Sad music, plus sad fanfics equals...this.
Edit: Went back, fixed a few things.
Dreamer
She waded through the wheatfield, searching desperately for him. He'd gone out into there when she wasn't looking, she just knew it, and without a rail to follow, he wasn't going to be able to find his way home alone.
"Chell!" Her name in his voice, just seconds before he bowled her over. They tumbled, heads-over-heels through the grain, ending up with him above her, braced on his hands and knees. His eyes were wide and glistening with tears, and a never-ending apology spilled from his lips: for getting lost, for worrying her, for making her come looking, and older, for everything that happened in the facility, everything he'd ever done to her, for never being anything but a nuisance… She didn't really know where all this was coming from, all of a sudden, but she reached up and yanked him down into a hug, murmuring her forgiveness, rubbing small circles on his back, trying to comfort him. She didn't care that they were filthy, that there was grass in her hair, that she'd have to help him clean up when they got home, even. What mattered was that they were both alright, and she knew the way back, and she could help him. Gently she pushed him back, and placed a light kiss on his forehead.
"It's all right, Wheatley, really. Let's go home."
He hesitated for a moment, confused, before it registered that he was still on top of her. More scrambling ensued as they both got to their feet, and she took his hand, and led him back towards safety…
. . .
Her eyes opened to the ever-emptiness of her apartment, and immediately prickled with tears. She tried to say his name, but was as incapable as ever. The local hospital had confirmed his diagnosis (if it could be called that) of brain damage, and had told her they had no idea how to fix it. Some words she could say, others were eternally beyond her reach. It was just one of many cruel ironies that the broken part of her mind lit up like wildfire whenever she tried to talk about him.
Hauling herself out of bed and over to her desk, she snatched a piece of paper and went to work.
. . .
Crawling into bed two hours later, her cheeks were soaked with tears. Hanging on her wall, in stark black, white and blue, she'd rendered the scene in the wheat, her friend clutched to her chest, his face buried in her neck, apologizing for everything he'd never be able to say in person. It was surrounded by a hundred others. In some they sat side-by-side on the couch, in others he curled up beside her in bed, either keeping her warm or having moved there after something scared him. In a couple they were back There, but he was with her in the lift, or she was up on that rail with him, keeping him company. In one they had completely switched positions, and he was helping her down out of the chassis.
But Wheatley was in space. He was in space, and he was never coming back; at least, not outside of her dreams.
Yep. Someone give me a quick, fluffy read that won't make me cry. Seriously, I need a heavy dose of fluffy Chelley right now.