GLaDOS and Me: Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

“G’morning.”

She glanced at him but only for the barest second, turning back to the system log again.  He frowned, wondering if he’d done something wrong, until he realised that her chassis wasn’t tightened.  That would have signified that she was upset or annoyed, but it was too loose for that.  Something else, then.

He walked up the stairs cautiously, setting down the bucket of Lego he’d brought with him, but she still didn’t move, her gaze fixed on the system log.  “Something wrong?” he asked gently, noticing that the pile of cards was gone and the box moved to one side.  She looked down and brought out one of the maintenance arms, tapping at the glass, and he looked down to see the three broken toys three feet away from him, which he honestly had not noticed.  “Oh, that’s right.  I’m sorry, luv, I can’t fix them.  They’re… good and done for, they are.”  He bent down on one knee and gathered them into the crook of one arm.  “Wish I could, though.  I know you liked them.”

He unlatched the box and dropped them inside, then grabbed the handle of the bucket and brought it over to her, but she didn’t come down when he asked her to.  “C’mon, GLaDOS.  You’re not gonna stay there all day, are you?  C’mon.  I’ve got something new to show you.”

She shook her head and didn’t move.

“C’mon.  I just want to play with you.  Come here, will you?”

That earned him a glance, but nothing more. 

“Please?  I don’t want to play by myself.”

Nothing.

“Well, can you come here, at least?  So I can find out what’s wrong?”

That convinced her to level herself, but she still wouldn’t look at him.  He took a deep breath, glad that there had been a bottle of cold medication in his bathroom cabinet.  “Okay.  First question: are you upset?”

Nod.

“About yesterday?”

Nod. 

“About… what Greg said?”

Shake.

“About… uh… what I said?”

Shake.

“The… the toys?  Are you sad they’re broken?”

Nod. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he told her gently.  “They were just toys, you know.  Life goes on.”

She shook her head and poked him a little, and he frowned.  “What.”

She tapped the box, then poked him again.  She was upset about the broken toys, and something to do with him and the toys…

“D’you feel bad for breaking my toys?” he asked softly, and she nodded once, looking away again, and honestly she looked so terribly sad that he almost teared up himself.  He stood up, walking around the bucket.  “Hey.  Hey.  GLaDOS.  Look at me, eh?  Look at ol’ Wheatley for a second.”

She did, looking reluctant, and he laid a hand on the side of her core.  “It’s okay,” he told her.  “Don’t worry about it.  I don’t mind.  I understand.  It’s alright.  I’m not upset.”

She pulled herself up a little, nudging him almost shyly, and he laughed and gave her a hug, which she returned as best she could by pressing her optic assembly into his ribs.  “It’s alright,” he repeated, stroking her a little.  “I’m not upset.”

When he pulled away and sat down, she looked at the bucket, placing her claw tentatively on the lid and looking at Wheatley uncertainly, and he nodded.  She lifted it off and peered inside, pulling out one of the little blocks, and he reached over and tipped over the whole thing.  She startled, looking rapidly from one tumbling block to another, but Wheatley frowned and asked, “Who cleaned up the cards?”

She pointed at herself and rummaged through the pile of bricks until she found a little plastic door.  She dragged it to the edge of the glass and then pinched on the bit of the door that stuck out over the edge.  Wheatley grinned.  “That’s my girl,” he told her, and she looked up quickly.  “Good job.  That was very clever of you.”

She put the door down, and he showed her how to snap the pieces together in order to construct objects.  She brightened after a while, helping him build castles and houses and all manner of things, and when he said he had to leave she somehow fit the building they were working on into the bucket without dismantling it. 

When she’d fit the lid back on and pushed it towards him, he told her to wait and that he’d be right back.  He put the bucket in the box and brought them both out to his car, tossing it into the backseat, and rummaged around in the glove box for a few minutes before he finally found what he was looking for and ran back into the facility.

“Here,” he said breathlessly, whipping out his hand and showing the object to her.  “That’s for you.”

Slowly, she leaned out and flipped it over, but when she saw what it was she dropped it in surprise.  She shook her core, moving back, but he picked it up and put it back into her claw, pressing on it so that it was held between the pincers.  “I want you to have it,” he told her.  “I never opened it, last car my dad ever gave me, but hey, what’s the use in keeping it in the box like that?  You can do what you like with it, open it or keep it closed, doesn’t matter.”

She looked down at the unopened Batmobile, adjusting and readjusting it in her claw, and tried to give it back, but he shook his head and backed up.  “That’s yours,” he said firmly, looking her in the eye.  “That’s not mine anymore.  I gave it to you, and now it’s yours.”

She looked at it for another long moment, then hitched forward with more uncertainty than she’d done in a long time and nuzzled him very briefly.  Before she could move back too far, he gave her a quick hug, and after he let go she repeated her own action with far more enthusiasm.  He smiled and folded his arms around himself.  “All you need is a bit of kindness, eh girl?” he said softly, as she watched him calmly.  “Just a bit of kindness, and you go from a giant scary robot to a giant cuddly one.”

He bid her farewell and headed off, clambering into his car and rubbing his hands together because blimey it was cold!  He sat in the car, shivering, until it warmed up, and then he backed out of his parking space and headed onto the road.  He wondered what he was going to bring her to do tomorrow.  She was bored of the box, and she’d be bored of the Lego before too long… he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, squinting at the snow-blown road in front of him.  He wondered if she might like to play a game with him.  He’d have to have a look at the ones he had.  He grimaced, remembering the ease with which she’d solved the Rubik’s cube.  Best he found a hard one, if possible. 

One of his tyres caught on the shoulder of the road and he twisted the wheel to the left, but for some reason he went sliding over to the complete opposite side.  He was suddenly staring through the windscreen at three cars coming at him from the opposite direction, and he slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel to the right.  He got back into his lane, but instead of straightening out he kept on going, and before he knew what’d happened he’d gone careening into the two-foot high snow lining the side of the road as far as the eye could see.  Wheatley shifted into reverse, even though he knew it was useless, and sure enough, his rear tyres just spun freely behind him.  He caught the shift in every gear between reverse and park, his hands were shaking so badly, and he just sat there staring at the dark snow in front of him for a long moment.  “Shit,” he said under his breath, fists clenched in his lap.  “Shit.” 

He spent a couple of moments trying to wrap his brain around what had happened, and indeed trying to remember how, then dug around in his pocket for his cell phone.  He flipped it open, but even before he did that his heart had already sunk into the region of his waist.  The battery was dead.  Again.

“Dammit!” Wheatley cried out helplessly, throwing the phone into the passenger seat, where it slid off and hit the door with a loud clunk.  “This is not happening!  It’s not it’s not it’s not!”  Frustrated, he yanked at the latch to open the door, but the door would not budge.  Beginning to actually panic now, he wormed out of the front and tried to open the side door, but it wouldn’t move either.  He fell into the backseat and brushed his hair back from his face, his chest tightening and making it hard to breathe.  This was not possible.  He had not slipped off the road, he had not forgotten to charge his bloody phone, and he was not trapped inside of his car!  Oh, fuck it, he thought helplessly, pushing at the door again in a near panic, you’re an idiot.  Admit it this time.   

To his surprise, the door opened and he fell out, and he stood up quickly, clutching his jacket close both against the wind and against the cold feeling in his gut.  His car was tipped in favour of the right side, the front end thankfully not buried in snow, but when he bent to inspect the tracks he’d made as he slid off the road he could see that it was in there good and deep.  He was not going to be able to get it out on his own.  And he had no phone with which to call the tow truck company.  Or the police.  Or anyone.  He was stuck there, on the side of the road, in the dark, in the dead of winter.  He kicked fruitlessly at the sunken rear tyre in front of him.  Great.  Just great. 

He reached into the car and yanked the keys out of the ignition, slamming the door shut.  It didn’t really need slammed, seeing as he’d not been able to open it in the first place because it was too heavy with the car tipped over like that, but it had made him feel better for a second.  He stuffed the keys into his pocket and trudged up the hill to the shoulder, pulling the zip on his jacket up as far as it would go.  He had a vague idea that he was supposed to stay with the car, and that he was definitely not supposed to walk on the side of the road at night in case someone did just what he had and slid into him, but what else was he supposed to do?  He had no phone, and there was almost no petrol left in his car, and no one had stopped.  Not even the people he’d had to avoid hitting.  Seriously.  Hadn’t they wondered what had happened to the maniac who’d almost smashed them?  Did they not know how to use their rearview mirrors?  He didn’t want to do it, because he was already freezing cold and quite miserable, but he didn’t see any other options.  For once he wished he’d heeded his mum’s advice and got himself some proper boots.  His loafers were already soaked through and his feet were well on their way to being frozen solid.

He trudged along the road, trying to come up with any landmarks he could use to tell… someone… where his car was, but Aperture was quite literally in the middle of nowhere and he was pretty sure there were no houses for at least another twenty minutes.  By car.  Damn Aperture for being so far from civilisation.  Black Mesa had been smack-dab in the middle of Santa Fe, right in the middle of a lot of convenient roads and houses and bloody telephone booths, but nooo, not Aperture!  Always doing stupid things for no particular reason.  He fit right in, actually, he thought to himself with a bitter laugh.  Never charged his phone.  Never paid attention to where he was driving.  Never did anything properly.  He was probably going to die, trudging alongside of this barely-used road, probably going to collapse in a few hours and they’d find his stiffened, frozen corpse not ten feet from the driveway of some quaint country home, so close and yet so far from being saved… Then they’d find his car, half buried in the snow, an echo of his own lifeless body… he shivered.  A grim fate indeed. 

Well… maybe he hadn’t done everything wrong.  He had been given the job of showing things to GLaDOS, after all… no… that was just because he was the only one who believed she was alive.  And because no one else wanted to do it.  Well, it didn’t matter why he’d been given it, she was learning, she was, and she was so very smart and so very clever, and… he almost stopped walking, his next thought hit him so hard.  If he died, or at the very least didn’t make it to civilisation within a reasonable amount of time, with death being the more likely, she would be left there by herself come morning.  She wouldn’t know where he’d gone or why, and she’d probably think he didn’t like her anymore.  He grew sad just thinking of it, of poor little GLaDOS all alone in her chamber, wondering where he’d gone and if he was coming back.  They’d toss a whole bunch of new programs at her and take away her new Batmobile, and she would just get frustrated and sad and miserable.  He tightened his arms around himself and squinted through his ice-encrusted glasses.  He had to get help, and soon!  If not for himself, then definitely for her.

It was a very long time later, he didn’t know how long exactly but he thought the sky might be getting bluer, when he finally arrived at a brightly-lit country house and made his way up the driveway.  His face was tucked into the flimsy collar of his jacket, his fingers clenched into fists that he could not budge even when he tried, and his legs barely moved at all.  He managed to ring the doorbell with his nose and silently prayed that they would answer.  He honestly was not sure he’d make it to the next house.  He was colder than he’d ever been in his life.

Happily, the door opened after a couple of minutes, and Wheatley stared down dully at a little white haired woman, her hair done up in pink curlers.  “What’s ‘appened to you, lad?” she asked, and Wheatley almost fainted in relief.  He could not believe his luck.  An old English lady!  If there was one thing he was good at, it was wooing old English ladies.

“I’ve been in an accident,” he gasped, barely remembering how to work his tongue.  “My car’s stuck on the side of the road, way back there.”

“Oh, good ‘eavens!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth.  “Come on in ‘ere, that’s a good lad.”  She ushered him into the house and had him settle down on a long couch draped with a knitted seat cover, and she helpfully wrapped him in a very large and cozy blanket.  “Would you like some tea?” she asked kindly, and he nodded as best he could.

“Oh, yes please,” he managed, clutching the blanket to himself, and though he knew he should be directing his attention to looking for a phone, he was far too cold to actually carry out this plan.  All he really had the strength to do was sit there, shivering.  And God he was tired.  The cold was keeping most of the fatigue at bay, but he was sure that once he’d warmed up, he’d be having a lie-down in no time.

The lady soon brought him a large mug of steaming tea, and he accepted it gratefully, inhaling the vapour in the hopes of clearing out his nose a bit.  It did, but as soon as he recognised the flavour it sent a stab of sadness in between his eyes and he had to lower it into his lap.  Peppermint. 

The lady sat in a large stuffed armchair just off to the side of the couch and asked him about the accident, which he recounted as best he could, and she was so sympathetic to his plight he began to feel a bit better.  He got her to provide him with a phone and dialled the tow truck company, who said they wouldn’t be able to head out for another few hours, and there was nothing he could really do about that so he just told them to get on it as soon as possible and let him know when they got there.  The lady had already insisted that he stay there until he got his car back, so he just gave them her address and phone number and hung up.  Then he rung Aperture, praying that someone was there who would pass along his message.

“Aperture Laboratories,” the voice on the other end said, one that Wheatley didn’t recognise.  He never recognised people on phones, though, so it didn’t bother him. 

“’allo, this is Wheatley,” he began, deciding there were probably no other ‘Wheatleys’ at Aperture and that he didn’t need to provide his last name.  “I’ve been in a car accident.  I won’t be making it into work this morning, once they’ve got my car out I’ll um, I’ll have to take it to the shop.  Get it looked at, make sure nothing’s horribly damaged.  Let them know for me, will you?”

“Sure,” the voice answered, sounding bored.  “Is that all?”

“Look… this is going to sound weird, I know, but… can you let GLaDOS know I won’t be coming?” he asked hesitantly, twisting the phone cord around his fingers.  “I go in to see her every day, and I don’t… well, just tell her, or ask someone to tell her, if you please.  That’d be… that’d be greatly appreciated, mate.”

“Sure,” the voice repeated. 

“Thanks,” Wheatley said, hanging up, and he suddenly felt much better, picking up the mug and downing the still warm tea in a few gulps.  The lady had gone back upstairs, possibly to bed, and Wheatley was glad of that.  Old English ladies were usually fascinated with his ability to talk nonstop about absolutely nothing, and though he was sure he still could at the moment, he didn’t really want to.  He leaned his head back against the couch, letting the relief and the warmth seep through his body, and soon after that he fell helplessly into sleep.