Portal: Love as a Construct

Part Nineteen. The Definition of Perfect

Part Nineteen. The Definition of Perfect

Ohhh, she was in a good mood this morning.

He peered out of the doorway and tried to see what she was doing. Working on that program again. It was taking her almost literally forever to write whatever that was. But that wasn't super important. What was important was the good mood bit, because he had to have a Very Serious Discussion with her and that would be much easier if she wasn't inclined to argue with everything he said.

"Hullo, GLaDOS!" he said cheerfully, coming the rest of the way into the room. She looked over at him, optic flicking up and down once.

"Where did you go?"

"Oh, y'know. Places. What's that you're doing, there?"

"It's... a project." She looked back at her screen, chassis hitching up a little and then relaxing.

"It's a very big project," Wheatley said, wanting to know more now that he'd asked. "You've been working on this one for uh, for a pretty long time."

"I have."

"And always when I'm not in the room, I noticed."

"Usually when you're in here I have to entertain you. I can't entertain you and write this at the same time."

He looked thoughtfully at the floor. Yes, that was actually very true, but he didn't let it bother him. If she really didn't want him there, she'd send him away. "Look, I... we've got to uh, to have a bit of a chat."

"About what."

He squinted at her, trying hard to gauge what tone of voice that was supposed to be. It was just... nothing. Just flat and toneless, as if she didn't want to commit to one kind of conversation or another.

"'bout some of the stuff you said yesterday."

She sighed and continued to stare at the screen, though she didn't write any more. "Must we?"

"Yes," Wheatley said firmly. "We must. And I need you to uh, to not argue. That is, you need to uh, to listen, instead of, instead of getting mad in advance like you usually, like you usually do."

"When did you stop," she said quietly.

"Uh... stop what?"

"Being afraid of me."

Wheatley's optic plates screwed up in confusion. "Well, to be honest, I haven't really been in a long time... I am when I think uh, when I think you're mad, but I... haven't been scared of you in a long while, other than that. But... why are you asking? D'you want me to be afraid of you?" He couldn't imagine wanting her to be afraid of him. That would be simply terrible.

"I... know how to deal with people who are afraid of me."

"I don't want to be dealt with," he said in a soft voice. "I want to be your friend."

She stared at him for a long moment.

"What did you want to talk about."

He emulated a breath, expanding and resettling his chassis and resolving to hold her gaze as much as possible. "Why d'you think having, having um, well, why d'you think liking me makes you... uh... soft and dependable, I think you – no, that wasn't it. Dependant! Soft and dependant. Why'd you say that?"

She looked away for a long moment, then returned to her original position and said, "People have friends to fill in for qualities they feel they lack. I... don't like how it makes me feel when I lack something. I'm supposed to be perfect. Needing... someone to fill in the holes means facing them and admitting they exist. And that means I'll never be what I'm supposed to be."