Wheatley opened Chell's door with shaking hands, preparing for the worst.

And what he found wasn't much better.

Chell and Michael sat in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp, Michael holding one of her hands as he hovered over her worriedly. She was no longer trying to sit up, no longer propped up on pillows; Chell lay down in her bed, turned so that she was facing Michael. She looked so tired, the shadows under her eyes far darker than they'd ever been before, and everytime she closed them they stayed shut a little longer than they had before. The two of them were saying something, but their voices were too low for Wheatley to hear, and when he entered the room they stopped talking.

There was a tense moment of silence as everyone froze. Chell was obviously surprised to see him, but a strange kind of light came to her eyes as she met his, and she managed a soft smile as she held out her hand.

Wheatley was good at talking. Arguably, that was the one thing he was good at. The only thing. And by talking he didn't mean choosing the best, the most eloquent words for the moment at hand- knowing what to say and when (- because he was absolute rubbish at that-) but filling space, filling silence, that was the one thing he could do.

Wheatley wanted to say something now. And yes, of course, he wanted to say everything that came to mind because he hated silence and was good at talking and talking made him feel better, but he also wanted to say something meaningful. Something that could somehow make Chell feel better, could somehow make her smile. Something. Something useful. But he couldn't think of one thing he could say that she would want to hear, so instead he stayed silent: tried to keep his composure as he sat beside her and held her hand.

Chell's eyes met his for the briefest of moments before her attention returned to Michael.

"Alright kid, here's the deal." Somehow Chell managed to smirk, but Michael stopped her as she tried to sit up. She was going to argue with him. "Ah, ah, ah, listen to me. Just listen." Both of them were already on the verge of tears. "You're miserable. Some sleep would make you feel a lot better. Easier breathing, less pain." Wheatley turned white as Michael held up a syringe. "I know you hate the stuff, but at this point it's the lesser of two evils."

Wheatley kept expecting Chell to say something. She never went down without a fight, and even when she was silent her actions spoke volumes. But now she wasn't saying or doing anything. She wasn't fighting.

Chell was accepting this.

Wheatley didn't understand.

And he didn't understand why (instead of responding to Michael) she turned to him with so much emotion in her eyes (which were still as beautiful as ever) as her hand trembled in his. Why she almost smiled. Why she looked at him as though he were about to disappear.

Wheatley didn't understand how he was still breathing. How he managed to choke out a broken little laugh through tears, or a flickering smile that matched as he squeezed her hand.

"Right here," Wheatley managed. "Right here, love. Always will be." He smiled at her brokenly, helplessly. "It's okay."

That was all he could say. There was so much he needed to tell her, but that was all he could say. And the only reason he could speak those last few words was because he knew this would be the last time he ever had to lie to her.

Wheatley waited, hoped for Chell to say something (anything), but she didn't. She watched him for a moment, then closed her eyes and nodded. She squeezed his hand back now, hard enough to hurt, but it didn't really matter. Everything hurt.

Wheatley couldn't bring himself to watch what Michael was doing at Chell's other side, so he allowed his head to rest on the edge of the mattress so he couldn't see what was happening. He stayed that way for what felt like an eternity: squeezing Chell's hand, and sitting as still and quiet as was physically possible, trying not to have a breakdown- trying to focus on her, on how she was still there.

Which became much harder as Chell's hand went limp in his.

Most of Wheatley's life had been filled with silence.

Wheatley had spent decades, centuries filled with silence, watching as the facility wilted around him. Silence when he asked for answers from the scientists. Silence when the other cores ignored him. Silence when they began to shut down. Silence from Chell when he'd woken her up. Silence before the core transfer, terrifying suspenseful silence in the moments before he was ripped apart, knowing he would be ripped apart. Silence after His meltdown, when He thought He'd killed them. Silence in space. Silence in the field where he'd thought he was going to die.

This was worse than all of that.

Sitting next to Chell in the darkness, listening to the shallow sound of her breathing, knowing that she was right beside him now, but that at any moment she would be gone, would disappear forever- that was worse than anything Wheatley had ever been through before. He would've gladly relived any of his nightmares from Aperture- all of them- all over again, if it would prevent this. If it would spare Chell from this.

Wheatley still held her hand, which had slowly gone limp in his. Something in his chest felt as though it were about to snap in two as he sat beside her and tried far too hard to breathe.

Finding out Chell was sick had been terrible, but at least she had been there to comfort him and help hold those feelings at bay. Wheatley had never felt such a raw onslaught of emotion before. He was terrified, and heartbroken, and angry (at himself), and more guilty than he'd ever felt in his life. His entire world was about to shatter into a million pieces, and he couldn't do anything but watch as she slipped away. And he could barely bring himself to do that.

Michael wasn't much better off. He sat in the chair that had been beside Chell's bed, hunched over with his head in his hands.

Wheatley forced himself to picture what would happen next, and it was the stuff of nightmares. Chell cold. Chell lifeless. Chell gone. He would be here when it happened, and then they would take her away from him and he would never see her again-

He couldn't do this.

"Please." Wheatley choked. "Please help her. You have to do something to help her."

Michael didn't look up.

"I can't."

"Yes you can. You know you can."

His chair creaked as he sat up straighter, but Wheatley still couldn't see his face.

"I already know what you're going to ask. She told me you would ask. The answer is no." Dull green eyes glared up at him. "I've already told you that."

Wheatley tried to take a deep breath, but the little voice in the back of his head screaming treason did nothing to help steady his nerves.

"We have to go back." Wheatley said, and now it was his hand that was trembling in Chell's. "I have to take her back. She's the only one who can help her."

Michael looked tired and angry, and not entirely unempathic.

"She would die down there."

Wheatley almost laughed.

"As opposed to what? To dying up here?"

Michael frowned.

"As opposed to dying free. Dying surrounded by people who care about her. As opposed to being murdered. Or trapped and tested for the rest of her life."

"She wouldn't hurt her." Wheatley shook his head frantically, and his voice matched. "She was sorry, after everything that happened. They teamed up at the end. They were friends. She let her go, She didn't want anything bad to happen to her. She certainly wouldn't hurt her."

"You trust Her?"

"Trust isn't- it's not about trust. This isn't about trust." Wheatley snapped. "It's about Chell getting a fair fight. You don't like the idea of taking her to Her because you think the odds would be stacked against her, but at least there would be odds. At least she would have a chance at a fair fight. Up here she doesn't stand a chance. The winner is predetermined."

And then he said the thing that did them both in, the thing he hated.

"We're the same."

"What?"

"We are." Wheatley almost laughed, though it wasn't a happy laugh. "I hate it but it's true. Especially when it comes to Chell. We're the same." His voice turned softer as he looked down at Chell's hand in his, and his heart plummeted with guilt. "You loved her too."

He could feel Michael's fury from across the room.

"Wheatley-"

"I know, I know—" He held his free hand up in hasty surrender. "It didn't work out, and now you're married, and happy, and you don't want to talk about it, and this is a horribly inappropriate time and circumstance to be bringing such things up, I realize, but my point is, you loved her. You did. And that means that, just like me, you can't stand to sit back and watch this happen to her. Especially when you know that there's something you could do to stop it."

Michael said nothing.

Wheatley continued, cautiously.

"You won't get hurt. You'll be fine, I promise. I don't need you to go down with me, I just need you to take us there." He hoped he looked as sincere as he felt. "She won't bother with you. With anyone on the surface, I don't think. She'll be plenty occupied with the two of us."

At some point Michael's gaze had turned to Chell, and that was where it stayed.

"What about you?"

Was that a yes?

"That doesn't really matter." Wheatley gave a sad smile, and yet the ice that crept up his spine at that question wasn't enough to overpower the relief (hope) he was beginning to feel. "If it wasn't for me we wouldn't be here in the first place."

Michael didn't argue.

"What about Chell?"

"I- I can't promise anything." Wheatley admitted. "But I really don't think She would hurt her. She doesn't seem to like seeing her hurt. The last time I was there She was livid with me for-" He stopped himself. "And if She wanted to use her, to test her, like you said, She would have to heal her first."

Michael nodded slowly.

"And if she was healed-"

"She could probably escape."

Wheatley now allowed himself to hope.

"It could work." He said, and he meant it. "I know it's crazy, but it could work. And at the very least, it's better than this."

Michael gave a deep sigh and shook his head.

"I certainly hope so."

AN

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