Portal Oneshots

Earworm

There was a room in the farmhouse that never got used.

At least, Wheatley never saw Chell use it.

Its door always stayed shut, and despite his curiosity (not to mention his infuriating tendencies toward misadventure), Wheatley's hand hovered over the doorknob countless times—never actually opening it.

Maybe he thought Chell would be angry with him for snooping—she certainly didn't seem to like him being in her room whether she was there or not—or maybe he was afraid of what he might find. An earlier run-in with a headcrab in the cellar had made him wary of wandering into unfamiliar spaces—or even familiar ones with the lights off, for that matter.

Sometimes, on the way to his own room, or back from the upstairs bathroom, he'd stop dead in his tracks—near or in front of that very door. He'd later recount how he thought he'd heard a noise but wasn't sure; it was so faint that he thought he might've imagined it.

Even more peculiar, though he didn't notice at first, was the catchy, melodic tune he kept humming, despite being uncertain of its origin. It wasn't until he caught Chell whistling the exact same tune that he paused, brow furrowed. Was it a coincidence that she strung together that same sequence of musical notes? Had she overheard him?

Now, Wheatley was no GLaDOS (at least, not anymore), but there were still circumstances under which he liked to experiment—mostly by doing something and seeing if and how Chell would react. In that sense, his science was purer, truer to its essence than hers had ever been, even if neither of them—or Chell, probably—would ever liken it to real, science-y science.

One evening, while Chell was within earshot, Wheatley hummed the tune, earning a pause and a raised eyebrow from her.

"Where did you hear that?" She asked, surprised, but not in a way he could read.

"I'm not sure..." He answered honestly. "I can't get it out've my head."

Chell sucked in her bottom lip, thoughtful.

"The turrets sang that song for me when I left...."

Now it was Wheatley's turn to be surprised. "Really? They did?"

Chell nodded. "Did you hear me singing it?"

Wheatley shook his head. Chell, singing? This was news! The ex-test subject barely spoke most of the time! "You sing?"

And so, he was no closer to finding out where he'd heard that song, let alone why it was so firmly lodged in his brain. That was, until the night he found that door—the door that never opened—ajar; a soft, golden glow radiated from within.

"Chell?"

"Yes?"

Gently, he pushed the door until he could poke his head in, and found Chell—sitting on the floor next to a companion cube by lamplight. He was about to ask what the cube was doing there when he heard it: the same sound he thought he'd heard in the hallway....

The same melody he'd been humming and Chell had, apparently, been singing.

Chell looked up at him, an almost-smile on her usually neutral face, and not the slightest bit perturbed by his presence. Her expression acknowledged him as if she'd been expecting him to come in this entire time.

His must have betrayed the question he intended to vocalize, because she nodded, and he instantly knew her response. She motioned with a head tilt for him to join her, and they both sat there together, listening to the cube's encore performance.