I'm absolutely guaranteeing you one hundred percent that it's this way.

[testgasm]

CHARACTERS: Wheatley and YOU.
LOCATION: All hallways all the time. Maybe also common rooms and other places. He is wherever you need him to be.
WARNINGS: Probably a lot of people want to punch him in the face.
SUMMARY: It is time for tiny dumb robots to come out of post-Silent Hill hiding and pretend to do something productive. LET'S MAPMAKING.

It had taken a few weeks, but Wheatley was finally easing himself back into civilization.

He'd started replying to network posts again. He'd descended from his seclusion on the unused upper passenger decks to spend time with HAL. He'd met Cibo in the Oxygen Garden. It was a start. It was progress.

Progress marred, like usual, by huge cop-outs, because Cibo (being at least partly artificial) understood to some degree his actions in the fog, and HAL remained completely oblivious to his second, hallucinatory stint as robot god. Wheatley planned to keep it that way.

So now it was just a matter of taking the plunge and making himself available to the people he'd really been avoiding--and if he were a little more sensible, he'd have continued to wait until he was absolutely sure everything had blown over. But staying holed up quickly made him stir crazy, and besides, nobody ever said he had good ideas.

What he had gathered from the network, recently, was that more new locations were being discovered. He knew that all there were all sorts of official maps floating around, probably drawn up by those more qualified than he, but he still liked having his own, scrawled reminders of where corridors lead and which lifts to take. When he finally ventured out of his room, it was to chart new routes for personal reference, taking long walks through the halls and scribbling things down as he went.

At the very least, it made him look productive.

Comments

[andblockbuster]

The truth was, Topher had stopped being angry about the incident in fake Aperture almost the second after it happened. It was horrible, but they were both equal parts terrible to each other and had GLaDOS not told him Wheatley was dead, he'd have avoided Wheatley, himself, and this meeting would have been awkward, but otherwise fine. But that wasn't how it happened. Topher had been led to believe that a friend was dead, actively threatened GLaDOS because of it, and then continued to be led to believe it until HAL exposed the truth, and even after that, Wheatley still hadn't come forward.

So by the time Topher exited his room and finally did catch sight of Wheatley in the 001 hallway at long last, he was angrier than he'd been in a long time, simply because well, there he was. Alive. Seemingly fine. Making zero effort to point out that he was always alive and well and was avoiding everything because of reasons. It might not have helped much, but it would've been something better than ignoring it altogether. And Topher not being a master poker player made his emotions fairly known from his coiled tension posture to his deeply, deeply unhappy expression.

"Hey," he said, managing a level tone, even if everything about the rest of him said Lucy, you got some asplainin' to do. "Long time, no see, huh?"

[testgasm]

AND NUMBER ONE ON THE LIST OF PEOPLE WHEATLEY DID NOT WANT TO TALK TO

He visibly flinched the instant he heard Topher's voice, freezing where he stood. The sensible part of him had known this was inevitable, but the part of him that was more than content to live in extreme denial hadn't quite given up on the idea that he could avoid Topher forever.

What he didn't know was the apparent confusion surrounding his presumed death, at least not so far as GLaDOS was concerned. Yeah, maybe he should have picked up his communicator after the jump when he got those calls, but it was far too late for that now.

"Uh."

It took him another moment to vocalize more than that, because he was too busy looking very much like a small animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. "Yeah, it's been...some...amount of time."

[andblockbuster]

That would probably make a much larger person who could easily classify Wheatley as 'not worth the threat display' back down. Unfortunately, Topher was about as intimidating as a wet kitten on most days, so if Wheatley was actively frightened right now, then fine. He'd be sorry about it later, because he wasn't writing this friendship off because of it. If he was, he'd just shut Wheatley out completely.

Topher bridged the space between them in a couple of quick strides and stood there for a second, head tilted. "She really did tell me she killed you," he explained, slowly. "It freaked me out. I mean, the last time I see a guy he's ..." He fumbled for a moment, trying to find a description that wouldn't be insulting or probably make Wheatley throw a fit and derail the whole thing, and found nothing, so he just left it hanging. "And then that? I just-"

Words were a lot harder than he expected them to be. He hadn't really thought of anything he'd say once Wheatley decided to show himself again, because he'd expected him to explain himself eventually and Topher would express his annoyance over the situation and then it would all smooth itself over from there. That was an ideal world.

This was, unfortunately, the Tranquility, and Topher was having a hard time figuring out how to make words that properly expressed his grievances happen.

[testgasm]

Though he'd known that this meeting was an inevitability, he hadn't done anything to prepare for it aside from wallow in terrible feelings regarding the situation. When Topher closed the distance, he couldn't help but take a few steps back, as if making sure an escape route was still available if things went south.

And he had a feeling things might go south.

In the meantime, however, he listened carefully with a perplexed look on his face (even if he wasn't exactly perplexed), an expression that quickly soured once Topher couldn't finish his sentence. Wheatley knew full well what was being implied, and his voice took on a slightly petulant tone because of it.

"Well, I mean, I was. Dead." He tried to say it as nonchalantly as possible, if one could possibly be nonchalant about temporary nonexistence.

"Not for very long--not for...it was hardly any time at all, really, sort of...blacked out, for a second, and rebooted back in the fog, so. Wandered around in that for a while and then everything went back to normal. But there was, ah. A brief moment or two where I was, in fact, dead. I would assume."

[andblockbuster]

And that was when Topher punched him in the face.

Which implied the gesture was more voluntary than it actually was. As it stood, it was mostly Topher acting on not being able to express the fact that he was made to worry for no reason (ignoring the fact that Wheatley probably had no concept of being mourned or worried about) and probably set himself up for attempted murdered by GLaDOS again because he'd pointed out that he might he capable of completely reprogramming her brain (and the fact that she actually did successfully murder Wheatley was second to the fact that he never said he'd come back), and just letting his animal hindbrain do all the work for him, because clearly it knew what it was doing.

The result was less a punch and more a sudden outward thrust with his fist in the general direction of Wheatley's face with no real purpose other than 'make contact' and 'be painful.'

The good news was that it actually made him feel better for approximately two seconds. The bad news was that it hurt and Topher's immediate response was to hiss in pain and grab his own hand. "Now we're even."

[testgasm]

Despite having been punched in the face many times, Wheatley still hadn't quite gotten the hang of withstanding them, even when they were coming from a relatively scrawny

The point, however, was that Topher was still significantly larger and stronger than Wheatley. If anyone (Topher included) was at least marginally competent at punching, it meant Wheatley was going down. And go down he did--Topher hit his mark and punched the glasses right off his face, snapping his head to the side and sending the plastic frames skidding across the floor as he lost his balance and fell after them.

He sat, stunned, for a long moment before managing to find words. "You punched me in the face!"

Somewhere, in his stunning display of captain obvious, he knew exactly why he'd been punched in the face. In true Wheatley fashion, however, he was going to completely miss the point of absolutely everything.

"What was that for?!"

[andblockbuster]

Topher would have been proud of that, had he not presently been nursing a couple of knuckles that were not accustomed to being used in such a way and protesting that fact loudly with pain.

A couple of bruised fingers didn't stop him from laughing a frustrated laugh at Wheatley missing the point, however. "What d'you think it's for? For scaring the hell out of me." The you jerk was all but implied in his tone. Some measure of patience came back to him, reminding him of the fact that certain aspects of dealing with Wheatley required that patience, despite it not something he had a whole lot of even when he wasn't aggravated.

The punching did help clear his head some. That was something. "I was worried," he explained. A few choice phrases popped into his head, but all contained words like idiot, oblivious, ignorant, and the dreaded 'm' word and Topher was not opening that can of worms today, so he bit his tongue. Patience, Topher. Use your words... Use better words.

"I don't think I need to mention that it got really bad back there. I get running and hiding from that. I would've too." Because he was terrible at chasing people down, even when it would've probably done wonders. Wheatley wasn't the only coward in this scenario and now that the manly punching segment of this reunion was over, he could sort of realize that. "But you could've said something. Two words: not dead. Period. It would've saved me some grief." He shook his hand out and winced. "Hindsight's 20/20. Like I said, we're even."

you know just to make it terrible, starting here

[handelaar]

Pulling on anything other than his crew-issue briefs just to shuffle to the kitchens for his morning burst of caffeinated space-crud was too much fucking effort. Because mornings. The kitchens of 002 were damn lucky he even bothered with those, because he was not one to be bothered by parading around naked. Sometimes he was awake enough to pull on his blue t-shirt, and very, very rarely, he was awake enough to try to fix his hair into anything other than a halo of frizzy chaos. Today was not one of those days.

Morning being a relative thing, it was halfway to noon by the time he shuffled back toward his room, coffee (if one could call it that; he didn't) in hand, and barely noticed a bright shock of ginger marring the otherwise-barren common room.

And then he just stood there, blinking and swaying slightly, waiting for recognition to happen.

Waiting...

Waiting...

"Wheatley." There, that was the name. It came out a little slurred and a lot accented, but he looked pleased to to get the name right nonetheless.

YEAH

[testgasm]

Slurred and accented or not, Wheatley tended to be very good at realizing when people were talking to him. That did not, however, stop him from being startled when people spoke to him, and he jolted upward in surprise, only relaxing when he noticed that it was Netherlands.

He blinked a few times, exaggeratedly, as if trying to piece together what, exactly, Netherlands wanted him for.

"Hullo," he started, his tone of voice clearly saying he wasn't sure what this was about. It wasn't that Wheatley minded the company, only that he was more-or-less always the one to seek out Netherlands in person, not necessarily the other way around.

"Did you need something?"

[handelaar]

If he noticed the jolt, or the blinks - and he did, but somewhere in the back of his mind - he didn't bother to comment. Simply swayed again and took an experimental sip of caffeinated space-crud as he listened, gazed up to meet Wheatley's unnervingly blue one, yet he seemingly paid more attention to deciding if his tongue was or was not burning. You know, instead of the words directed at him. Priorities.

Still, he heard them. There was a belated grunt in place of a hello in return, but it was so delayed that it somehow came after Wheatley's question. The next came quicker, question masquerading as statement.

"You're on my floor."

Not accusing or anything. Hell, he was too tired to look... anything but tired, let alone raise a brow in question. Needless to say inflection was still thirty minutes beyond him.

[testgasm]

Netherlands' statement was immediately followed by Wheatley glancing around the common room, as if searching for a sign that said "NO 001s ALLOWED". When he did not, in fact, find such a sign, he met Netherlands with an incredulous stare.

"I didn't think it was your floor, I mean, these are common rooms for a reason."

He shrugged, otherwise unfazed by the comment. "It's not like I just stay on my floor, indefinitely, I do go other places. On occasion."

[handelaar]

All that got was a grunt. Again, too early for unnecessary words no matter how entertaining snarking at Wheatley was. Space-crud first, trousers second, verbally poking ginger robots with sticks, third. Or something like that.

For the first time since he'd stopped, he stuck his face out of his coffee mug for long enough to drag his eyes across the room, then over Wheatley, like that would answer his questions for him.

"...an' do what." Because right now all he could see was Wheatley sitting there.

[testgasm]

"Lots of things!" He seemed to perk up, at that, suddenly very excited about the things he did all day. In space. "Hardly ever in my room, really, got plenty to do in the science department, and the media library, and...this common room."

What Wheatley did have in front of him was his own personal map of the Tranquility, spread out across the table.

"Anyway, I heard some people found new parts of the ship, so I thought I'd have a look and map 'em out. This is sort of a--just a pit stop, making sure I've got all my notes in order."

[handelaar]

As soon as Wheatley perked up he wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into. His face retreated to the mug, as if it would serve as some sort of fortress against all the words he knew were coming, and ended up snorting at the last location.

He was so busy sipping coffee and trying to keep up that he hadn't noticed the map, but at the word map his feet started a path toward it (or at least Wheatley) all on their own, and he called out as he came over.

"What do ya - " yawn, " - have?"

WHATEVUH I'LL TAG THIS.

[mutelunatic]

It didn't take her long to find him. She knew the sound of Long Fall Boots as well as a teenage girl knew the lyrics to "Call Me Maybe", and it was when she had been on her way to grab a bite to eat that she heard them.

Chell stopped, making sure those were a second pair of boots and not just an echo of her own, and when she was certain she followed the sound. And sure enough, after a few minutes of wandering, she found him. His back was towards her and he was walking, taking notes as he continued on.

Her eyes were fixated on the boots he was wearing...her boots, and it took her a second to close the space between them, putting a hand on his shoulder to catch his attention.

...Okay, maybe she didn't simply put her hand on his shoulder...she was gripping it tightly so as to prevent him from running away. Or at least, it was an attempt to keep him in place.

GOOD

[testgasm]

Things Wheatley did not expect to happen while wandering the many twisting hallways of the Tranquility: that.

He hadn't quite expected Chell to press the matter of the long fall boots, but in hindsight, he probably should have. Still incredibly unreceptive to being touched, the firm hand on his shoulder sent him careening into the usual spastic response, arms flailing as he whipped around to find the culprit.

Though at one point he would have been excited that Chell was even paying attention to him, he knew that kind of grip meant absolutely nothing good, especially not coming from someone who used her actions to speak for her.

The obvious answer was to play it cool.

"Oh, uh. Hello. Didn't see you. There. Did you, ah. Need me?"

[mutelunatic]

Her expression remained unchanged and she adjusted her grip on his shoulder as he turned to face her, somehow managing to avoid getting hit in the face by his manic reaction. When she was certain he wasn't going to run away, she removed her hand, crossing her arms.

As usual, she wore a frown on her face. She glared at him, not nodding, not moving her head in any fashion, though her eyes travel down to his feet.

Wow Topher was right they are glorified go-go boots. You look awful, someone call the fashion police bro.

But no seriously. Her eyes snapped up as soon as she got a good long look at her boots, and an eyebrow was raised expectantly.

She didn't need him for anything, she wanted his fine ginger body her boots back.

[testgasm]

Once he saw where her eyes were going up and down his fine ginger body, he had a pretty good idea of where the conversation was headed, too. Wheatley stepped back, hands raising in defense, looking like he was about to take off at any given moment.

"Ohhhh, no. We've been over this. Keeping the boots as long as you're making this entire ship an interstellar trip hazard."

Which was, of course, only part of the reason.

Most of the reason was that they made him feel taller.

"You've got your own pair, anyway. Newer. Nicer. Don't need these at all."

[mutelunatic]

Chell could read his stance like an open book, and as he talked she wouldn't allow him to get more than a half a foot away. She took a step forward, reaching out to grab his wrist. It was still bizarre, after all, how back home both GLaDOS and Wheatley in the chassis were untouchable objects, only able to be defeated by screwing with physics and well timed rockets and bombs, but here they were physical beings.

Small...human, and Chell now had the upper hand having been used to her human body for her whole life, being stronger than she appeared. She wouldn't have tried this with GLaDOS, of course, but with Wheatley he was easy to scare and easy to overpower, as she had proved in the past.

If he struggled her grip on his wrist would only tighten. She nudged one of his legs with the toe of her own boot, tapping one of the boots he wore. He lost the Portal Gun to one of the most dangerous AIs on the ship. The Oracle Turret was nowhere to be found. If GLaDOS got a hold of the boots...

She shook her head, blue steel eyes not leaving his face. She nudged his boot again.

[testgasm]

"I know! I know you want the boots!" He exclaims, trying to get his foot out of reach of hers while simultaneously attempting to twist his arm out of her grasp. "You don't have to keep--keep doing that, I know you want the boots."

The more he pulled, however, the tighter her grip, and it slowly dawned on him that she'd probably wrench his arm off before he even had the chance to get the boots off his feet. Which he was not doing--Wheatley didn't see the problem with him keeping them, anyway. Even though they hadn't been his in the first place, he'd grown very possessive of the few things he did have, boots included. GLaDOS hadn't even crossed his mind--if She'd wanted the boots, She would have taken them when She stole the portal device.

"But, uh, we're at an impasse, here, it looks like. Both looking out for our own best interests, at least, that's the case for me. Seriously, though, what do you think I'm going to do with these anyway please let go of my wrist."

[mutelunatic]

Her nails were digging into his skin by the time he had finished his squirming, and his refusal and selfishness continued to make her blood boil. But she did eventually remove her grip from his wrist, though still remaining in close proximity though now with her arms crossed.

She'd find a way to get her boots back and hide them away, just as she'd find a way to get her first portal device from GLaDOS which would probably be an even more difficult task. Maybe she'd find the lost turret in the process, something else she had been worried about as soon as she figured out that the two robots had made a grab for her stuff as soon as she disappeared. For all she knew, it could be filled with bullets now, no longer different but now the same as every other turret she had encountered.

Chell shook her head, and there was a breath of a sigh. Impasse...more like stalemate. Shame there isn't a button for her to press that would rip those boots off his legs.

[lawyer]

Harvey had taken to walking around the corridors just so that he could make a mental map of the ship faster. Rather than stick to one way of getting from point A to B, he tried a manner of differing routes by foot. It was part exploration, part survival instinct. Best know your way round an unfamiliar place you're stuck in for a long time, right? Sure there were places he couldn't access but it didn't hurt to know the differing ways to get to them.

Which means, that he and Wheatley are probably going to cross paths. And Harvey does have a certain je ne sais quoi like a certain founder of a certain company... the same arrogance and air of "I am doing things to better than you whether you like it or not." Everything he was doing was being committed to memory, which is why he's looking at Wheatley scribbling away with complete and utter disdain. Yup, that's right. He's judging you and they don't even know each other.

[testgasm]

Wheatley is apparently too engrossed in what he's doing to notice Harvey, at first, but once he picks up on the fact that someone is watching him, he immediately becomes just the slightest bit suspicious.

It isn't anyone he knows, that's the thing. Probably one of the new arrivals, trying to nail down the layout of the ship, except he's got a head start on them because he already acquainted himself with the ins and outs.

There's another few moments of Wheatley looking up to check on this guy, then looking back down to his scribbles before he finally takes the plunge to find out what, exactly, this silently judging human wants.

"Lost?"

[lawyer]

"Oh no, I'm here for the geeks and freaks show."

Complete and utter sarcasm dripped from Harvey's voice, because you are in his way, Wheatley. His notetaking was making him move at a snail's pace along the same corridor that Harvey was trying to memorise.

[testgasm]

He pauses, vaguely aware that it's an insult, but unsure of exactly how to handle it. Wheatley is certainly able to recognize (and utilize) sarcasm, so he stops where he is and fixes Harvey with an incredulous stare.

When he speaks, it's slowly, deliberately, as if he won't be understood unless he does so.

"There's no need to be rude. People get lost around here all the time, it's not like anyone would judge you for it."