endless portals

          Chell would normally offer a curt and snappy response, but she can't bring herself to be rude to a child. Adorable faces win the day. She scrawls out an answer in her notebook, bending down on her knees to match Clementine's height, and holds it out.

When you run around as much as I do, you don't get cold.

     The lack of even a smile on her face only made the one Wheatley was having trouble keeping up disappear completely now— What was he supposed to do to gain back her companionship? If he couldn’t communicate positive things then really there couldn’t be anything else to do; He knew humans ate up positive words from others, but it was clear through her bod language that the woman was not going to have it.

     Once she had come to a halt and let go of his arm the android crossed those limbs over his chest, waiting patiently as she scribbled against the withered surface of what he assumed was once a pearly white pillar. Blue optics scanned the rest of the space to pass the small amount of time as he held his tongue, knowing that (at least) his compliments were useless.

     The glance signaled him to uncross his arms and step forwards, murmuring to himself as he read it.

          “All right, now what do we have here… Uh, you want my trust…”

     Earn it? How? No… How wasn’t the question he should be asking— He couldn’t limit something that he had deemed so important by asking useless questions like that. The android huffed to himself before looking back up at Chell with a small nod.

          That done, she turned her attention back to the pillar and began to draw under her original written statement. The first thing to come to mind was food. Any would do, really, she wasn’t picky. Wheatley was a robot, though, and despite all his human tendencies, her faith in his knowledge of the food groups was limited at best. So she drew a picture of something she hoped he would know, if only by way of the methods GLaDOS used as motivation. A picture of a cake. Water was an arguably more pressing matter, but her hope was that wherever food was, beverages would follow.

          Below that, a crude picture of a bed was rendered. While sleeping was yet another entirely human function, Chell knew that he had to know what that was. It was where he’d met her, after all. The faithful Relaxation Chamber. Not that she had any desire to sleep in that particular bed, given the connotations behind it, but a bed in general would be a godsend.

          “Y’know, I actually just realized that maybe— Just maybe, now— It would not be the best to say anything. I have my limits; no birds, first of all, I don’t care what they’re doing, I will not go anywhere near one so long as my name is Wheatley. Which will be always. And further on—”

     The android’s speech was cut off as Chell began to successfully pull him across the surface, a small sound of surprise escaping him. Gosh this woman was strong— He couldn’t even manage to pull himself around without minor issues. It took him a moment to actually start walking on his own, getting a bit caught up in his thoughts again. He took a brief look around, an idea striking him.

          “You know, you have got yourself a beautiful home, really magnificent. Love what you’ve done with it— Really, truly perfect.”

          The source of her strength was due to the trials and tribulations Aperture had put her through, as well as her attempts at survival afterwards, so she had her status as a former lab rat to thank for that. She was not grateful in the slightest. Sure, she could endure what life threw at her, but she wouldn’t have had to if it weren’t for the living hell they made her life into to begin with. It was something she remembered each time she lugged her companion cube to a new place, each situation in which her muscles burned from exertion. Compared to that, dragging around Wheatley was a piece of cake, regardless of the body he possessed.

                    (God, she could go for some cake.)

          Any compliments only served to irritate her, and Chell’s shoulders hunched over as a blatant indication. She wanted out. That was the whole point of this little charade. Not that he had any reason to suspect that yet, other than how barren and abysmal the surroundings were, but the robot would see that soon enough.

          She brought him to a section littered with square pillars from floor to ceiling, the surface of each of them a smooth concrete. Many of them were filled to the brim with drawings, the lines thick and dark and smudgy. The source of the artwork was what Chell picked up when she arrived at the destination, a stick of charcoal she idly bounced in her hand a few times. She glanced back at Wheatley once, chose a neglected pillar with writing room to spare, and gave him a message.

Portal: There You Are - Created by Donksdev

Wheatley had nearly forgotten how maddeningly autonomous the Lady was. Only took advice when she fancied it and plowed on her own course otherwise. Poor thing. Look at her. Clearly the brain damage hadn’t cleared up. If she was trying to read that poster then she was holding it entirely the wrong way, what with the cartoonish imagery and unethical work advice facing his direction. Rookie mistake. He should be gentle about this. She was, thus far, the most passive version of the Lady he’d come across, once they got past the stage of pointing guns housing miniature black holes at his optic.

"That’s paper. I know, interesting, you may be unfamiliar with. Probably has some sort of texture you’re enjoying right now. I’m glad you’re enjoying it, sincerely, you’re having a whale of a time there. But it isn’t ACTUALLY part of the machine I was trying to tell you about. You’re close! Oh, so close, look at that, just look down! Right below it, that there, at all the metal bits, isn’t THAT more interesting? Yeah, wow, I’d think that’s fascinating—" Hang about. She was coming back out. A grindy sound of his motors struggling for traction signified his movement, scooting along the rail back toward the doorway to halo her in weak lighting.

"… oh." She wrote something. Clever minx. His shutters squinted slightly, entire core executing the smallest of tilts to go with him working out the three simple letters with a tiny bit more time than should have been necessary. "How. How? How… how does paper work? Um. Heh, It’s great you’re curious, trying to expand your educational boundaries, but I don’t quite think- waitwait, the machine? You mean- you mean the machine!” His smudged optic lit a bit brighter, voltage ticking up several notches with new interest.

"How does my machine work! Of course! Of course you’d wonder, it’s amazing, all the things I said. Well. Um.” He had no idea. “… science, to start with. There’s science involved. Something about physics. Maybe algebra…” The core dithered his attention past her, washing her into a slight silhouette when his focus gleamed onto the window. An idea struck him, pulling him back in only a few moments. “Actually? Actually THAT there is just the control booth. The HOW is downstairs! Below us, specifically. That’s where the magic happens. This here? This room? Is the result.”

She should have known better.

The hopeful expression that had fitted her face just moments before melted away, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards in disappointment. Of course he didn’t know how it worked. Chell was willing to bet that his knowledge of the workings of that machine extended about as far as his claims of knowing how to hack did. It’s not like he built the thing, anyway. What a waste of time. A waste of paper, too. Maybe she could just take the rest of the posters for supplies and head out to look on her own, after all? She could roll one up, try to use it as a torch, make her own light source—

Or not, okay, maybe this could be salvaged. The room he spoke of below them could still be promising. She hadn’t seen it yet, so there was no reason to rule it out, save for the doubts crawling into her mind like creeping vines. One last look, and then if something salvageable was gleaned, all the better. If not, she would go home. Wherever home was. A perfectly rationale plan.

The resounding boom was enough to jolt the ex-test subject out of her thoughts and into the present. She reached out to grip at the doorframe for security’s sake, and the poster fell from her hands, fluttering carelessly to the floor. The sensation was over quick as a wink, though the paranoia it instilled remained as an afterthought. Power. Power was good. He could be lying, the racket could be the first sign of this decayed version of Aperture caving in on itself, but if it was, she still had her long fall boots. And the portal gun. She’d dealt with far worse.

☩ for a bedroom headcanon

✖ for a tattoo headcanon (One they have or one they want)

♖ for a childhood headcanon

♬ for a song that fits them

↹ for a best friend headcanon

☾ for a sleeping headcanon 

✻ for if they are a night or day person

✄ for a drunken headcanon

♘ for a pet headcanon

❀ for their favorite season

☮ for an embarrassing headcanon

✈ for a traveling headcanon

           ”Oh. Now I’m embarrassed.”

          Chell looked satisfied enough with that admission of humiliation. Still a bit miffed, but easing off of it gradually, the hard edges of her features softening. She nodded, then thumbed to a new page in the notebook, her writing still hurried and veering straight the point. Lack of speech had taught her not to waste words. She also made a point to not shove the book in Ellie's face as aggressively as she had the time before.

I can't talk. That's it.

          ... I came from far away.

     But then he felt her fists wrapping around his suit, making it tighter against his skin, and then he looked up again to see that Chell was clearly not as happy as he was to be back together. The grin slowly slid off the android’s face, replaced by a frown. She certainly hadn’t forgotten about what had happened, and how could he blame her?

          “Hey, hey… You got to understand that that wasn’t me! The uh, with the whole situation there, I know you’re thinking about it… I couldn’t help what I did, and I really am truly sorry about it!”

     Wheatley managed to get the rest of his body through the portal and scrambled up to his feet, hands self-consciously picking away at his suit, wringing the material nervously. His eyes had dimmed a significant amount once he had understood that she wasn’t as jubilant to see him as he was her.

          That was the thing about robots, Chell mused. Their simulations could be as accurate to the human experience as they wanted, but at the end of the day, it was all optional. They could live completely and totally in the present, and why wouldn't they? Reliving the past didn't seem particularly convenient, unnecessary coding.

          Truth be told, she still wouldn't speak to him at this point, even if she could. Even if the glimpse of his face she caught against her better judgement looked sorrowful. She didn't need to fall for that. It would be a waste of paper, too, writing out her intentions. The former lab rat wasn't sure when she would come across any more, so that was being saved for a last resort.

                    But...

                              There was a way she could show him.

          Okay, hold up, a clone? That's just rude. Any implication that she was lesser, a          copy of the original, did not fly in her book. She simply did not have the words to          voice this opinion.

"You know," Wheatley didn’t leave much silence between them, always finding another excuse to fill the hollow space with dialogue while watching her poke around. "It’d be easier, for both of us, if you could just tell me what you’re looking for. Ridiculous notion, right, you doing that— heh, I’d probably die of shock, actually! If you did. Still, all kidding aside, I have no idea what you think you’re doing right now. Possibly exercising. In the dark. Around sharp, pointy, rusted objects. I know you like the thrill of danger, you’ve made that much clear, in the past, but it’s okay to take a break. Sit down. Maybe play some twenty questions so I— Okay, we’re going over here instead.”

The noise settled as the core stole her light briefly, finding it necessary to roll his optic in a grandiose fashion before puttering his chugging rail guide after her. Although the neglected track dipped into the cramped compartment, Wheatley opted against entering. The ceiling was low and at the moment he’d much prefer remaining out of the ex-subject’s reach. So he coasted outside of the booth instead, his flashlight spotting through the dusty and smudged glass, highlighting an oily handprint decades old and forever a mystery.

"Careful-" He had chirped when the stairs rattled and groaned but held steady for her to slip inside the musty room. Her presence woke ancient dust like a shaken snowglobe, his light source like a thick syrup amongst the airborne motes as it glittered the metal terminal face dully. Yellowed employee posters dotted the wall and an old cushioned stool lay on it’s side before the maddening assortment of buttons and levers.

She blinked, adjusting to the filter of smudgy glass and dust clouds and how it affected her light source, in turn. A few seconds were allowed to sharpen her senses, and then she trudged onwards, a watchful eye scanning for details. The handprint embedded in the glass and the scattered posters drew her to the conclusion that this contraption was man-made, at least originally. That was a start. That meant there could be some semblance of instructions or an explanation somewhere or other, if the creators had the sense to write it down, if only to brag. Unless they were all digital. In which case, she was screwed.

The woman even nodded towards Wheatley’s blatant attempts to impress, for once, indulgent but truthful. She was interested. It was why she had stuck around, after all, why she was poking her nose where it likely did not belong. If only the damn power wasn’t out. It made exploring that much harder, and meant that she had to turn to him for answers, unsure on how to even go about asking them. Her notebook was small, and Wheatley was up high, and the lighting was not ideal. Not favorable conditions for communicating.

Then her gaze fell on the yellowed posters again.

‘... Time to get creative.’

Chell ripped one right off the wall with no regard whatsoever for any damage it might do and flipped it over, pressing it up against the glass for a hard writing surface. (Better the poster than parts of the machine, on the damage front.) She took the pen out of her pocket and put it to paper. To make sure they were visible, the letters were drawn as huge as the poster margins would allow, a good deal of pressure applied to the pen to ensure dark strokes, and multiple lines were scrawled on the side of each letter to increase visibility further.

It was only word, but she would make it count.

Moving to stand in the doorway of the room afterwards, she gestured once to the machine, and finally pointed to her revised version of the poster that she held in front of her chest upon completion.

          “Perfect. A language barrier.”

{ Ellie blinked and pointed to herself.}

                    " . . . "

          Chell made no attempt to hide her irritation, and huffed audibly as she went to grab a notebook from her back pocket. She scrawled out her words quickly, tearing off the page and thrusting it into Ellie's face once she was done, expression entirely unimpressed.

          “Oh— Look at you. You look good, look good… Healthy. And, I’m being truthfully honest right now, you really do look significantly better since the last time I saw you. Last time I saw you—” A pause as the memories came flooding back from when he had lost control of himself and nearly killed her. He chuckled nervously, a hand moving to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

          “Last time I saw you I suppose I left things on a bit of a bad finish— Speaking of that, the uh, the bad finish; I’d like to formally apologize fo— Wh… What are you doing.”

     The only thing Wheatley could manage to do was assist in pulling him through the portal just a bit, worried that even someone like her wouldn’t be able to handle his weight. And then bright blue eyes met the darker brown and he couldn’t help the rather goofy grin that popped up onto his face.

          Then she hoisted him through, trying to get a good look, and he just smiled, cheery as can be. Like there was nothing wrong. Like he hadn't betrayed her, tested her, tried to kill her. They say time can heal all wounds, but when that time has been muddled by erased memories, the wounds feel that much more fresh. It would take more than a half-baked afterthought of an apology to make this right.

          Chell squeezed her eyes shut, tightening her fists in the fabric of his jacket so hard her knuckles turned white, and then let go entirely. She scrambled to stand up, finding her breathing more labored than it should be by all accounts. She couldn't afford to look weak, not in front of him. Not in front of a robot. The new body just... Caught her off guard, that's all.

"Uh—" Wheatley hadn’t expected her to move and his surprise transmitted as a pitch higher than usual, combined with the mechanical whine of him pivoting on his connector to change direction. "Where are you— alright, okay, you want a look around. A bit curious, I suppose, of what’s knocking around here." He narrated aloud assumptions to explain her often erratic behavior, motor clacking on loose connections as he ground along the rail overhead. His sputtering flashlight was the only beacon for her to rely upon, dancing across crushed tile floors and damp patches of fungus prospering in the humidity. "If you wanted some advice, and I doubt you do, but in the off-chance you’re open to it? I would suggest NOT wandering around. Right now. I don’t know if you noticed, it’s easy to miss, wouldn’t be your fault, but right now? Having a tiny bit of a power outage. No lights. If you’ll just- just stop, wait a bit, it should be right back! Usually.”

Somehow it didn’t seem she had the patience to wait for neglected generators to get their act together. Not about to leave her wandering to her own devices, far too interested and far too involved, the core waved the white flag of surrender in the form of providing her light. It was unreliable, tending to strobe as his battery skipped, but it was more than the nothing the murky black around them was going to offer. At least the room wasn’t a terrible puzzle; a massive, circular chamber with a seemingly endless, haunted ceiling even his flashlight couldn’t puncture. The entire thing was vacant of a purpose, nothing but litter and collapse of age, except for one far corner. There up a rickety bit of metal steps sat a booth with a wide glass wall, housing the currently darkened terminal of his precious machine.

Wheatley’s attempts to dissuade her, as he was apt to notice on his own, did nothing to weaken her resolve. If anything, they only strengthened it. Discussing the power outage and how dangerous the facility may or may not be as a result did not interest her. Investigating did. It wasn’t about what she couldn’t do, in her mind. It was about what she could do. The former test subject had spent long enough waiting. The time for action was nigh, and she would be damned if she let a little power outage stop her.

… Not that there was much to investigate, as it turned out. The catwalk looped back around itself in a circle. The one escape route—okay, calm down, not an escape route, not yet, just a door— did not seem optimally built for the robotic companion. The hanging bit of twisted metal that was supposed to be fully attached to the management rail attested to that. There was something else that managed to spark Chell’s interest for the briefest of moments when she inspected the shadowed corners further, though, a walled off section with reflective glass that looked like an operating booth. However, given the complete and utter darkness enveloping everything, the chances of finding out anything useful from it seemed slim.

Ultimately, she decided to pick the easier option. The booth meant avoiding, or at least prolonging, a one-sided conversation about how dangerous it would be to detach from the rail, and how the core doubted she could catch him, because look how last time turned out, yeah? What a track record. And sure, maybe history wouldn’t repeat itself, but she’d rather put off finding out.