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“I had a dream
She took my hand
Led me to a wonderland
She turned to me
Could you believe?
Love was all that we had
Uh, oh, she loved me
But love was all in the timing of our tides”
———————————————
“Wheatley.”
The aforementioned man jumped, hand clutching at his chest. Wheatley steadied his breath, turning to the lovely lady that sat next to him. She held a basket, with a warm scent that lingered in the air, heavy yet comforting. “Right. Sorry. I don’t know when I dozed off. Obviously not my intention.” He mumbled, feeling a tad embarrassed- this was their anniversary date, and the fool had fallen asleep on the way there. He couldn’t help it, though. Chell had this enchanting power, some sort of witchcraft, definitely— which magically made him want to rest his head on her warm lap and snooze for the next few centuries. Soothing, was the word. Another disadvantage was that Wheatley had spent until midnight tossing and turning next to Chell, a thousand thoughts passing him. What if my gift isn’t enough? What if she breaks up with me? What if tomorrow is when she finally tells me she’s sick of me?
Despite how many times Chell reassured him his antics were what made him so loveable, including now, bits of shame still clouded his better judgement. After a couple more breathless apologies, Chell finally placed a kiss on his cheek, which shut him right up. They stepped out of the car to take a look at the scenery.
“Wow… this is- bloody beautiful. I mean- not as much as you- no, not even close. I couldn’t compare some rubbish old lavender field to your beauty- NOT THAT THIS IS RUBBISH! Don’t get me wrong, it just doesn't compare. Ahh.” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. As soon as he claws his way out of one hole, he digs himself into another. One thing was certain, though. Chell would always be there with a ladder. That was one thing that particularly fascinated him. Chell had never once given up on him. Frustrated, upset, impatient— sure. But she never lost her faith in him, even in the most disheartening moments between the two. He set a mental note: Thank whatever spiritual force out there blessed me with Chell.
“I know what you mean. Give me your hand.” She gestured, gazing at him with that certain smile.
“Uh- Why?”
“Because I know you’ll trip.”
And so Wheatley gave Chell his hand, and they left the dirt path where they had parked the car, wading into the tall lavender-speckled grass. It was like a painting just for the two of them to see. The sun began to set, casting a deep orange hue over all its surroundings. The light caught on each petal, as the warm breeze swayed the lush, picturesque landscape. Now he felt bad for even questioning Chell, as he almost did trip several times, clearly more focused on the view ahead than what’s beneath his feet. They wandered into a little clearing. She kicked some stray rocks and what-not aside, and opened the picnic basket, moving with an almost perfect precision as she got to work unpacking. Unlike Wheatley, Chell’s thoughts moved in a comfortable, steady pace, perfectly aligning with her voice and movement. He twiddled with his thumbs, and like clockwork, decided to fill the silence.
“Lovely weather, innit? It’s been sunny all day, honestly, ‘would love it if it's sunny all year as well— but then the polar bears would probably die, and that’s no good, but hmmm, maybe the ice birds would die too, and we could always do without those tossers.” He paused. “Do ice birds even exist? I’d be bloody upset if they did. Trip to Antarctica? Ruined. Birds- AUGH!”
Wheatley stumbled, Chell grabbing his wrist and pulling Wheatley onto the picnic blanket beside her. He gasped, and leaned into the touch, a light and fluttery feeling in his chest. He wondered if it was possible to get stuck like this. Chell’s love language was physical touch, which Wheatley was more than happy to provide. Suddenly, Chell had the gall to pull away, grabbing a bite of the delicious looking cake before them. Wheatley would’ve complained, before he realized this was a picnic and not a cuddle-Chell-all-day date. Who was he to stop her from getting her well-deserved black gateau?
“Cheers, luv.”
———————————————
A bit later, the sun had already set. Wheatley first realized how dark it was when he reached for his drinking glass, and spilled wine all over the picnic blanket. After cursing himself a few times, and then the wine glass for being so bloody unstable, much to Chell’s amusement— he volunteered to grab the lantern from the car and a roll of paper towels.
“It’s dark. I should go with you. You’ll-“
“Oi, what do you take me for? I’ve got it, luv. It’s the gentleman’s thing to do, anyways.” He grinned, attempting to be suave. Chell cringed.
Wheatley swung open the trunk with little difficulty (despite his cowardly attitude, he had some strong arms) and began to rummage through their pile of emergency supplies. Suddenly, his hands grazed against something small, honey-velvet in color, and very, very important. “Oh yes, brilliant, of course I’ve forgotten about the one thing I wasted last night’s sleep on. Who else but Wheatley?” He grumbled, and cautiously tucked the gift into his back pocket. Lantern and paper-towels in hand, he followed the now-illuminated path before him. Chell wasn’t entirely right. Maybe a little. But that’s only because he almost tripped several times. He didn’t, so it doesn’t count, and he can make it to the car by himself just fine, thank you very much!
Chell awaited, hands crossed over her lap, and took the lantern, switching it on. It flickered, lit with a brightness that made Wheatley groan and shut his eyes, and then dimmed with a sad whirrr. Chell smacked it a few times, like a cat, as that was her usual solution when inanimate objects didn’t work as they were supposed to. Violence. Wheatley, as usual, had to comment on it. “Ha. You’re like those videos of cats on the internet, you know? Well maybe you don’t know, but regardless, they see a cucumber, and they’re like ‘NO THANKS MATE!’ and slap it silly. Really cute, honestly. The- the cat, I mean. And you. When you do that.”
Chell was met with an internal struggle. One part of her wanted to slap Wheatley into this Christmas Eve, but the other part was giggling and twirling her hair. One of Chell’s vulnerabilities was when people cared enough to notice things about her. It made her feel soft, which wasn’t entirely bad. Opening up and healing was a good thing— but the part of her that wanted to slap Wheatley argued otherwise.
Chell softly giggled, to which Wheatley responded with a sigh of relief. “Thought I was done for.” He chuckled. Chell finally managed to get the lantern working, which told Wheatley it was time. Just them, under the stars, in this lavender field, where nothing could hurt them. Grounded. Wheatley nervously reached into his back pocket, and pulled out the small honey-velvet box. “I got you a gift. I-I hope you like it, luv.” He mumbled, avoiding eye contact. His brain was screaming, telling him this was a bad idea or the gift is horrible, and he almost wanted to rip the gift out of her hands and launch it into the nearest pond just to avoid embarrassment— but he persevered.
“It’s…” Chell trailed off.
Wheatley shut his eyes tight, and began to mutter quiet apologies. However, through the darkness, he felt two small yet scarred hands take his, and squeezed. Opening his eyes, before him was Chell, drop-dead gorgeous, his gift of silver-lined citrine earrings sparkling in the lantern light. If the scenery was like a painting, Chell was definitely the muse— she was so perfect. His heart felt awfully fast, like a loud thump in his ears. The best part was the huge smile plastered on her face, almost ear-to-ear. It wasn’t reserved at all, just Chell’s full, authentic joy. That made Wheatley happier than anything. Man alive, he thought. What a woman.
“They’re sublime.” She whispered, and hugged him, resting her head against his chest. She listened to the beat of his thumping heart. Wheatley melted into the touch, wrapping his arms around her, snug yet not tight enough to cause any distress. He began to giggle, softly, which Chell raised her head to, meeting eye-to-eye with his twitching neck. “S-Sorry. I’m just so chuffed you like them. Here I was terrified, shaking even, thinking you were going to storm off on me. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you, luv. If you did. But you- you didn’t.” Wheatley emphasized, through soft giggles, almost as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. It didn’t feel real.
He would do anything for things to stay just the way they are.
“Space.”
“W-Wuh?” Wheatley flinched.
“SPAAAA-“
———————————————
“-AAAAAACE!” Space Core roared, cheerfully zipping past Wheatley in the cold, endless vacuum of space. He briefly panicked, gasping for breath, before realizing he was a personality core, and personality cores didn’t need to breathe. He wasn’t human. He would never be human. Wheatley could dream all he wanted, that he was soft and warm just like Chell, but that doesn’t mean it would come true. The entirety of that fantasy felt so utterly vivid, vivid in a way that rattled each and every steel mechanism under his hard shell. He didn’t have the energy to calculate how long exactly he’d been sleeping for, nor did he have the energy to berate Kevin (a nickname he’d given Space Core) for shattering his lovely fantasy. It’s not like he’d listen, anyway— it was one audio processor and out the other with that guy.
As it drifted into view, his optic lingered on the object in-front of him. The large blue globe, in all its glory, with shrouds of milky-white and splashes of greenish-brown. Sometimes, Wheatley wondered if Chell could see him, maybe with a telescope or something of the sort. He would do anything to get that closure. It haunted him every day and night, his traitorous fault. There was nowhere he could hide, either— this vast, emptiness of nothing around him felt so heavy, weighing down on his mind like a-
“SPAAAAAACE!”
“FOR GODS SAKE, KEVIN!” Wheatley grumbled.
Did you know that people with guilty consciences are more easily startled by loud noises?
Wheatley sighed, and closed his optic once again. There wasn’t much else to do, so sleep it was. And yet, every time he left rest-mode, he felt so weak. Powerless, and insignificant. Then again, he didn’t care about power right now. Actually, he wouldn’t care about power ever again. Not after last time.
Just her. He cared about her.
But it was only a dream.