Oh no, what's this! A chapter full of fluff and angst at the same time? Ah shucks what happened to plot and progression smh. Y'all can get a bit of both, I'm willing to drip feed along the way :) A bit of a shorter one this time, but preparing for some plot and didn't want to keep y'all waiting ages.

"So long, and thanks for the vodka, mate," Wheatley called through the car window as the pair began to leave. They back down the narrow driveway and before they close the window, Aiza points with intent to Wheatley and Chell. "Remember what we spoke about, guys! We'll call up tomorrow morning and reassess, so good luck in there."

The car veers around the corner and out of sight, leaving the two exchanging knowing glances at each other in front of the locked gate. Neither of them have positive recent memories in this place, and if at all possible they'd follow that long gone car by foot if necessary. Chell takes the initiative, gently patting the taller apparition on the shoulder and retrieving the elegant key from his deathly still hands. He has no choice but to follow as she waves him through the gate so she can lock it behind them, as if people breaking in would be comparable to their current list of concerns.

He nervously fiddles with his caramel waves with one hand, and glasses with the other as they settle under the overgrown willow tree once more. The cascading leaves brush the tips of Wheatley's hair and forehead, whilst Chell softly rubs her nose tip from the pollen polluting the outside air. She's not the one to break the silence, as per usual. "Well, here we are again, it's always such a pleasure… being here, with you, Her in there– alright cards on the table I'm going to be honest with you, I don't want to go in there. It's a lovely day out here, even more lovely to spend it with…"

He trails off and his gaze darts around the thick canopy of leaves, searching for anything to distract from their current dilemma. "I know, I don't like this any more than you, Wheatley. We can do this though, I've got you, and I can now comfortably say I know you do too."

That's something she's never admitted to before, at least never verbally. He settles his attention back on her as she eagerly awaits his response, he seems to have forgotten they're in the middle of a conversation. He doesn't particularly care though, and his hand makes its way through the wispy strands that frame her face. Following his hand which creeps to the back of her head, nestling under her ponytail, is his face closing the distance between the two of them, and her eyes light up in recognition.

He can't quite do it though, so he rests his forehead gently against her own, and a soft sigh flows through her parted lips. "I'm sorry, love," he murmurs down at his other hand which is tapping absently on her knee. She masks her disappointment well. "It's going to be okay, we'll wait and see for just one night, does that sound alright?"

They let the moment stretch on for as long as possible, the two paralysed in a half embrace on the cold grass. Her hand mirrors his own, massaging his unkempt locks of hair, whilst the other meets the one resting delicately on her knee. She entwines their fingers for a few brief moments before drawing away from his cold embrace.

Before they enter the manor once more, assessing all the changes from the last time they were both there, she shoots a questioning glance over her shoulder at the meek spirit. "Just before we go, did anything… change for you?"

"As–as in for what I did back there or…?"

"–No, like for why you don't want to go back in anymore?"

His folded forearms threaten to crush his ribcage as they push back into his torso, physically recoiling from the question. This is their last chance to discuss for the time being however, so Chell tenderly pats his shoulder to coax it out of him. "Well, I mean there's just a lot that's going to change, you know? I've gotten a bit too comfortable back there, that's all. And I know we're doing this to keep you safe and I wouldn't have that any other way, love, that's for sure, but it just all feels a bit… final. Granted, it isn't and we can leave at any time, but this plan has no room for turning back, or readjusting… or fraternisation."

"Hey, then we just wait until afterwards, we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with each other again."

There was a bit more to it for him, but he wasn't quite ready to tell her how frighteningly close he is mentally to his old self, although she could probably have inferred such information after the couple of drinks he had a few nights ago. It's an uncomfortable reality he's going to have to accept, that he truly is just as broken, and cynical, and human as he was all those years ago. All it takes to bring that out is a bit of liquor and time.

She has to put all her weight behind pushing the door open, and even with her strength she needs a bit of Wheatley's help. The room they reveal is in shambles, and that's just the hallway alone. It's like a hurricane tore through the house, all his books are strewn across the room, papers ripped from the spine and tossed to coat the living room floor. Even his manuscript book isn't left untouched, the pages clearly leaved through and shredded at the edges. He ponders over the remains of his life's work, each page scribbled over with one soul-rending word: 'moron'.

Chell has taken this chance to check out her bedroom immediately, searching for her phone– this plan can't work without one, but thankfully her friends quickly bought her a flip phone if it happened to be smashed. It was luckily completely untouched, left in the corner of the bed that She crammed her into the last time they were here, so she retrieves it and continues scanning the house for any more anomalies.

He scrambles from room to room, as she's seemed to slip out of his grasp so easily. He's clutching his defaced music book to his chest, then when he finds her flicking through her wardrobe looking at her half torn clothing the book is replaced with her back against his torso. He slips it into his inner coat pocket for later, his priority currently is to ensure her safety, so he'll get back to salvage what's left of it later if he has the chance. With Her making no move or appearance this time around, it leaves them both on edge about what they can truly expect from here on out.

Now getting ready for bed, she decided to kill two birds with one stone: take a shower and test the plumbing for any more damage She probably has inflicted. Still not a word, scratch, or appearance from Her has Chell simultaneously at ease and tense if it were even possible, balancing on that knife's edge whenever she remembers the danger she's in for any second longer she spends in this house.

Wheatley did suggest he stick around, even if just outside the door for her to finish her shower, but it's not like much of anything has happened so far since they've arrived again, so perhaps it's best to hope that most supernatural activity would be whilst she's asleep– i.e. how it was before she entered the house on her own. She assumes he's waiting at the door like a dog right now, although she can't be completely sure as he's never been so quiet in their entire time together.

The water trickles over her closed eyes as the shampoo is rinsed from her thick dark waves. The only thing prompting her gray eyes to open up again was the water now lapping at her ankles and rising still. She groans and stares at what's clearly a clogged drain, deciding it to be a problem for later, as she has no idea which of the pipes in different rooms it must connect with, just hopeful it's not stemming from the downstairs kitchen and laundry room. Chell aims to quickly finish her shower before whatever gunk is causing the stoppage rises through the drain and renders her cleaning obsolete.

She's drawing close to the end of her shower, lathering up her skin to then rinse it into the slightly off-colour water now filling the bath below her. Then a shove, thud, and dunk follows in rapid succession. She must have been waiting in the room, and Chell's heart sinks along with her head. Her hand and skull hit the wall on the way down, but no matter how hard her arms try to push her head to resurface, the strong grip from the figure on the side of the tub has her panicking. Chell inhales copious amounts of the dull water she's forced face first into. With the conclusion met that she won't be out muscling this demon, she resorts to thumping on the bathroom tiles, desperate to call the ghost's attention to her struggle.

And he sure did answer. He slams the door open in a hurry, urgently pulling her fully submerged head from the demon's grasp, and gently cradles her coughing and spluttering form in his arms. As the aching subsides from her burning lungs, she almost finds herself verbally thanking the man, before he anticipates it and muffles her inhale. "You're alright, love, I've got you. It's okay now."

She stops wheezing before she realises the awkward situation they've found themselves in, to say the very least. He managed to hold her up by her stomach and right across her shoulders as she hacked up the murky water, so she quickly moves to cover her chest with her own arm. Her dark eyes throw apologies at his bright and worried ones, blue eyes that never stopped searching through her own for even a fraction of a second. They didn't waver or wander like they usually do, whether it be out of complete and utter focus or the manners he's retained from his own time period.

He passes her the towel he's kneeling on top of, covering his view of her drenched body as she takes it from his steady hands. As she pats herself dry and readjusts her kneeling position in the tub, something strange brushes against her knees, and she draws back out of disgust. The water has receded now, so whatever was clogging the drain seems to have been dislodged, the question now being whether it travelled further down to cause a bigger problem or resurfaced up here.

It's a quickly answered question given the foreign thing floating below the surface, and she reaches into the water to pick up whatever nasty, borderline slimy object caressed her knee (lord knows she's already dirty after that, so why not?).

The thing looks awfully familiar to her. As the water all drains, she can see a couple more of them, drenched sage sticks, littering the bottom of the tub around the drain. He continues to avert his gaze to give her enough privacy, and Chell knots the towel under her armpits, takes Wheatley's outstretched hand, and emerges from the tub. He looks back at her again, but his eyes cloud over as recognition slowly dawns on him. He knows exactly what she's holding out to him.

"Where did you find those," he hissed a little too loudly. But he grabbed them anyway, storing them in the pockets of his suit coat. She points to the drain that was the cause of their problems to begin with, and he shudders at the thought.

"Well, let's get you to bed, that was quite the fright, wasn't it?"

He guides her over to the bedroom, evidently he was cleaning the upper floor when She made an appearance and cut her shower short. The room looks a lot less disheveled than it was when they arrived, although it is far from pristine still. She quickly gets changed into her night clothes and emerges from her closet, collapsing onto the bed with a muffled thud. He walks back in with the intent to switch off the light and flash her a sheepish smile, before turning to exit the room again.

She lightly taps the wall to get his attention. Nothing. So she does it a little louder. Still nothing.

Rolling her eyes, she thuds the wall beside her, annoyed she no longer has the ability to shout at him from across the house, but it does the trick. He comes tumbling back in, clearly fretting despite leaving her alone for less than thirty consecutive seconds, but noticing the lack of any threat, he cocks his head to the side like a confused dog. And she gestures pointedly to the empty chair beside her.

"Oh, I see– sorry I thought you mightn't want me around after I… anyway, of course I'll stay."

He leaves his glasses on the top of her dream journal as she drifts to the edge of lucidity. She sneaks her hand out from beneath the covers, palm up and waiting for him to seize the opportunity. There is no question or hesitation, he firmly takes her hand and strokes her knuckles as her breathing regulates to a soft, moderate rhythm.

She awakens with a jolt, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and he makes an effort to grab her shoulder and ground her. "Bloody hell, are you alright, love? I didn't even know until right now that you were…"

She cut him off abruptly by flinching away from his touch, shrinking back into the opposite corner of the bed. Her eyes are wild, pricks of tears in the corners and disorientated as the events of her nightmare crowd and blend into the waking world. "You–mmph !" He reaches to cover her mouth once again.

"No, no talking, remember? It was just a nightmare, whatever happened in it isn't real, everything's fine, I promise you. Do you want to log it?" He holds up the green journal for her to see, but she's more focused on parsing the mess of a dream she just had. It felt so real, unlike a lot of her previous nightmares where she was paralysed, they were continuing on from waking up in the morning, but so many of the details were fuzzy. All she really remembers was desperation, woe, treason, but all that's left is a little trace of déjà vu. "Do you actually remember it?"

She shakes her head in disbelief but still reaches for the book and pen as he stands, grabs his glasses off the nightstand and makes his way for the door. "Get changed and let's talk outside, they'll be calling us soon after all." She messily scribbles one line, one completely out of context line, but the only one she can remember from the dream. 'I am not a moron.'

They both emerge into the fresh morning air outside the house. Chell has her head tilted downward, brow furrowed in thought, but neither of these last for very long as he takes her face in his hands and pivots it this way and that to search her for answers. "Are you sure you're alright? That was no ordinary nightmare, you were still for so long and then wham! Not only were you startled but pulled back from me. You absolutely positive you aren't afraid of me, correct?"

She peels his cold hands away from her face, shivering at the contact in the cool outside breeze. "Yeah, I promise you I'm not but that was just a… really bad dream," she severely understates. They wander together towards their usual spot, his arm linked with hers though he's getting mixed signals as to whether she wants him near or as far as reasonably possible. A rustling is heard overhead in the tree, and he pauses, effectively pulling her back with him. "Bird, bird, bird!–Let's not sit here, how about we go around the back?"

They settle on a patch of grass bathed in sunlight, the cool breeze filtering through the grass and sweeping his thick hair into his eyes, to which he gently adjusts as she finds her tongue again. "That dream, it was unlike any She's ever given me. I could move for one, but the most important part was that I didn't know it was a nightmare while I was having it."

She gestures emphatically in his direction, hoping to coax some idea from him about this new behaviour of Hers, but the crease between his brows only deepen at the information. "Do you reckon it was one of Her dreams or something your own mind kind of just, created for a lack of a better word?"

"I really hope the latter, man," she concludes, matter-of-factly. They sit there together in relative silence again, Chell with a hand over her mouth in thought, and Wheatley sitting patiently, waiting until he can't stand the quiet any longer. It didn't particularly take long for him to reach his limit, especially after the night they spent inside. He continues fiddling with his hands as he clears his throat. "What's the, uh, the verdict then, love? How long do you think you could manage all this?"

She inhales, readying herself to respond. However, their conversation is cut short when her own phone starts buzzing in the back pocket of her jeans. "I don't know, but I'm getting a call so just give me a minute."

She picks it up on the fourth to last ring. "Good morning," she hears a little too loud coming through the terrible quality speakers. She winces, turning the volume down.

"That's debatable, but hello again," she sighs into the microphone. There's no time for small talk or banter, so they get right down to business. There's a point to the call, after all, so Aiza continues on. "Did anything of note happen that's made you sound like you've been hit by a minibus?"

She and Wheatley exchange a glance before she answers. "Uh, just a lot of damage inside the house, had a shower– incident, and a really bizarre dream. That's about it… sure felt like a lot more, that's for sure."

"Alright shower incident meaning what exactly, is that related to the plan or a personal problem?"

"Yes, it was. Getting waterboarded by a demon in my own fucking bathroom wasn't on my bucket list," and she pauses, Aiza muttering a barely audible exclamation. "We, um, found something that was clogging the pipes, some sage sticks were shoved down the drain, and consequently so was my nose."

Wheatley pulls out the still drying sage sticks from his pocket, laying them to rest in the morning sunshine as the weather heats up for the day. "Oh damn, I see– did you buy those yourself? I could imagine She's probably trying to prevent you two scheming against Her. It's very possible She already knows what we're up to."

"Believe me I have no doubt she does and has for the longest time, but it's a little strange to hide them in the bathroom tub than, I don't know, behind the debris in the basement? No finding anything in there without a fight."

Aiza's once again taking the time to let her pre-prepared questions catch up to the turn in subject matter, but it's a disjointed transition regardless. "So, do you think you can handle living there for at least a few more weeks as it is?"

"...That's something I might consult Alistair on, and Wheatley too of course."

"Oh and one last thing before we part, did you talk at all in there?"
"I–yeah, but barely a word, I was disoriented and slowly waking up. He stopped me from saying any more so it can't be that bad, right?"

They finish up the phone call on a dull note, if one night has her so despondent then there mightn't be much hope for a few weeks in. If Wheatley has learnt anything too from revisiting his own unfortunate demise, it's that the further you spiral into madness, the less capable you are of making rational decisions. Having his past recently uncovered from the repressed part of his mind may have been providing reasonable insight for their situation, but it also– along with the frequent possession workshops– has been leaving him feeling eerily more human than usual. He's feeling a lot more recently just in general, and that goes beyond physical and bodily stimuli. The past few weeks have been a mental rollercoaster for him as well.

It's mostly because of her, he's now figured out. He watches her silently as she moves to contact Alistair on her phone, first by message to make sure it's an okay time to talk, then await his reply. Admittedly, all of the stress and anguish he's relived in the past few days has been a hell of a lot for the spirit, but for her he feels he'd do anything. If they can get through this they can get through anything, and together at that, he notes with a small but sweet smile.

He's wished for a lot of things in his time, but more than anything right now he just wishes he had more time. She seemed so sure that there's a non zero chance he'll come out of this with her, but after remembering his own final hours, he's not as confident as she is. His smile turns more bittersweet now, the corners quivering uncontrollably, but luckily she's too busy texting to notice.

It was his idea to request she keep quiet within the house. She has less ammunition to use against Chell if she refuses to give her even a word. It stung to request something like that, it's as if they're right back at square one with a mute homeowner and depressed spirit, but it's one of the things he now noticed she weaponized against him. His own voice was his punishment, and thus his downfall.

"I've almost gotten a hold of him, he's just a bit busy driving into work currently but in a few minutes he'll call me back." Her eyes dart up to meet his own. The blue now holds such a profound melancholy within them, as if he's become well acquainted with every stage of grief in the few minutes he's been left to his own devices. She regards him with empathy and compassion, reaching over to fluff his hair up and hopefully lift his spirits again (for a lack of a better word). "Hey man, you feeling okay? If there's any point in time that's inopportune to lose you and your spark it would be right now. What's on your mind?"

They're running out of time, and he knows it. He stares back at her with the most vacant smile he's ever conjured up, because he's a coward and can't tell her the truth to save his afterlife. He doesn't even lean into her touch anymore, an internal war raging on between two separate, equally irrational parts of his brain. "Ah, nothing really new, love. Just the usual things," but it feels wrong to even downplay such a lie to her face. If she can't live like this for much longer, and Alistair gives her the green light to accelerate their plans…

Usually he'd tell himself to just stop thinking about it. If it hurts then bury it in every way that you can, but he's reaching a limit now. He needs to properly live in the present for once. No more constant need to find a distraction, or ramble on eternally about everything and nothing at the same time, or blissful naïvety of the situation they're submerged neck-deep in. If he wants to love a human, he's going to need to be human again. It's what she'd want from him, isn't it?

"Actually," he begins, although without a proper end to the sentence thought up in preparation, and he (fairly awkwardly) leans closer to her. In turn, Chell tilts her head and furrows a brow at his odd behaviour. That's not the response he was quite looking for, so he discourages himself yet again, psyching out at the last second. This time though, he gently pecks her cheek, hoping it's not crossing too much of a boundary. The last thing he wants right now is to backpedal their alliance, but one thing he'd hate more is to miss an opportunity when it presents itself. He'd kick himself about it when they're finally out of time.

His arms encase her torso as she leans into his embrace, although he's still fairly disappointed in himself. Once again missing the chance to just take the risk. She was going to that the other night as well anyway, and just yesterday she was practically waiting for him to make the move, so just why can't he do it? "Are you sure everything's okay? You can tell me whatever's going on. Usually I'm one to judge but I'll make an exception for you. You're exempt this time," she purrs into his ear, and he smiles at her effortless sense of humour. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart, Wheats."

And her phone rings.