“There’s a lot of leg to pull, dear, and I’m far too tired.” Her voice came out softer than expected as she became momentarily lost in concentration, stuck in a brief loop of reading the same sentence over and over but not comprehending it. Eyebrows knitted in frustration, she pushed herself back from her desk and stretched; the crack that came from her back was ungodly sounding.
Carol had tried to wean herself off of drinking so much coffee, she really had, but being the only competent accountant left in the building, she had a long night ahead of her and needed something to work with. She took a few steps to the mini-fridge that Cave insisted that his drinks be kept in outside of his office (It suited her just fine, she was able to store her own creamers and lunches there, and since he never went into it himself, she never got caught) and dug around.
“Do you want coffee? I forgot to bring dinner and I’m going to make a pot.”
She remembered the paperwork for that incident… and the many incidents before it. Losing a few teeth was one of the less-severe accidents to have happened, especially as of late. How Wheatley had been the longest-standing custodian in the face of 500-foot pitfalls, pools of acid, and military-grade turret testing chambers she would never know. It seemed to her that the testing chambers, even post-test, were getting more and more dangerous by the day (and she had the statistics to prove it), and she’d be lying if she said she’d never worried about safety.
Caroline thought for a moment as she turned on the coffee maker (Her own butterscotch blend brought from home, of course- the stuff they supplied the staff with here tasted like paint), and chose her next words as delicately as she was able at this hour of night.
“Well, I’m afraid there’s not much higher you can go on the custodial ladder- you’re the ‘most durable fella we’ve got’, in the words of our oh-so-kind employer,” she gave air quotes with one hand, “But if you’d like to maybe foray into the office floors, maybe poke around as my temp…”
Her voice dwindled away and she leaned back against the counter. “You know my door is always open, honey.”
Wheatley is taken by the softness of her voice, shedding Caroline a look of concern as he pauses in his work. Strong as she was, the custodian knew that keeping Aperture in check was no job to sneeze at. Why, even with the urban sprawl of test chambers, break-rooms, and offices as his domain, Wheatley knew he only worked a fraction as hard as her. For Caroline, all of Aperture depended on her, from every uncounted cog to errant employee. The thought of such power was cloying, but Wheatley had always been happy to rest on his laurels.
In fact, he was growing very tired of sweeping himself, the crack of Carol’s back straightening his own. Propping the broom so that it sits against a nearby wall, Wheatley stiffens and twists in place, the snap of each vertebrae drawing from him another breath. Much better.
❝ Coffee sounds lovely, actually. Gotta keep that midnight oil burnin’, aye? ❞
He sidles up next to her, leaning heavily against the wall as he pauses to dust his palms off on the legs of his trousers. It wouldn’t be long before the smell of coffee would drift from the little machine, a welcome reprieve from the sting of cleaner ... assuming Wheatley could smell it. Nose-blindness seemed to be a commonality among Aperture’s custodial team. Nonetheless, the potential to smell something that didn’t burn his throat.
❝ Oh nonsense! Cleanin’ is what I do, Carol. Why, you could finally let me handle my own janitorial budget, order my own supplies ... I mean, really, can’t you sweet-talk Cave into spendin’ less on moon rocks and more on brooms? The one I’ve been pushin’ around looks a right mess. I could always pick up the slack, y’know ... land me a fancy little office where I could print out my own cleanin’ routes for the crew instead of gabbin’ on walkie-talkies that hardly work in a bloody salt-mine. ❞
Wheatley pauses his blabbering, looking to Carol with his eyes aglow. An office job? He’d lie if he said the idea of a cushy office job wasn’t tempting, but the responsibilities inherent in such a position gave him pause. Looking her up and down, Wheatley furrows his brows before speaking cautiously.