Acceptance
There was something very wrong with him. A crossed wire somewhere, something… How was he supposed to communicate, when he never knew when his voice would give out, when his words would break down into gibberish? Where was the logic in that?
Sometimes, he could hold a complete conversation, talking at length with the others about any number of things, vainly enjoying the shocked looks on their faces as he managed to find a useful answer to their question, no matter what it was. There was nothing better than the look on Curiosity's face when he was able to stump her, answer until she ran out of questions. Nothing better than proving to Rick how little he knew, one-upping Craig in a fact contest. Explaining something so that even the moron understood, or helping in the kitchen… He reveled in these things. He coveted them, like a magpie treasures shine, not caring if it's trash or treasure. Because…
Because sometimes, he couldn't do any of it. He'd ask Chell to pass the flour, and hear himself say something about lemons. He'd watch Craig smirk as he stuttered on, horrified, about dirt, or eggshells. Curi would change the topic, but he couldn't fix it, or get back on track, his voice persistently stuck on inane measurements and insane ingredients, no matter what he tried to say. Rick would be almost open in his mockery, especially if he got trapped on the fish track, while Wheatley would pat his shoulder sympathetically, and move on.
And, of course, sometimes the thing just gave out completely, getting stuck on a single sound, static, or deciding to reboot, leaving him mute for any number of hours. The day he'd woken up, and immediately started repeating "Ru-ru-ru-ru-ru-ru–" he'd locked himself in his room and refused to come out until it stopped after dinner. Even Morality had been confused the first time his voice had just stopped in the middle of a sentence, trying to convince Kevin that space was not the answer to everything. His mouth had just kept shaping his words, while the processor sat, dead, in the back of his throat; it had taken him a few, humiliating seconds to realize what had happened and shut up.
They were worried about him, he knew. He was the only one left with anything truly corrupt in him, even if it was purely physical. No test had picked it up, but it was there, the elephant in the room that no one brought up, if only because Morality had ordered them not to pick on him for it, and Anger had backed her up with one of his looks. He hated the pity, and at the same time, was relieved by the sympathy. Which one depended on the day.
This was not one of the good days. He sat on the couch, reading, lips silently tracing the words, an activity which normally meant the others left him alone. He knew he was brooding, and he didn't care.
New chapter. He glanced around for the others.
"One c-c-cup granula-la-lated–"
He clamped his mouth shut, feeling the rest of the description buzz against his teeth.
As the vibrations died, he tried again.
"Two cu-cu-chu-cha-Chapter four."
A smile.
It didn't really matter if it was an uphill battle, or if he sometimes wished he had died in that incinerator. He'd always had this voice, since the day he'd been built, and though he could imagine life without it, part of him felt that it seemed mortifyingly easy.
After all, even if you're forever at war with yourself…every so often, you win. And few victories were sweeter.
Have some inspirational Logic Core.