely at peace.
Everything was back and forth. Chell's mood, her health- every day was a wild card in the worst way possible- every morning when Wheatley emerged from his room, he didn't even know if he would get to see her that day. He wasn't sure if he should want to.
The days began to blur.
Wheatley hated the sound of Chell's coughing. It meant that she was in pain, and it was also a constant reminder of what was happening to her because of him. But on the day he woke at four in the morning, and the sound was strangely absent. Selfish as it was, he would've given anything to hear it.
AN:
Oh boy…
Random note: I asked for some happy/fluffy things to add to Pieces on Tumblr awhile back, and they're here in this chapter. Codynaomiswire suggested the music box and humanradiohead suggested the doggo. Thank you for the suggestions!
The song lyrics in this chapter are from The Music Man.
Please review!