Wheatley rubbed his eyes and stumbled his way into the cafe, the jingling bells overhead far more cheerful than he was. He had been forced to stay up well into the early morning hours, working on some sort of code for the higher-ups at Aperture. As an employee drastically low on the totem pole, most of the mundane, after-hours jobs found their way to his desk— and this new project had everyone working overtime, so of course a good chunk of it was shunted his way. It might have taken him less time if he had been given the entirety of the code, that way he could have some context as to what exactly he was doing, but no, they had to act like it was top secret.

Usually he didn't mind— Aperture, however far-fetched their ideas might seem, was on the leading edge of breakthroughs in physics and technology. If he could be a part of that, put his degree to use to help others… well, it was worth a few lost hours of sleep.

At least, it would be worth it in the long run. Right now, however, he was barely able to stay on his feet, sleep deprived as he was. Add to that the fact he had little coordination even when he did have his recommended eight hours and well… you had someone who was definitely due for some sort of pick-me-up.

He waited in the queue, hardly noticing when the line moved ahead (the man behind him had to nudge him forward a few times), but finally he reached the counter.

"What can I get for you this morning?" the lady said in a bright, almost too cheery voice. She was wearing a smile, but Wheatley could see she was almost as tired as he felt.

He took a moment to stare at the menu, hardly comprehending anything he was reading. "Um, I– I suppose I'll have a mocha," he said, choosing the first thing he saw. "The largest one you've got– oh, and with three shots of espresso."

The woman punched his order in and took his cash. "Long night?"

"You have no idea," he said as he took his receipt. "Cheers."

Moving aside to let the next person order, he looked around for an empty table. He steered away from the larger ones— as much as he loved to talk, he wasn't sure he was awake enough for a full-on conversation just yet— and took a seat near the door, where he could watch everyone coming in and out.

As he surveyed the room, his eye caught on a dark-haired woman in the far corner, slowly sipping her drink with her face nose-deep in a book. She was pretty, in a sensible sort of way— hair tied up in a sleek, professional ponytail, enough makeup to nicely accent her features but not so much that she looked as if she were caked in it, and a comfortable-looking pair of jeans matched with a nice shirt and trainers. She had that sort of look on her face that a person gets when lost in a world of their own. Evidently, whatever she was reading must be fascinating.

Wheatley was so caught up in staring at her that he nearly missed it when his name was called. Eyes hardly leaving the lady, he jumped up from his table and snatched his cup from the pick-up counter, almost spilling the drink all over himself in the process.

As he sat back at his table, he watched as the pretty lady finished the last of her cup and closed her book. She waved goodbye to the girl at the counter (who waved back with a genuine smile on her face) and picked her way through the tables toward the door. She must have seen Wheatley looking her way, because she shot a quick smile in his direction before pushing open the door. Surprised, he beamed back at her– although a little too late, as she was already walking away down the sidewalk.

…...

Sitting in his tiny cubicle later that afternoon, he realized that maybe three shots of espresso in his coffee had been a little excessive. His leg had been bouncing nonstop all morning and his stomach felt like it was doing little flips inside his abdomen.

Although… it was possible that the flips had something to do with the girl whose face he hadn't been able to forget. That wrinkle between her brows as she pored over her book, her completely relaxed posture… not to mention (again) just how wonderfully pretty she was.

"Dude, are you okay? You look like you're having some sort of… crazy spell, or something; you've been jittery all morning." His coworker Owen from the box across the hall had stuck his head into Wheatley's cubicle and was leaning on the doorframe.

Wheatley shook his head. "Just had a little too much coffee, is all."

His coworker snorted. "Wish there was such a thing as 'too much coffee' for me. Naw, I can't go a day without it. Anyway, I just wanted to check on you since you seemed so antsy."

He started to walk off, but Wheatley suddenly blurted, "You're going with that girl from… what is it… HR, right? Ashley?" A blank stare from Owen forced him to continue. "You know— tall, with the curly hair and always wearing those ridiculously high heels— I don't know how she does it— and—"

"No, no, I know who you're talking about. Yeah, we've been on a few dates. Why?"

Wheatley took a deep breath. "How did you know you liked her?"

Owen blinked a few times, before understanding dawned on his face. He gave Wheatley a knowing smile as he asked, "Who's the girl?"

"That's just it, I don't know, I don't know her at all. I just saw her at the coffee shop I went to this morning, that's all."

"But you like her?"

"Well I've told you, I don't know her!"

"You don't have to know a girl to like her. That's what a date is for. I didn't know anything about Ashley when I asked her out."

Wheatley stared. "You didn't? But how did you—"

"Dude, you just have to take a chance every now and then. Ask her out, see how it goes."

"I don't know… what if she says no?" He buried his head in his hands, already imagining the outcome.

"Then she says no and you move on!" Owen suddenly stopped talking, turning his head and looking down the hall. "Uh oh, the boss is coming. I gotta get back to work. Ask her out, trust me! If you're worried about her saying no, then you obviously like her." Owen ducked back into his own cubicle, and Wheatley could hear his keys clacking away as he attempted to look busy.

"Just ask her out… no problem, surely! All I have to do is figure out how I'm going to ask… and, of course, actually work up the courage to ask. But how hard can it be?" Wheatley beamed, looking at his reflection in the shiny face of his computer monitor. "I can do that, no problem!"

…...

Over the next two weeks, it turned out that it in fact was a problem. He began to arrive at the coffee shop every morning at the same time, hoping to see the girl again.

And he did— it seemed she was a regular. She didn't even have to say a word when she went up to the counter, just gave a friendly smile and handed her card to the cashier. She always sat at the same table, and often had the same book with her. (Twice, though, she had brought a binder-clipped stack of papers almost half a dozen centimeters thick and had flipped through that, scribbling notes as she felt necessary.)

However he still hadn't spoken to her. She recognized him, definitely— she always left before he did and always gave him the same kind smile that she had the first day— but that was the extent of their meeting.

But today, he had decided, was the day. He'd had enough of hyping himself up; he just had to do it, like Owen had said. Before he could change his mind, he stood up (and in a repeat of that first day, almost knocking his cup over) and walked over to her.

He positioned himself behind her and somewhat to the left; he didn't want to intrude on her space but he also wanted to make his presence known— something he usually didn't have to work too hard to do, what with his six-foot seven frame, but he wanted to be polite. When she didn't seem to notice him come up behind her, however, his confidence wavered. Still, determined, he cleared his throat and forged ahead.

"Um, you've been reading that book for a while. Is it any good? Not that I've been watching you," he hastily added, "I've just… you know, noticed. That you bring it every day. And you seem… really engrossed in it, apparently, because you haven't even looked up at me. Hello?"

Indeed, the lady hadn't even so much as turned her head slightly to acknowledge that he was there. Rather rude; perhaps she didn't want to talk but that was no reason to ignore him.

"Hello?" he repeated, coming up a bit closer behind her. "Anyone home?"

As he moved, his shadow fell across her page and she finally looked up, giving him a pleasant but confused smile. She glanced at his normal seat— now vacated— then back up at him.

"Have you heard a word I've said?" he repeated, the slightest bit of annoyance creeping into his voice.

Her mouth opened in a soft "o" and she winced. She tapped her ear and shook her head, an apologetic smile on her face, before bringing her finger in a close arc from her ear to her mouth.

Wheatley stared at her for a moment, utterly confused, before understanding hit him. She hadn't been being rude and brushing him off— she was deaf! She just hadn't been able to hear his rambling on and on.

He nodded to show her he understood, and it was her turn to be shocked when he signed back.

"Sorry," he signed. "I hadn't realized. What are you reading? You seem to be enjoying it a lot; it's all I've seen you read for a while."

"You know ASL?" she signed, amazed.

"Well, sort of." he replied. "I took British sign language in secondary school because I heard it was easy. It was not, let me tell you, but I enjoyed it. When I moved to the States I picked up some more of your signs. Glad to see that I don't butcher them; I always worried about that."

The lady laughed. "You do a good job." She looked at him curiously for a moment before smiling and shaking her head, as if she had found something funny. "You normally sit over there by the door, don't you?"

"Haha, yep, I do. It's got a nice view, I can watch people walk by. Most of them are in a hurry, like they've got somewhere important to be."

"Well, maybe they're late for work. Or maybe they're going to the store to get a very specific present for their best friend before it's gone from the shelves."

"Is that why you didn't sit down the other day? I knew something must be up; that was the first time I'd seen you not look relaxed here."

She smiled. "That was it. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Chell," she replied, spelling her name out for him.

He stared for a second at the letters– they were different from the ones he had learned, but the Americans' signs for the alphabet slowly came back to him as he watched.

"C-H-E-L-L," he mimicked slowly, trying to figure it out. He repeated the motions a second time before his eyes went wide as comprehension clicked into place, and a thousand-kilowatt grin lit up his face. "Chell, okay, got it, that's filed away then. I'm Wheatley." She seemed amused at the amount of time that it took him to remember the motions required for the letters of his name, but it was a good sort of amused. The 'laughing with him' sort of amused, rather than the sort that was at his expense (which is what he usually got).

"So… back to my original question. What book has you so mesmerized that you didn't even notice the presence of a handsome stranger like myself?"

She laughed again, making Wheatley light up inside. He had known he liked her that first day (even if it took him a few days and a chat with Owen to admit it to himself), but he realized as they talked that he really, actually liked her. Not just in that "wow, look at how pretty she is" way (although that still was certainly a factor), but he was finding that he enjoyed her company.

A lot.

And he could tell she liked talking to him too. As someone who couldn't hear what others were saying, it was probably a breath of fresh air to find someone she could actually communicate with on her terms, without having to jump through hoops only to get across the barest form of the message she wanted to convey.

After a while, however, she glanced at her watch and straightened suddenly. "Well, I have to be going," she signed sadly. "But I'll see you here tomorrow morning?" Her face was hopeful, and Wheatley decided if he was going to make a move of the romantic sort, it needed to be now.

"Of course!" He paused, before taking a deep breath and continuing. "I, um… I was also wondering if… if you might want to go get dinner sometime?"

He almost didn't look at her as he said it. He was so used to being turned down, or ignored, or having the attention that was directed at him be the wrong type of attention, that he didn't want to see her face when she said no. Something, however, told him to give her a chance. To listen to— or, well, see what she said.

And he was glad he did. She gave him a smile— the happiest one he'd seen her give to anyone yet— and nodded. "I'd like that. Very much."