Hello, everyone, and welcome back! I did decide to continue on after Survive, but I wanted to post this under its own title. This may end up being two parts long - still a work in progress, don't judge me yet. :P

Anyway, here is the first bit. Hope you all enjoy and thank you again for reading. :3

05/26/2020 - UPDATE - Several people have asked about this, so I feel I need to clarify. Please be aware that in this fic, Wheatley is not a core; he is an android. I don't plan on going into details about it throughout the course of the story (though I may, if it fits in with things), but for his portrayal here (and in the prequel Survive), he was a human that had mechanical alterations done to him. I apologize if this has caused any confusion for anybody. If this does not suit your tastes, I understand. Thank you!

Out of all the things Chell had known she would carry with her upon leaving Aperture, the last thing she would have ever expected was a child - much less the child of the power mad AI she had thrown out onto the moon in a last ditch effort to escape with her own life. No, instead she had escaped not only with her own life, but the life of another smaller, more helpless being. Now, thrust suddenly into the midst of this new world on the surface, Chell had to admit to herself that she sometimes barely understood what all she needed in order to support herself, let alone her unborn child. She of course had all of her basic human instincts intact and knew how to satisfy those, but trying to weave all of this into a society that she barely understood was another thing altogether.

One other thing she had taken with her from Aperture was her sense of determination to overcome. Overcome what, it did not matter, she just knew she felt a powerful urge to move on in the face of anything, even when it came to wrestling with her own issues, both physical and mental. Not that she truly acknowledged the mental side of things - that was all neatly tucked into a corner that she pretended did not exist, despite its quiet whispers to her whenever she dared to let her mind wander for too long. But at least physically, she was determined to face whatever life and the world had to throw out at her, even when her body became a complete stranger to her as it swelled with the life growing inside of it.

While Chell's body had mostly recovered from the battering it sustained during her time at Aperture, it apparently did not like the idea of carrying a baby comfortably, much less full term. As a result, Winter was born ten weeks early on a bitter January morning, the winds of the season after which he was named whipping pellets of freezing rain into every available crevice and blanketing the entire area in a layer of dangerous, thick ice.

Getting Chell to the hospital in a middle of this had been a challenge in and of itself, especially after a massive amount of blood loss led to a loss of consciousness in the woman. The baby was delivered via cesarean section after a number of complications which almost ended in tragedy both for the newborn and his mother. Chell herself nearly died after her close call with the massive amount of blood loss, while little Winter survived only by being hooked up to machines and breathing apparatuses. Needless to say, they both had a long road of recovery ahead of them.

Both Chell and little Winter spent weeks in the hospital under close monitoring, the hospital and its staff using every available resource to ensure that the community's newest members would survive. Once Chell had recovered enough to be able to move more freely, she spent every available moment by her son's side, refusing to leave him even for a second, even though she could not stand to see him hooked up like he was. His tiny, helpless, fragile body covered in nodes and wires, all keeping track of his vitals and, essentially, keeping him alive. It made her feel sick, and what made the feeling even worse was the image that insisted on forcing itself into her thoughts - the image of the baby's father, crazed, all hooked up and surrounded by wires as well, only not for life support but for far more dubious reasons.

The juxtaposition of these images in her mind, both real and imagined, almost made her want to rip all the cords off and out of her son. He was not like him. He would never be like him, not even down on this fundamental level. Chell would see to that. She would see that he grew up safe, protected, confident,

(I. AM NOT. A MORON!)

and, above all, level-headed.

The medical staff encouraged her to rest as much as possible, seeing as she was still recovering from her own medical maladies, but she refused. She even went to the extent of flat out ignoring anyone who tried to make her leave for any reason, even if it was for her own good.

She especially ignored her social worker, Jan, who for some reason had taken it upon herself to act as sort of matriarch to this broken little family. Perhaps she felt a sense of responsibility towards the enigmatic woman she had helped rehabilitate, and by extension her poor little son, who was having a hard time of things as well.

Whatever it was, both her loitering and doting was beginning to get on Chell's nerves. She did not need any help. What she needed was to be left alone with her son.

But perhaps she had come to understand more about Chell than she was admittedly comfortable with.

After several weeks of sleepless days and nights, worrying, Chell grew frustrated by the struggles she and her son were going through. Most recently, her struggle was getting the little baby to latch on and feed from her breast. As if it was not bad enough that her limited milk supply had all but dried up during her own stint in recovery, Chell had been told by the nurse to not get her hopes up too high either way, that many premature babies went without breastfeeding altogether, and that this was not necessarily a bad thing, seeing as feeding him formula would help him grow faster at any rate. But Chell, being the most stubborn human being on the planet, of course refused to give up, refused to believe that she could fail at something as basic as being able to breastfeed her own child.

This was where Jan came in. She popped in for a surprise visit one day to find Chell gently stroking her baby's tiny head as he slept in the incubator, silent tears streaming down her face. The younger woman looked up, startled, before quickly ducking her head and moving to wipe away the evidence of her perceived weakness.

"What you are feeling is completely normal, dear. It's called postpartum depression. It's nothing to hide or feel embarrassed about, and that goes double for you," stated Jan gently, offering a boxed meal to Chell, who of course did not even move to receive it. She instead held back a grimace. She was not experiencing postpartum depression. She was just frustrated that she could not breastfeed her son and she was feeling overwhelmed by the instincts dictating that she do so.

Besides...

Even if it was postpartum depression... it was not just that. It was a culmination of many things, things she could never have explained with any amount of articulation, not that Jan or anyone else would have ever believed or understood her. No, this was something that ran so deeply inside of her, she could no more escape it than she could ever truly escape the facility. It was something that was woven into her entire being, something that had touched her from the moment she awoke the first time all those (thousands) of years ago and made her way through testing chamber after testing chamber only to nearly become another victim of the facility's homicidal AI. It was something that had only been further wound into her by what he had done. Perhaps it had even been a part of her from the very beginning, something from before her memories began, something in her very chemistry or even DNA.

It was most certainly not anything anyone was ever privy to, either. Ever.

So, rather than communicating any of this to her unwarranted caretaker, Chell instead responded by not responding.

Much to her chagrin, the older woman took this as her cue to berate her instead, "Oh, and do you think that starving yourself is going to help your little one? You need to eat."

She offered the box again.

Chell glared.

At which point her stomach decided to betray her by making a long, drawn-out, nearly pathetic noise, effectively shattering the tension.

With a sigh, the younger woman reached out and took the proffered box, settling back into her chair and opening it. Roast beef, vegetables (sans potatoes), and rice - her newfound favorite meal. She narrowed her eyes, wondering at what point Jan had become such a staple in her new life as to remember what her favorite foods were. In the end, she was admittedly too hungry to argue and also had to concede that Jan was right in that she needed to feed herself so that she could better provide for her little son.

"Precious little lamb," said Jan while Chell quietly began to tuck into her meal, "His color looks a lot better today. Putting on good weight, too. He's a fighter like his mother, for sure."

Jan sent a small smile in Chell's direction, but she was too busy taking her time with chewing each of the individual pieces of food to notice. She had the most methodical way of doing most everything, even something as simple as eating her food, like it was a puzzle, Jan had observed. It was quite curious and spoke great volumes of what she had been through and where she had come from, though the language of those volumes was not one that Jan - nor anyone else - was able to translate. Jan thought that her young patient remembered far more than she was letting on, brain damage or not, but she also knew better than to push that matter.

Certain other matters, however, did need to be pushed.

"Chell," she said softly as she watched the younger woman eat the meal she had prepared for her, "Can I ask what you are planning on doing when you and Winter get out of here?"

(We'll get out of here. Together. You and me.)

Chell spent a long time chewing on a piece of meat, much longer than necessary, but to Jan's credit, she waited patiently. Chell amused herself with the thought that the woman was wasting her time waiting patiently for an answer she would not receive and made it a point to take another slow bite before again taking a long time to chew. Jan had to have known at that point that she was avoiding answering the question, and again the woman proved to be more adept at reading her than she liked.

"Bringing home a newborn is a scary and confusing experience for anyone, and I can only imagine it is especially so for you," she said. The fact that this was due, in part, to Chell still struggling to fit in with the rest of her fellow human beings after appearing from out of nowhere under extremely mysterious circumstances was left as subtext. Though Chell did wonder what Jan actually knew of what she was going through - the woman had never had any children of her own, much less one who had to be hooked up to machines in order to survive.

"Are you going to continue working at the library?"

In response to this, Chell shrugged and took in another small piece of food.

"How about care for Winter? You don't need me to tell you that he is going to require round the clock care."

Chell took a second to think over what Jan was getting at. She was more than capable of continuing her job at the library - it was quiet and easy work, after all, perfect for someone in her physical and mental condition (not that there was anything wrong with her on either front, of course) - and she was learning more and more every day about how to care for a baby, even one with special needs. What else could she do but carry on with the deck of cards

(Ace of fours - the best hand. Unbeatable, I imagine.)

she had been handed?

Of course, before returning to work, she was going to need to find a babysitter...

Chell all at once knew what Jan was going to say before the words were even out of her mouth. She stopped eating and gave the other woman one of her hallmark blank stares. If there was one thing she hated above all else, it was the feeling that she was about to be manipulated. It immediately put her on guard and any doors that might have been open at that moment all slammed shut.

Irritated, she hastily moved to take back the reigns. She hardened her gaze and signed a single word, "No."

Jan, seeming to be completely unsurprised by her patient's short response, said, "Now, if there is one thing I have come to learn about you, dear, it is that you are far too stubborn for your own good and don't know when to ask for help-.."

Chell huffed and started to sign out an angry retort, but Jan beat her to the punch by standing up and going right on with what she was saying,

"...-So I'm going to to just say that should you need any help... my door is always open."

Chell, still feeling a bunch of unchecked emotions roiling through her, rolled her eyes and signed, "I hope you don't mean literally, because it is barely ten degrees outside right now."

She was fully expecting a snarky remark in return for her own sarcasm, but what she received instead was a small, friendly smile from the older woman. She could tell that she had more to say, but that she was choosing not to say it. Chell was not sure if she was glad for this or not. After everything that had happened in the last few weeks - hell, the last few however long - she was rearing for a fight and ready to take it all out on this stupid woman who dared to care about her, or at least who dared to try to convince her that she cared about her. Just who in the hell did she think she was, coming in here like she owned the place. Offering help where it was not warranted. She reminded her of an overbearing mother - a thought which made her wonder how she even knew what an overbearing mother was like, but was not enough to make her stop and examine it any further than needing it as a point of reference for how she was feeling in the current moment.

Whatever the case, Jan wisely decided to leave, even though she had not been there for very long at all. This, at least, Chell was glad for, because she truthfully did not know what she would have done had Jan decided to stick around any longer after her little manipulative stunt. About all she did know was that it was not going to be good.

The moment her social worker closed the door behind her, Chell got up to throw the rest of her food into the trash. Then she sighed, sat back down, and decided there was no point in wasting it now, not since she was still actually hungry and needed it to help her stupid body produce as much milk as possible despite its stubbornness on the matter.

As she begrudgingly went about eating the rest of the roast beef, her eyes settled on the sleeping form of her little son, his tiny chest rising and falling in the rapid, short breaths that the medical staff had assured her was normal. The light fluttering of his eyelids, much fuller and peaceful-looking than they had been during those first few days of life. The small suckling motions he made in his sleep, probably dreaming of the only thing he really knew at that point. His little fingers, so small, and she was already wrapped entirely around them. She would do anything for him, absolutely anything. There were so many uncertainties in her life right now; but of that, at least, she was certain.

Chell allowed herself a hint of a smile.

His color, she decided, did look better.