Does it Trouble You the Way You Trouble Me?

Part 1: Wheat or Potatoes

Summary: Drunk Chell contemplates her time at Aperture. Minor Chelley.

AN: So, instead of starting on my multichapter story idea, my inspiration hits and out comes this. I even contemplated letting it go, not writing it, but it didn't leave me alone, so I suppose I hope you enjoy it. There will be something more substantial coming soon, so yeah. This will be a twoshot, so keep your eyes posted for part 2. Enjoy, and let me know what you thought!

Chell was drunk.

A coworker invited her to a Christmas party, and although she didn't consider herself terribly religious, it would be a further bonding activity with her new companions. She hadn't talked with them too much, as she'd always had the mentality that actions speak louder than words, but she felt eventually she could open up a little more and make a few friends.

She walked into the small ranch home, greeted by the coworker that invited her (talkative, almost too much so, but means well, Chell noted on her first day), and slowly moved into the main living room. She must love Christmas, or at least just decorating for Christmas, Chell thought to herself as she looked around. The fireplace crackled with fresh firewood likely placed in within the past half hour, traditional Christmas carols echoed through the room from the expensive-looking sound system, and the crowded-with-ornaments Blue Spruce tree in the corner glittered from the lights strung around every branch.

Other people, about a dozen, hung around the furniture of the room, particularly around one table opposite the tree. Quietly, she proceeded over to get a better look. Somehow, she wasn't surprised: alcohol. Bottles of the stuff covered half of the small wooden table, while the rest of said table housed a small tub of ice and plenty of glasses.

Chell never had alcohol before. She never stumbled across any during her time imprisoned, and she doubted she would have drank any of it anyway, since she'd heard it slows a person's reaction time—one of the few things she had going for her during those tests. While contemplating whether she should have a taste or not, a voice called her name—

"Chell! You made it!" Came the far-too-cheery voice of her coworker Dave. "Want something to drink? I used to bartend before I finished college. She's got a pretty good selection here… Jack Daniels, Jose Cuervo, Captain Morgan, Grey Goose, and plenty of mixers. What do ya want?" He asked with a smile. While she thought Dave was nice, she consistently had the impression he was more interested in the dating possibilities with her.

"Well, I haven't had any alcohol before—" Chell began before Dave cut her off again.

"Really? You're… not joking, are you?" Dave incredulously replied, taking note of Chell's stern expression. "Well, don't worry! Dave here will take care of you!" He replied with a wink. He turned back around before he noticed the extreme irritation displayed on her face. "Hmm… first time drinker, so maybe something sweet that masks some of the alcohol taste perhaps…" He thought out loud. Just moments later, he turned back to face her, seemingly with the answer. "How about a Screwdriver?"

Chell's immediate response was a quirk of her left eyebrow.

"Now, don't worry, it's a pretty simple drink: orange juice and vodka. See, just watch." Chell observed as he grabbed a tumbler glass, filling half of it with ice cubes. Setting it on the table briefly, he picked up the Grey Goose, just pouring in enough to cover the bottom half of the ice cubes. Satisfied, he topped off the glass with the orange juice before handing off the glass to Chell.

Her first response was to attempt smelling it, trying to figure out exactly what she was getting herself into. The orange juice didn't bring forth any noticeable odor (but since when did it ever?), but something else did. It must be the vodka, Chell thought. After taking another whiff of the drink, she determined she still couldn't place the scent and opted to take a sip instead. The citrus flavor from the juice sailed over her taste buds, but she barely tasted the alcohol. The juice obviously had some sort of underlying edge to its taste, but nothing she ever would consider excessive. The concoction brought a small smile to her face as she took another sip.

"Ah, so you like it, huh?" Dave began with a shiny, white smile. "Vodka's typically made with fermented grains or starches, such as wheat or potatoes. Hard to believe it goes well mixed with fruit juices, right?"

Chell's mouth gaped at the comment. Wheat or potatoes? While Dave misinterpreted her reaction as pure disbelief, her mind momentarily drifted elsewhere, to a time and place she'd spent so much time trying to erase from her troubled, weary mind… could the alcohol help her erase those memories?

She proceeded to drink the Screwdriver he'd carefully prepared for her—very quickly. "Oh wow, Chell… thirsty, aren't you?" He responded, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Did you like it? Would you want—" He didn't even get the chance to finish his question, since she vigorously nodded her head. "Um… sure, just try not to have too many of these things, alright?"

One hour and five Screwdrivers later, Chell was drunk. Her vision swam as she tried to move, just to get her jacket. She stumbled twice over her feet as she pulled the blue winter jacket over her body and tried to walk outside into the bitter Michigan weather. Dave tried to stop her, to get her back inside toward the fireplace, since he felt responsible for her current state, but she dashed outside anyway.

Even in her intoxicated state, she remained coherent enough to make out her surroundings. The house had a wooden deck with nothing on it but mounds of snow, and a field of snow edged by pine trees surrounded the property. The clear sky loomed overhead, the twinkling stars unhindered by any clouds or artificial light from a city.

Seemingly right above her head, the moon shone with all of its glory.

She sighed. The pale-colored reflected light created a full circular surface right before her eyes. Beautiful and mesmerizing, it caused carefully-hidden memories from her time at Aperture to come rushing to the forefront of her mind.

"I AM NOT A MORON!" Wheatley yelled, trying to dispel any biting comments GLaDOS told him from her potato prison, crashing the claw into the escape elevator, with her inside.

"Yes you are! You're the moron they built to make me an idiot!"

"Also, I took the liberty of watching the tapes of you killing Her, and I'm not gonna make the same mistakes. Four-part plan is this: one - no portal surfaces, two – start the neurotoxin immediately, three – bomb-proof shields for me, and four – bombs for throwing at you."

"All Aperture Science technologies remain operational up to four thousand degrees Kelvin…"

"Do you have any idea how good this feels? I did this. Tiny little Wheatley did this."

"Well, you found me. Was it worth it? Because of your violent behavior, the only thing you've managed to do is break my heart."

"GRABMEGRABMEGRABMEGRABME!" Wheatley yelled in vain, as Chell watched him fly out into the endless sea of stars, as a metallic claw grabbed her from the placed portal…

An unwilling tear fell from Chell's right eye at the recently dredged up memory. The moon really was beautiful from here on Earth, but how did it look if you were closer? Could she ever get a closer view?

And on the subject of the moon, who came up with that ridiculous term "blue moon?" She saw the celestial body right now, and no one could honestly call that color blue. A "blue" moon even came earlier in the year, and no part of it looked special. It didn't change colors or anything spectacular.

What exactly did Wheatley see up there? Thinking about her long-lost companion floating in space, she contemplated what he might be able to view through his cracked cerulean optic.

The stars have to be far prettier than what anything on Earth can see. No pollution, no hindering clouds, nothing but glitter splashed across the black velvet backdrop. The moon really has to be gorgeous as well. Large, much larger than it looks, reflecting the sun's rays into all directions, creating a pale glow comparable to how societies traditionally viewed heaven. The craters splattered across providing a testament to its survivability and vulnerability simultaneously, characteristic scars to an otherwise smooth surface.

What would the Earth look like to him? She imagined a small sphere, water blue and grass green, coated with swirls of white as the clouds moved across the planet, a stark contrast to the black background which coats the rest of your vision. Suddenly, a thought hit her: he was a computer, could they see things in the same way? Just because he's programmed to see, feel, and interact with others and his environment, doesn't mean he sees the same things she does.

Chell sighed. It doesn't even matter. He's gone. She remains on Earth, alone. While she has a few people who can be called friends, and guys who are interested in her romantically, she consistently remains apathetic concerning all of it. Even Dave, the handsome man still inside the house, while very nice, could never compare. She couldn't share her memories with him, explain her past, or discuss anything that happened to her. She couldn't have a true relationship with someone she couldn't even talk to.

Wheatley remained in space. Her only friend, the only thing that ever cared about whether she was alive or not, stranded by a moon who was seemingly named from him. He stayed there, probably caught in the Blue Moon's orbit.

I'm all alone, she thought. I'm all alone, and I need you now, Wheatley.

Did I ever cross your mind?