What are We?

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"Um...Chell?"

Said ex-test subject hummed sleepily, not even opening her eyes despite that Wheatley had just called her by name instead of "lady" or "love" for a change.

"What are we?" He responded with a question.

"What do you mean?" Chell yawned, registering his query but not its implication.

"Well, you were already a human, and now I'm a human, apparently, but," He paused, mouth hanging open while he scrambled to find the right words, "w-what are you and I?"

Chell's brow furrowed, eyes still shut. The corners of her mouth turned downward. This wasn't her puzzle face. This was something else. Something that Wheatley couldn't quite identify.

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is," He ventured, "are we...friends?"

Chell's expression remained hard for a moment. She shifted, the noise of rustling blankets heralding what might yet be Wheatley's greatest comfort—or a dagger to his heart—and inhaled as though she might speak.

Wheatley tensed, still and quiet as he could manage, lest the tiniest sound drown out any response; he could even hear the old clock as it ticked away down in the living room. He suddenly became aware of Chell's breathing, which had slowed, become deep and even in the time it took him to become hopelessly entangled in a web of anxiety.

It finally occurred to Wheatley that he was waiting in vain, and he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

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