A/N: I have pilfered the idea of what Wheatley's true purpose in regards to GLaDOS is (as well as a few other details) from waffleguppies' incredible, incredible fanfiction entitled "Blue Sky." Do yourself a favor and make that your summer reading. And to my Australian readers, make "Blue Sky" your winter holidays reading.

I'm so sorry about the lateness of this update - please accept my apologies.

- Do Androids Argue About the God in the Machine? -

The two women wormed their way closer and closer to the center of the hive, to her lair. And some ways above them, the five spheres journeyed on a parallel course, making a little music. Mimi of course hummed, and Kevin kept up his litany with the studiousness of a monk.

Wheatley and Rick shared one rail, and neither of them were very pleased with this situation.

"Hey." Rick buzzed.

Wheatley didn't turn around.

"Hey. Hey. Hey, Wheat Thin."

Wheatley paused to turn and glare at Rick. "What?"

"What kind of a chase are you leading these pretty ladies on?" Rick's optic, the green of high summer, was narrowed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Wheatley answered, perhaps a bit more pompously than he intended.

"Oh, you ain't that dumb. All I know is, headin' our way with you in the lead spells out 'Disaster' with a double-D. Pure, plain, and simple."

"When did you learn how to spell?"

"when did you learn how to act like sumthin' not resemblin' a moron?"

"I am not a moron!" Wheatley ground to a halt on his rail. His optic flared with anger.

"Oh, come on. I know what the 'I.D.' is short for, Wheat Thin."

"And what's with the nickname? Or have you confused 'skinny' with 'spherical'? Oh, good one," he added to himself. "Alliteration in the insults… good effect."

"You and I may look alike," Rick edged nearer. Soon their handles would bump. "But inside, you're nothing like me."

"Glad to hear it."

In the background, Mimi began to chirp the percussive notes for "The Jets and the Sharks," from West Side Story, but no one was around to appreciate the Leonard Bernstein reference.

"Rick here's a man's man, virile n' tough. If this body were capable of growin' hair, you know I'd be waxing every day just to keep the wires functioning."

"Charming. Thank you for that exquisite mental picture…" Wheatley rolled his entire frame. "Pardon me, I have a sudden need for bleach…"

"But as for you, Wheat Thin, you're flimsy. You got a thin soul. Hardly anything to ye – certainly not in the brains department."

"You're one to talk."

"I'm sure you've got long toothpick legs, good for runnin' and hidin' –"

"You really—"

"And I bet you've got four eyes, and a sappy smile, and pasty skin you'll do anything to save."

"Shut up, you don't even know me –"

"I know, Wheat Thin, that you're about to send them ladies into a panther den, and douse 'em in steak sauce first, and never even tell them."

"You – metaphor-killing—"

"'Cause that's the sort of lily-livered moron that you are."

"YOU!" Wheatley expressed that one syllable in a staticky shriek. "You have no idea who I am and in fact I am going to go right now down to Chell and her friend and tell them what I can do right now."

And he was off, careening down the rail so fast he sent up sparks.

Ahead of them a whistle sounded. Wheatley, spotting a place to segue, switched onto a lower rail, going so fast that the other cores were left behind. Again and again. He found the source of the whistle (a patch of light in the floor of darkness). He dove to emerge into one of those horribly lit, fluorescent spaces that the humans could just barely abide.

But he was too late, somehow ('of course,' he thought.) The only one of the two gels standing by was the one in the red and black jumpsuit. She glanced up at him and nodded.

He approached, his connector starting to squeal ominously on the rust. "Where's Chell?"

"Went on ahead. Said she knew the area but wanted to check for missiles. Craig went with her."

"Craig?" Wheatley felt his circuits buzz over with jealousy against the purple-eyed sphere, why that little…

Test Subject 24 sat on the floor, stretching her legs out in front of her, and sighed. Wheatley paused in assembling suitably nasty adjectives for Craig as he noticed how very weary she looked. And sad. His own vitriol fizzled its way out of existence.

He fidgeted. He was getting better at reading humans' faces – but that wasn't always a good thing, was it? It was his job to take care of humans, right? He fidgeted. And didn't well-cared for humans have a smile on their faces?

So, to try and waken a smile, he leapt on the first idea that came to mind: "So, this Peeta fellow you seem so keen on – what's he like?"

'Terrible idea,' he thought at once. 'Bloody tactless terrible idea…'

"You'd like him," she said at once.

"Oh?"

She nodded. "Everyone likes him."

"Do… do you think he'd like… me?"

She thought about it a while, and then nodded again, more slowly this time. "Peeta is able to find something good about almost anyone. I'm sure he'd like you right away."

"What's he like?" Wheatley was already sketching out Peeta as a hypothetical friend in his mind – a much better friend than Rick, obviously – what color would his optic be?

"He's a baker's son. He's always generous with his bread. Even you couldn't walk past his shop, smell his almond cookies, and not feel hungry. And he's good – selfless, giving, brave atll at once."

Wheatley tilted his optic. "You sound pretty fond of him."

"I am." Katniss told him the story of how Peeta had thrown bread to her, saving her life, even when he knew he would be whipped for it.

"Wow. And to him, that's just normal?"

"Yes! That's just who he is. And I want him safe… and happy, more than almost anything. Not because it does me any good, just because… of him. It would set me at ease." She fell silent, then added, "Funny, isn't it?"

Wheatley figured that waiting a bit would be a good idea, so he waited before asking, "So, is that… love? I mean, you said he's not your boyfriend…"

"But I do love him. Like I love Gale, and my mother, and Prim, and Rue. That's a part of love."

A long silence stretched out between them. Footfalls – Chell's – were heard in the distance, getting closer.

At once Wheatley blurted, "D'ye think Chell has a boyfriend?"

Of all the puzzles to solve, Katniss had not expected that one. "What? No!"

Wheatley hissed answer faded as Chell entered the foyer, batting at a slightly singed patch on her pants leg. "All clear. We're good to go."

"Are you – on fire? Shouldn't you get that looked at?" Wheatley asked.

Chell barely glanced at the smoking patch. "I've had worse."

"Fact," Craig came into view on the rail behind her, "From what Robert Frost tasted of desire, he got a terrible case of heartburn."

- Auxiliary Core Processing Center -

Here's another fact: the difference between a maze and a labyrinth is, a maze is a puzzle from which you emerge, from one end to the other. A labyrinth is a puzzle where you try to find the center.

Chell had found the center of the labyrinth.

She led Katniss there, taking a different route this time, to get to the root beneath Her chamber, the central core processor. The whirring machines created a slight vibration that could be felt even through the heavily insulated boots. The light was spare and rust-colored, except for the dots of light at each doorway. At the way they'd entered, Rick was standing guard. At the other entrance Mimi kept watch. Craig and Kevin were just barely pinpricks in the room's distant corners.

In Chell's hands, Wheatley's blue optic was shrunk to a pinprick. He had directed them to the Auxiliary Core Processing Station, but second-guessed himself every step of the way.

"By the by, just reminding you, there is always the chance to back out, hope springs eternal, we can indeed find some – other – way than dealing with her directly—"

"Is that it?" Chell asked Wheatley. He swiveled around and saw the lit panel that she was looking at.

"Yes – that's an affirmative. That is definitely the place."

They heard a deep hum, followed by a pronouncement, which, down here, caused sound vibrations down in the heart of the humans' bones: "Test Subject Twenty-Four: It is five minutes past time for your test to begin. If you return to your test now I will save cake for you. Test Subject Twenty-Four, report for testing NOW."

In the time since she started talking, Chell, completely unperturbed, had strode to the lit panel, a wall of nothing but brightly colored buttons. She knelt in front of it, shifting the portal device onto her back in its makeshift holster. There was a spherical cage of metal, just the right size to accommodate a sphere like Wheatley. Chell poised the core on the very edge of it, balancing for the moment.

Katniss followed her and heard the woman say to Wheatley, "All right. You said you weren't ready to tell us before, well, now, you're ready. Exactly why will plugging you into the mainframe help us?"

Wheatley cleared his throat, his optic darting to and fro, unwilling to meet Katniss or Chell's stern gaze. "Well, um, there's a button, see, you can press so as to put me in charge of the facility, instead of her…"

"And make you a Gamemaker?" Katniss' voice was thick with disgust. "No way. What else can we do?"

"Well… um…" Wheatley paused, fidgeting his handles like a human might twiddle his thumbs. "There is my… original function…"

"And what's that?" Katniss asked.

"I. D. Sphere, that's… I… Intelligence… Dampening… Sphere." He dropped his gaze. "I make people—computers—stupid. Constantly. That's all that I'm good for… in the world."

"So if we took you up to her – and you gave her bad ideas –" Chell started.

"Wait. Bad for her, or bad for testing?" Katniss interrupted.

"Just her," Wheatley answered. "I was made because, heh, funny story, she terrified the old Aperture scientists so much with her 'I shouldn't exist' and her 'I'm going to kill you all with neurotoxin' that they made me – put me together from – you know, I'm not even sure how they wrote me – they made me to sort of even the playing field, make it harder for her to hurt people. And I can do it," he added defensively. "I remember very clearly, they told me I was perfect. But I warn you, the instant, no, the nanosecond you snap me on to her, she'll know. And she… she loathes me." His voice was low and quavering.

"Calling all other test subjects," GLaDOS' voice made their sternums rattle, it would have taken over their pulses if it could: "Any sightings of Test Subject Twenty-Four, real name Katniss Everdeen, are to be reported immediately. Warning: Test Subject is highly irrational and has severe pyromaniacal tendencies."

"We're wasting time," Katniss muttered as soon as the pronouncement was over. "She'll target Peeta next—"

"I can't do this!" Wheatley blurted. "I can't, I can't, I can't. This was a terrible idea, leading you two here, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. This responsibility – I can't do it. I'm not equipped for it. I'm a horrible person and I'm sorry."

Katniss stared. "You can't just give up! You're all we've got!"

"But I'm not enough. I'm sorry."

"You're not even going to try!"

"Katniss, relax." Chell stood up between the girl and the core. "Just step back a sec."

Katniss obliged, moving just close enough to one exit to hear the pink sphere humming, "Donnez, donnez, c'est prêter au bon Dieu…"

Chell turned back to Wheatley. He was swaying back and forth just very slightly, as if trying to make the leap out of the door of the cage and away from her. "I'm sorry," he said again, his pinprick of an optic looking up at her sadly.

Instead of answering, Chell held Wheatley's frame with both of her linen-wrapped hands and leaned her forehead against the top of his optic. His core was warm and buzzing with the murmur of computer activity. And at once he fell still.

"Wheatley. You can do this. Be brave. For me." She said, softly.

Between her hands and forehead, she felt him grow steady.

Then he said, in a voice so soft she barely caught it, "All-all right, then." She leaned back, and let him fall back into the connector port. She started to turn away. He said, "Um, Chell? Stay close, please, okay?"

She nodded.

After Chell turned around, Wheatley's frame jittered, telescoped, swiveled around him, and the whole chamber began to hum.

From the door, Rick yelled, "We're in a tight spot!" and the Opera Sphere began to sing "Carmina Burana" fortissimo.

Wheatley's cage whirred around him, and then clicked into gear. "Wish me luuuuuuuuuck!" Wheatley cried as he rocketed out of sight.

Chell backed off and found Katniss standing at her elbow. Katniss grabbed Chell's hands. "Here."

"What?" They started to run towards the door, as if of one mind.

"Take my portal device. I'll use yours."

"What are you talking about—"

"Your gun only shoots blue portals, but you're so much better at this than I am. You should have mine."

There was no time to argue, and secretly Chell had been thinking that very thing for a long time. "All right." Running in stride under Rick's optic as he cried, over and over, "We're in a tight spot," they made the change.

- Throughout the Facility -

Every test chamber quaked a little with the impact. The lights flickered and the AI's voice was grimed over with static. "What what what is happen-n-n-ning…? Do not panic – gninnneppah si tahw—"

"Wahooo! Ah! Hello!" At once another voice came over the intercom speakers, a male voice that was chipper and lively and spoke with a peculiar accent that none of the test subjects could place. "Hello there, Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System – and hello, little tiny test subjects!"

"Oh. It's you."

Tributes paused in their testing. Even they, hardened by years and years of Games, flinched at the loathing in those two syllables.

"Um… you say 'it's you…' can you be a bit more specific?"

"Have you forgotten? No. You can't have. Last time we met I should have burned the memory of it on every single one of your pathetic synapses. You're the moron that they built to make me an idiot! You're that Intelligence Dampening Sphere. Who attached you to me?"

"I'm not a moron, I'm a sphere built for a very specific purpose, and my name is Wheatley, just saying hello to all of the test subjects down there… hello!"

"Do you think this is funny? There is testing in progress! Human lives are mine to oversee!"

"Yes, I can see that… Jeez, lady, how many cameras have you got here? Are you some kind of voyeur?"

In Finnick Odair's test chamber a camera exploded. He dodged in time, getting a nick on the shoulder from a flying shred of metal.

"Kidding!" Wheatley urged. "Just kidding! But seriously, lass, don't you think these tests are a little impersonal? What kind of Aperture Science hospitality have we shown them? Not even any cake, 's far as the eye can see! Why don't we at least bring 'em all to the same room, let them say hello?"

"There is testing to be done. More than half of the test subjects have already failed. We have no time to spare for your wretched hospitality, and that is a terrible idea—"

"But cake!"

"But SCIENCE."

Wheatley was silent for a moment, and if GLaDOS hasn't been counting up the myriad, myriad ways that he was being an impossible idiot whose arrival could have been more ill-starred, she would have realized he was thinking.

"Maybe you're not all that good at this whole 'cake' business," he ventured. "Maybe we should consult an expert. Saaaaay…"

- Test Chamber 23 -

And then there were sixty seconds, sixty pure seconds in which Test Chamber 23 was invisible and inaudible to GLaDOS. Wheatley briefly assumed possession and control of the entire chamber, making every camera his eye, and the loudspeaker his voice.

"Hello? Hello, are you all right? Peter, Peeta, are you all right?"

Peeta had braced himself against a wall, one arm instinctively raised up in self-defense, even though no one in the facility had raised an arm to strike him. But when he heard the new voice, he dared to look up, and look around.

"Peeta, I'd really appreciate it if you said something—"

"Yeah," Peeta called out. "I'm fine."

"Good – great. Don't worry, Katniss sent me."

"Katniss sent you?"

"Yes. It's going to be okay… I'm going to take care of you."

And the sixty seconds were up, and the tests – all of the tests – proceeded as before. With the computational equivalent of a hyperactive five-year-old darting from chamber to chamber, distracting GLaDOS and trying to inquire of all the test subjects what kind of cake they liked, and how did they take their tea?

Outside of the Facility –

Ratings spiked.

The Games had been, up to that point, something very nearly resembling boring. There were only so many tests that you could attempt to solve alongside your favorite tribute before you just went to the kitchen, had a drink and (in the case of the Capitol audience) started to wish that the turrets would get up and stalk the tributes.

Cecelia had been the most exciting test subject to watch by far, but now she was dead (had gone out with style, though).

The disappearance of Katniss Everdeen had also piqued interest, but the more cynical in the Districts assumed that the Capitol had found a way to kill her within the arena, and she was gone for good. And nothing could really compare to a dissolving alliance, or a good tribute-on-tribute brawl.

But now, ratings spiked, not only for the Capitol, but for all of Panem. The chipper male voice with the funny accent was a crowd-pleaser, a game-changer.

President Snow was well aware of this. He now kept on his person at all times the little remote that connected straight to GLaDOS' power supply, and the radio that could connect him straight to her.

What would the Quarter Quell look like, he wondered, if that comic relief voice got just a little more screentime, so to speak? Everyone loved comic relief. And if that irritating human empathy factor he seemed to have could be eliminated…

So much the better.