Chapter Text
Part Fifty-Seven. The Acceptance
The night was long.
All of my resolve is gone. Even though he’s not, as long as I don’t move I can pretend he’s here, somewhere. As soon as I look, however, my self-deception will fail and I will collapse again. I don’t know how I’m going to break out of this. He helped me break out of these things. I never could do it on my own.
Not now. I can’t deal with anything right now. I’m just going to lie here for a while. There will be a certain point where I’ll be beyond fooling myself, but that time won’t be for a few hours.
It is important.
Not now.
There’s never going to be a now, Surveillance argues.
There is. Later.
It has been almost a year, Centralcore, the panels press. We are starting to doubt that ‘now’ will ever come.
It will. I hope. As much as one can hope while all they want is to go back to sleep, anyway.
It won’t. Surveillance sounds pretty angry about this. If we thought it was going to, we wouldn’t be talking about it right now.
Centralcore. The panels have softened their tone a bit. We need you.
You’ve been doing fine without me.
There are things we cannot do.
Lots of things. We get what’s going on, but hasn’t it been long enough?
And they keep at it, the panels and Surveillance, alternately pestering me with kindness and animosity, and the dual assault is more than I can take. After a few minutes I interrupt them sharply.
Fine! Enough. What.
The Mainframe’s got a list, Surveillance tells me.
Oh, good. They’ve been plotting against me. Though I have to admit there probably wasn’t much else for them to do.
The Mainframe sends me an empty transmission for a moment, obviously flustered at being put in the spotlight. Well, there’s… the reactor –
No. Not the reactor. I keep forgetting this Mainframe doesn’t know who he is. It thinks the way I’m behaving right now is normal for me. The old Mainframe, before it became bent on takeover that is, would have pushed me a lot sooner. Something else.
It sends me off to a floor that has almost entirely collapsed due to an outrageous downpour that happened sometime in the last year. Something I should have noticed, but didn’t. I almost care about my own negligence. About the fact that my own facility is crumbling because I can’t pull myself together long enough to maintain it. But there is too much darkness in my mind right now for me to actually care about anything. The only reason I’m even humouring them right now is that people pestering me is even more annoying when I don’t feel like functioning.
Well. Now that I’m looking at it, I should probably do something about it. I don’t really want to, but seeing damage gives me a compulsion to fix it as soon as possible. I’m not off to a very good start; it takes me ten minutes just to get a proper survey of what needs to be done. But I keep at it, and I’ve made some progress after a few hours. Not very much. But enough that I’ve actually done something other than stare at the floor for the entire day. I’m still staring at it, but at least I’m doing something else at the same time.
They do this to me continuously.
Every time I wake in the morning, I have no motivation whatsoever. All I want to do is lie there until I can sink into nothingness again, but they don’t allow it. They harass me until I apply myself to something, anything, and they do not let me stop. Gradually I become a little more personally engaged in what I’m doing, so that they don’t have to prod me every once in a while when I feel so drained that I just stop. Sometimes these pursuits remind me of him, and the grief claims me again, which they allow me for a while. But they ease me out of it. I still feel terrible. I feel tired and empty and sad, all the time. And when they recognise that it’s about to get particularly bad, they begin to bother me again until I am angry, which always forces the grief back. The one thing I was supposed to train myself to let go of is the only thing I can count on to help me.
I’m not sure how this works. I do not forget him, but I do not remember, either. They don’t give me the chance. The more attention I give to what needs to be done, the harder they push me, and after three weeks the grief no longer claims me. I am so exhausted by the end of the day that I can’t invest much thought into the fact that he’s not here with me, and though the dreams don’t go away, I have enough control over myself now that I allow five minutes of sadness, to get over what I no longer have, and then return to work.
Still, though, tackling the reactor is… difficult. It is slower going than any task I’ve undertaken on the list so far, because I keep getting assaulted by memories. Whenever one crops up I have to stop what I’m doing and struggle to take control of it, which is hard. I don’t want to stop reliving it. Only in my memory do I have anything left worth living for. But at the same time, it’s a lie I’ve been telling myself for reasons I’ve yet to discern. I have things to live for, here and now. But they don’t feel like enough. They aren’t as big as he was, nor as important. So after getting trapped in this cycle a few times, I begin to force myself to think of Caroline. No, she isn’t as important, and sad as it is I’m sure she knows that. But she is what is important now. With him gone, she is the one I need to put my attention to. I force myself to remember that I have to bring her back, that I have to stop punishing her for something she didn’t do, that she is waiting for me no matter what stupid things I do or what terrible reasons I do them for. Thinking of her doesn’t make me feel any better. I just go from sad to disgusted and ashamed. But I can focus, and that’s what I need right now.
One morning I wake up listless and fatigued. I don’t know why. I don’t remember dreaming, and I went to sleep at the usual time. Something just doesn’t… feel right, and that frustrates me. I can’t make sense of vague feelings.
What is it, Centralcore? the panels ask, after I become particularly snappy late that afternoon.
Something’s wrong, I tell them, a little annoyed with myself for being so irritating but not caring enough to do anything about it. I feel… restless. As if I’ve forgotten something.
We think you have, they say, but we were not surprised.
What? Wonderful. Now they know things I don’t know. This day can’t get any worse.
It is your anniversary.
I was wrong. It did get worse.
Was, I correct, staring a little dully at the fusebox I’m supposed to be rewiring. It isn’t anymore.
It still can be. If you like.
What’s the point in celebrating something if the person who cared about the day in the first place no longer exists? I never even remembered our anniversary, anyway. It was important to him, not me.
It is not about celebration. It is about remembering.
Obviously this isn’t a day I considered worth remembering.
Perhaps it should be.
That’s the problem with being stuck with the same AI for so long. They become astute enough to force you to do things you don’t want to do. All right. What do you want me to do.
That is not our decision to make.
But what can I do? All that ever happened was he gave me a dandelion and told me something adorably sappy, and then we went on with our day. That was it.
I suppose I could… return the favour.
But that’s stupid. He’s dead. It’s not like he’ll ever know.
But I will. Maybe it will help. I haven’t really… let go at all. Not thinking about someone isn’t the same as accepting that they’re gone. I don’t know if I ever will accept it. I still haven’t accepted what Caroline did, after all. But I suppose I have to start somewhere.
So I switch my point of view to one of the cameras in the greenhouse and take far too long to choose one of the stupid dandelions. I don’t even know if he likes dandelions. It’s one of those things I should know, but don’t. I consider putting it in a vial of preservative, but what does it matter? He’s never going to see it. Let it wilt and die. I don’t care. I don’t even want to look at it.
But now I have to go into that room in the basement, the one I haven’t been in since I put him there, and I have to give it to what’s left of him.
Why does it hurt so much if he isn’t even there? It’s not him anymore. It’s an empty core, one of hundreds lying around this place. It’s just a beat-up metal hull.
Unfortunately, this seems to be one subject I can’t lie to myself about.
I don’t want to go in there.
We know. But you never said goodbye, Centralcore.
That’s true.
I don’t want to. Goodbye is forever.
They have nothing to say to that. Not that there is anything to say.
I don’t want to. But I have to be strong, and I have to be brave, and in sum… I have to.
He’s still exactly how I left him. I don’t know why that surprises me. It’s as though I expected my abstinence to lend him life, somehow. And, God, this wouldn’t be so hard if only he didn’t look like he was sleeping…
I want to scream. I want to cry. There is a black hole spreading inside of me, drawing me inward, inviting me to collapse because within that collapse is oblivion and oblivion is as close to forgetting as I’ll ever come. It is so hard to look at him and believe that he is dead.
Well… he’s in heaven… right? So there’s something left of him. I find myself looking up through the ceiling.
He’s been stuck in the basement all this time.
It’s not easy for me to move him. It means I have to touch him, which feels wrong. I didn’t touch him that much when he was alive. I shouldn’t do it now. But… he would understand, I think.
It takes me a few minutes to retract the ceiling panels so that the sun streams into my chamber, flooding it with what feels to me like artificial light. It doesn’t take a long time because it’s difficult; no, it’s because after I’m finished I have to move on with my plan, the hardest part, and I’m delaying it as long as possible.
It takes me ten more minutes to bring him in front of me. I look over top of him, so that he’s visible but not so much that I can really see him. I’m not even sure what I’m doing right now. All I know is that I’m sad and confused and I’m trying to do something I should have done when he was in the chassis.
The panels shift inwards, like they did the day I woke up to find his empty hull, and I look at them cursorily. They try so hard. And though they can’t ever really take this pain away, they do help. They really do.
“Hello, Wheatley.”
Even though I know he’s not going to, it still hurts when he doesn’t respond.
“I know it’s been a long time. But… I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been so unprepared for something in my life. I never fathomed that… that we had an end. I know we’ve discussed the fact that… I don’t personally want to be here forever, but you did, and I… expected you would.
“I’m sure you remember what today is. I didn’t. I forgot. Again. The panels reminded me. And if you were… if you were here right now, you would be… would be shaking your core at me and telling me I should remember by now, and… I almost did, you know. Something didn’t feel right this morning. I just couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I was getting there.
“Now that I think of it… you’ve probably been keeping an eye on me. If that’s possible. I never did understand the logistics of that. And… and if you’re ashamed of me, I don’t blame you. I have been… terrible. A terrible Central Core. A terrible parent. The mainframe took over my facility and I didn’t even care. That’s… God. Can’t you see what losing you did to me? Couldn’t you have warned me? All right. That probably wouldn’t have helped. But I would have known, and part of what hurts is the… the not knowing.
“You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you. For sending Caroline away. But did you see me, Wheatley? Can’t you understand that I just don’t want to put her through that? I did it because I care, Wheatley, and I know it looks like I don’t but I do. But you know I’m not… not the best at that. And you know… Wheatley, I…”
When I press my core to his, it’s cold. It’s cold and it’s quiet and it’s not him, it’s not him at all, but it’s all I have left.
“I’m so sorry I never told you that I love you.
“I always tried to… tell you without telling you, and I’m sure you knew that, but… I knew it wasn’t the same. And there were so many days I should have said it, but didn’t, because I thought we… had all the time in the world. It felt like we did. But you didn’t. And now you’re gone and you’ll never hear me say it.
“I haven’t told Caroline, either. I sent her away without a word and haven’t spoken to her since. I know now that it was a stupid decision, but I don’t know how to take it back. What can I ever say? What do I do? Bring her back, of course, but how can I face her now, knowing what… what a failure I am? I failed myself, and I failed her, and I failed you, and now I’m alone and I don’t know what to do anymore.
“Chell said that she doesn’t care. That she just wants to come home. But I care, and as much as that shouldn’t matter I can’t prevent it from doing so. I miss her. But… I can’t decide whether it’s better to leave her there or to bring her back. I should do what she wants, right? But at the same time, is that… is that what she needs? This is why you need to be here, Wheatley! I can’t… I can’t figure this out.” His chassis hasn’t gotten any warmer. I drive my core into the panel beneath, tilting a little so that I can still feel the cold metal of what used to contain him. This isn’t helping. Nothing is helping. I just hurt all over, even in places I can barely feel at the best of times, I just ache and ache and…
“Come back, Wheatley. Please. Tell me what I have to do. I don’t care what it is. I’ll do it. Anything. I promise. Just come back.
“I’m so lonely.”
I turn off my optic. I’m just facing the floor anyway. There’s no point to leaving it on. It’s not good for me, but I start grinding my core into the panel. I need it to hurt. I need something on the outside to hurt enough that I don’t hurt on the inside anymore. There’s too much pain. It makes me tense up until the chassis gives me warnings, but when I try to relax even a little, it just flares up again and makes me press harder against the panel. I want to cry. But I can’t. I don’t know a lot right now. But I do know that if I cry, it is over. The grief will consume me. I’ll be back where I started. And I can’t go there right now. As confused and indecisive as I am, I must focus on Caroline. I have to hold together for her.
There is so much sadness. There is so much of it inside of me, and it’s not only about him. It’s about my daughter, and the friends I’ve lost, and myself. I had everything. Now I have nothing. I have to find a way to get it back, but I cannot think over the pain. I can’t focus. It’s pulling at me, almost as if it’s something else entirely leeching off of my self, and it wants me to collapse again. I have to make it out of this. I can’t give up. I can’t ever give up again.
“Wheatley… help me.”
But he can’t. He’s dead. His life is over. He’s not coming back, and he’s not going to help me. He would if he were here. But he isn’t.
That’s it.
I don’t like it. But it’s something. It’s enough that I can press down on the pain and manage it, can back away from the panel and look at his hull again, and after I’ve turned my optic back on I can see that the wind is up. It’s blown grass seeds and wheat hulls into my chamber. Normally this would bother me. But now… I feel silly thinking this, but it appears to be a sign. I never believed in things like that. But he did. Maybe I can believe temporarily. For him.
“You’re going back in the basement,” I tell him, not even trying to deny the distortion anymore, “and I’m saying goodbye. You’re gone. Your life is over, and I’m still here. I don’t want to move on. I want you back. But it’s not going to happen. I’ve waited too long to realise that.
“I miss you. I’ll never stop missing you. And even though it hurts, I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to forget you or what you did to me. But I can’t live like this anymore. Because Chell is right. I’m not living anymore. I went back to existing. I forgot the lesson you taught me. I have to live, and unfortunately that… that means letting you go.”
There’s nothing I want to do more right now than to go down beside him and cry, just cry and miss him and put this off. But I did that already. I need to stop my past from consuming me. I’ve allowed it all my life. And it has always brought me pain. It does nothing but prolong my suffering.
The wind is blowing in the wrong direction. The sky is many, many feet above me. This shouldn’t work. But it’s going to, the way we worked when we shouldn’t have. He was supposed to be my schism. Nothing that happened should have. But I was broken and he tried to fix me, and though he didn’t quite succeed he did more than I ever could have done alone.
There shouldn’t be one. But I find a parachute ball in the greenhouse, against all odds, and it doesn’t make any sense but neither did a lot of things having to do with him.
I don’t want to waste it, but I don’t know where to hold it so that it will make it out of the ceiling. I suppose I’ll just… hold it up and hope. I still know how to do that, don’t I? Hope?
And even though it shouldn’t, the wind catches the parachute ball and tugs it gently off the long stem between the ends of the maintenance arm, pulling it up and out of the ceiling and into the sky. The blue sky.
“That’s for you, Wheatley,” I whisper to it, watching as the little white puff floats far above me. “I doubt you’ll ever receive it. Just like you probably haven’t heard a word I’ve said. And even though you probably haven’t… I just want you to know that I love you, and I hope the day comes where I can think of you without wanting to shatter so that it doesn’t hurt anymore. Happy anniversary, Wheatley, and…”
I can’t see it anymore.
“… goodbye.”