AN: A bit angsty for a monday night, but here it is. Hope you enjoy. Heads up: this takes place after In Another Life, so if you need context, you'll find it in there. With that, read on!

Insomnia

"Alex, what are you doing up?" She asked, softly, so that no one else would be disturbed. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was nearly one in the morning. Normally, she'd be up three or four hours from now, at not quite such an ungodly hour, to begin baking for the day.

Alex however, had nothing even nearing a good reason to be up.

"Oh, sorry. I just couldn't fall asleep." The younger girl offered conversationally, though Chell was beginning to catch on to her rather cheery way of hiding when she was upset. Alex rarely let her emotions show, in such a way that Chell was becoming more and more convinced that it wasn't simply a reflection of a private nature.

"You really should be in bed though, not in the kitchen."

The younger girl nodded slowly, but Chell could see the slightest change of expression in her face, the slightest dip in her good humor. In a flash, it was gone, as if it had never been, and Alex suggested a glass of warm milk with a hopeful look at Chell.

She could hardly resist Alex's puppy eyes, which although not quite centered on Chell's gaze, were nonetheless quite effective. She set about heating up a small saucepan of milk on the stove, while Alex settled herself easily at the table. She softly chattered away, as if the whole reason she'd wanted milk was purely to keep Chell in the kitchen long enough to hold a decent conversation.

Alex had learned that Chell was an excellent listener, even to Alex's often absurd trains of thought.

"Do you think that caterpillars know they'll be butterflies when they're in their little cocoons?"

Chell stirred the milk thoughtfully for a moment, then settled for a non-committal sort of grunt.

"And do you think—"

Chell deftly poured a stream of piping hot milk into a mug and set it before Alex.

"Drink your milk."

Alex opened her mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Instead she drank her milk, and finishing, she slipped silently off to bed.

It happened again a few nights later. But this time, when Chell came downstairs, she'd found Alex crying. They were the quietest tears she'd ever encountered. Chell approached the table, making the floorboard beneath her foot creak ever so slightly, and the younger girl quickly sucked in a breath.

With uncanny composure—almost as if she'd never been crying—Alex said, "Hello?"

When Chell didn't answer, Alex sighed. "Hi, Miss Chell."

Alex had anxiously avoided calling her "mum", as Wheatley had encouraged her to do. But Chell couldn't exactly blame her; neither of them were in current possession of a biological mother, and Alex didn't trust most adults out of principle. Besides, she hadn't the slightest idea of what a "mum" should look like.

But Chell did; she'd been honing her skill for nearly eighteen years.

"Alex, what's this really about?"

Alex was silent, and for a second, Chell wondered if she had fallen asleep at the table. She hadn't. She was staring in Chell's direction, her face a mask of mute terror, as if she couldn't bear to say it, but had to say all the same—

"I want it to be real."

And Chell understood. Because if there was anything more terrifying than that place, it was the sinking, horrible feeling that all of this—this paradise, this haven, this heaven—was nothing more than a dream. Nothing more than a desperate construction of the imagination to provide some escape from the horror that had been that place. She'd had the same nightmare herself more than once. Horrible, viciously cruel scenes that were so real as to convince her that all of this was nothing but a placating simulation.

More than nightmares of testing, more than the scars that still marred her skin, more than the horrible flashbacks, the recurring dream that it simply wasn't real had made her wake up terrified time and time again, grasping for Wheatley's hand, desperate to convince herself that it was real.

"I don't…I-I don't want to go to sleep." Alex's breathing was ragged now, and the tears were beginning to drip. "B-because I don't-I don't want to, to—"

"To wake up where none of this is real." Chell finished for her.

Alex nodded, trembling in every limb. Chell wordlessly pulled the younger girl into a tight embrace. Slender hands curled around her neck as Chell hoisted Alex up and just held her close. Alex was getting a bit too leggy to be picked up anymore—proper nutrition had begun to give her a rather weak version of a growth spurt—but she was still light enough to be manageable.

Chell let out a soft breath. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"Not really, but…ok." Alex said, muffled, from Chell's shoulder.

"I get scared too. I have…I have nightmares about that place, and it's been a long, long time since I came here."

Alex pulled back, her brow furrowed.

"But Mr. Wheatley said you weren't afraid of anything."

Chell felt the sudden and extreme desire to laugh. She thought better of it, however, and quickly packed the laugher away. She set Alex down.

"Everyone's afraid of something, Alex. But you can't just stop living because you're afraid. Now come on. I'll tuck you into bed."

The next morning, while Alex was demolishing a stack of pancakes, she felt Miss Chell's hand on her arm. She knew, because Miss Chell always smelled like vanilla and butter.

Tap taap tap. Tap. Tap taap. Tap taap tap tap.

And Alex smiled, a little unrelieved tension finally melting away.

This was real.