AN: Hello all. I wrote this scene intending to put in In Another Life (IAL for short), but since this is set before Sophie is born, it obviously wouldn't make sense in the Generational Science and Project Parenthood timelines. Please feel free to let me know what you think and if you enjoyed or not. I'm also open to suggestions for other drabbles.


Buttercream Bagels

"You know," Wheatley was rambling again as he slid his long, spidery self into a chair at the table, "I dunno why we can't just have something like a dozen bagels with icing or whatnot—I mean if you really think about it, it would be a bit easier wouldn't it?"

Chell started, faltering a little with the bag of icing she'd been gripping tight. She looked over the wedding cake she'd been decorating, glanced over at Wheatley, and opened her mouth to list a hundred reasons wrong with that idea, but those stratospheric blue eyes made the retort die in her throat, and she settled for a sigh instead.

It was funny how odd it'd been, adjusting to him being truly, honestly human. So many parts of his personality had been exaggerated or suppressed—his spontaneity encouraged to the point of ridicule being a prime example—that the him that had been a core and the him that was, well, him were almost completely different animals.

This Wheatley, her Wheatley, she realized with a rare smile, still retained his waterfall habit of speaking, but in the two years they'd shared a roof, he'd become a bolder version of himself. He pushed his luck, teasing her, and he did it often.

Odder still was how she'd found more and more that she didn't particularly mind. Like today.

"You know, I had another dream, and I'm not gonna lie, this one was…it was something."

Chell finished the last rosette, sent up a silent plea that nothing would happen to the cake, and set aside the bag of icing. At last focusing her attention completely on Wheatley, she glanced his way and saw him shift a little at the table. It was this silent interaction they always seemed to have. Whenever he was certain he had her full attention, he wiggled, settling into place as if for long tale, which to be honest, was a hallmark of any of Wheatley's ramblings.

Chell gingerly placed the cake in the fridge before edging over to the kettle. It was a smooth and familiar dance, the mugs, the teabags, the switch on the kettle. The little kettle, green and metal, began to hum, and she sat at the table to wait and listen to Wheatley ramble.

He shifted again in his seat, a smile stretching from ear to ear as he leaned over the table and reached out a spidery hand towards her face.

"Er, Wheatley?"

He didn't answer, but brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. With a self-satisfied air, he showed her a daub of icing on his thumb and licked it off.

"Yes—I can see it now. Bagels with buttercream, the alliteration is certainly very nice. Plus, you get the bonus of being able to just grab one and walk around with it, I mean cake is nice but you have the whole trouble with slicing it and all—I mean it's not very mobile, is it?"

"Cupcakes?"

"Yeah no, but that's just the thing," he waved his arms around in an emphatic gesture, "that's just it, you can't really, well—I mean, sure, you can walk around with those, but they don't have holes like bagels do, so obviously a bit lacking in the 'hole' department."

The kettle began to whistle, and Chell rose to grab the mugs. Sitting back down, two mugs of piping hot, steeping tea in hand, she began tentatively, "Was your dream about bagels with icing?"

Wheatley eagerly took the mug. As for the question, his brow crinkled a little, and he adjusted his glasses.

"Oh right, yeah, the dream right—yes. Of course, I'd want to explain it to you, obviously, I mean why would I have brought it up if I didn't intend to explain the whole, er—"

Chell stirred her tea, hesitated, then touched one of his hands, still clutched around the mug. He stilled, sucking in a quick breath and squeezing her hand.

"Was it…" she was hesitant even to ask, to interrupt such a lovely afternoon. She had a strong feeling what would follow if she asked the question, but she had to ask it. She owed him that, at the very least, after a long two years.

"Was it about…Her?" She tossed the question out, eyeing him carefully as she sipped her tea.

"Well sort of, but not exactly. I mean, it was down in the labs, if you get what I'm saying—general territory where the thing happened, but had nothing to do with anything down there, really…if that makes any sort of sense."

"Not really."

Wheatley puffed, a little huff of air escaping his mouth, and he leaned back in his chair, settling in for a good long spin. If Chell had learned anything about this chatterbox of a man, it was that Wheatley couldn't just spit something out—no, as inefficient as it was, Wheatley was a storyteller. He had to wind up, much like a pitcher readying to throw a ball, and when he sensed that the energy in the room had reached a crescendo, he would hurl the most important information into the fray for maximum impact.

And much as it might annoy her under time-pressed circumstances, Chell had to admit it: Wheatley had a decent sense of how to build energy, even if the twist wasn't much to talk about.

"Right, so there I was, back in the labs—before the whole core fiasco, obviously—minding my own business, when wouldn't you know…"


Edit: Right, so I can see from the comments that there been a bit of confusion about this drabble. I should probably clarify a bit: this is a cut scene from a longer fic that didn't fit. I rounded the edges a little to post so that it wasn't quite so no context, but in the end, this is all I got. I don't really have anything else to write. Apologies sincerest if that disappoints/bothers people, but I'm not even sure what story Wheatley tells, because that wasn't my focus when I wrote this scene. Toodles, Inkling.