Does it Trouble You the Way You Trouble Me?

Part 2: Exile Vilify

Summary: Wheatley, spinning in the outer reaches of space, wonders if Chell thinks of him. Minor Chelley.

AN: Here's part 2! Once I thought about what I wanted, this didn't take me long at all. Very inspired, I was :) Thanks to the reviewers of the previous chapter: Ace of Fours, DP-shrine-in-closet-girl, and Kawaii Usagi Chan San! And in advance, thank you to everyone who reviews/favorites/reads this story! This chapter's quick release wouldn't have been possible without the extra inspiration!

Next thing to be posted should be "Ten Years," (Multichapter Human!Wheatley, Chelley fic) and expect the first chapter within the next week or so. Unless I change my mind. Watch for it :) Enjoy this chapter, and let me know how it went!

Here he was, nearly alone. Spinning around the moon in some form of a satellite orbit, Wheatley and the Space Core remained in an abandoned state in that ridiculous core's favorite place in the world: anywhere other than Earth. His internal clock told him they'd been there for two years, three months, twenty-three days, six hours, twenty-one minutes, fifteen seconds… sixteen… seventeen… and counting. Who's really keeping track anymore? Time doesn't matter out here.

Away from Aperture, his home for centuries, away from Earth, even… away from the only person he cared about.

Sent here for trying to kill her.

-Exile-

"Space. Space-space. Space-space-space SPAAACE! Have to see all of it! Need to see all of it! Space!" Yelled that absolutely moronic core again.

"Ugh. Bloody hell, man—You've already seen all of space. Doubt there's much more to see. So, how about you take a moment and power down and stop talking, since no one's really listening to you. How's that sound?"

"It's space, Wheaty! Space! Space-space—"

It took Wheatley only fifteen seconds to realize something went wrong.

"Eh? You alright, mate?" He spun his cracked eye around, looking for his fellow core that had been orbiting around him, yelling at his highest possible decibel level for those two long years. After a few seconds, he spotted the previously hyperactive sphere, powered off. Sparks came from the dented, discolored and cracked hull, the orange optic almost completely dead. When did that happen?

Oh yeah, it probably happened those twenty seconds prior.

Some emotion passed through his circuits. Sadness? That probably made sense, since his only "companion" for the past two-plus years powered down. Possibly permanently. Something else existed, though… something he had to think about more, something he'd felt the entire time, but stronger now: longing.

-It takes your mind again-

Wh-what was that? That-that wasn't just in his mind, was it? He turned back to the Space Core, noticing it still remained powered off. What did he just hear?

Some kind of memory?

-You've got sucker's luck-

Images began to flash across his mind.

…Chell?

He saw her just after she woke from the three-hundred year stasis she'd been under. White Aperture tanktop, with the orange jumpsuit jacket tied around her waist, the wavy, lightly tangled hair framing her face, the remainder pulled back in the remnants of a ponytail. A look of confusion painted her face; such was common when test subjects first woke up, he'd encountered it with each of the previous men and women he'd tried to help. The next image was similar, but the expression changed drastically. Straight, closed mouth, eyebrows angled downward, looking right at him: pure, unfiltered determination.

But… where is this voice coming from?

-Have you given up?-

Er… what? Is this some sort of internal conscience? What is this voice, this soothing voice playing internally, and how does it know exactly what he's thinking?

Suddenly, a different image came forward. He didn't remember this one, so where did it come from?

He saw a man. His dark hair glistened in the artificial light, his grey eyes appeared nearly white when contrasting the dark pupils and dark hair around his face, the beginnings of a small beard forming and framing his pale expression. He smiled in his direction. A white Aperture labcoat draped down his lean form. A Scientist, Wheatley thought. Unlike the other scientists, this one looked directly at him, treating him like the human he always desired to be.

Some music played in the background, he remembered. Piano, calming, soothing, piano, with some voice. The deep voice sounded much deeper than his own—likely American, with such a strange accent—with some down-to-earth tone to it.

He knew this song. Those lyrics… they were the same ones echoing in his mind. That scientist… he listened to the song each day while working on him, back before Aperture fell into disrepair. Before She died the first time, before he destroyed the place trying to… kill… her…

-Does it feel like a trial?-

Hold on just a moment. Human. Why had he always wanted to be human?

The bipedal organic beings always intrigued him. Ever since the moment he woke up in the Aperture Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, humans could always do things he cannot. Walk without limitations (that bloody Management Rail didn't have the capacity to take him anywhere he wanted), eat (he'd overheard the scientists and test subjects over the years discuss this food stuff, wasn't it normal inquire about things you've never encountered?) and touch anything and everything (how exactly did carpeting or a human's hair feel?).

He thought of what he might look like as a human. Shorter blonde hair, cerulean eyes to match his core, pale skin (maybe some freckles), but tall. Wearing a white labcoat, just like the scientist who'd been nice to him centuries before. He wanted to look impressive, tall enough to wrap his arms around Chell's smaller body, run his hands through her hair, keep her safe—

Ugh. Great way to make yourself feel even worse, Wheatley. Maybe you're really acting like a… moron…

He'd been created as a machine, and always had been. Machines can't walk (um… unless they're designed to, Wheatley thought, remembering the Cooperative Initiative Robots), they can't eat (wouldn't that just cause my internal components to rust?), they can't feel the reassuring touch of another, feel their skin, their hair, their lips…

-Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?-

His contemplative thoughts immediately returned to Chell. Did she ever think of him, stranded orbiting the moon? Would she ever know how her presence influenced every single moment he remained conscious?

Two years, three months, twenty-three days, six hours, twenty-five minutes, forty-nine seconds… and he still couldn't delete her from his mind. How was he even supposed to apologize for his mistakes, to tell her he didn't want to spend another millisecond away from her?

He sighed. An eternity in sleep mode would be easier than this. At least he wouldn't deal with his regrets, his desires, his hopes and dreams…

The last thing he saw before turning his sensors off was Earth, all of its glorious hills, trees and oceans…

…and Chell's smile.

-Vilify, Don't even try-