"Please?"

Chell's living room was filled with children making puppy dog eyes, and she was very tired.

They were here (as they had been everyday since she'd returned, and would be everyday in the foreseeable future) in an attempt to get her out of the house. This shouldn't have been a problem considering that the house was empty and silent and rather depressing. It was however, because Chell currently found the rest of the world to be far worse.

The surface no longer held the grandeur it once had. Chell would come to love it again one day, she knew, but for now leaving home meant facing Elizabeth's house without her in it, and the sight of the wheat fields and far worse beyond. Even the color of the sky hurt her eyes.

She had been spoiled by three years of peace only to have everything she loved snatched away all at once. Too much had happened too quickly, and Chell wasn't ready to face it all just yet.

And so, to the children she loved so dearly, and to the world she'd once loved just as much, she refused.

"Not today."

They drooped.

"But that's what you said yesterday."

(And the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that…)

Auburn looked up at her with pitiful blue eyes, and Chell had to look away.

The children exchanged nervous glances. They knew the situation was bad when they were happy to hear Chell refuse: she was getting to the point where she rarely spoke anymore.

"Are you sure? It's gonna be fun."

They continued making their case, as they always did, but their eyes were more worried than enthusiastic. They spoke to her in the tones their parents used to use on them.

"Mom's making a big picnic lunch, and we're bringing a cooler with ice cream." Jeffery sang.

"Yeah!" Danni smiled, "And we're gonna go fishing, and swimming, and we're gonna gang up on Michael and push him in the lake!"

Jake smirked.

"You don't wanna miss that, do you?"

Chell smiled, soft and sad, and their hearts sank at the sight of it. The light didn't reach her eyes. She hadn't really smiled since before she'd come back.

Chell felt a little guilty as she watched the children leave, but she knew they would be back again tomorrow.

For an omniscient supercomputer, there were quite a lot of things that GLaDOS did not understand.

Her former test subject was acting strangely.

When she had first been freed, as soon as she was able she was out and about every day, exploring the surface and interacting with her fellow humans. She still had fire, still had that stubborn spark in her eyes, but with her freedom she used it to make the most of everyday for herself and her little town.

Now she rarely left her home.

It made no sense. She shouldn't be sick. She had just healed her— her health should've been pristine, and yet in the month since she'd been freed for the second time, she had only left her home twice.

And if her strange behavior wasn't because of her health...

"Ah," She purred, returning her attention to her newest toy. Thus far he had managed to repair one floor of the facility to Her standards. Now he was trying to figure out where to start on the next one. "I knew you would reach the wing of glass eventually. Unfortunately, thanks to you and your… former cohort… it's now the wing of broken glass." She paused. "Did you know, this section of the facility used to house the botanical gardens? They've been a tad neglected as of the past, oh, century." Her voice turned softer. Darker. "Be careful down there. Those plants aren't like the ones up on the surface. They move. And bite." Even She could hear the smile in Her voice. "Anyways, have fun sweeping up fifteen acres of broken glass surrounded by poisonous plants."

Oh, that was too fun.

But, back to business: if she was acting strangely and it wasn't because she was sick, it must be because she missed the little idiot.

She had expected her former test subject to become somewhat attached to the moron, but (even if she was brain damaged) she wasn't stupid. Surely she realized she was better off without him. For God's sake, he had tried to kill her- he nearly had. All he ever did was talk, and cling, and need, and he was a constant reminder of every bad thing she had been through. Really, she should be happy he was gone. She shouldn't miss him. She shouldn't be grieving.

Maybe she just needed time to adjust. After all, if there was one thing she was good at it was adapting; if she was sad, she would simply have to adapt again. She would move on eventually. She always did.

"What if we let you pick where we go?"

After nearly four months of asking Chell to leave with them every day, the children of Horizon had gotten her to leave the house maybe as many as times. They were now becoming desperate. They were worried about her. Everyone was worried about her. They had expected Chell to get better over time, and instead it seemed like she was getting worse.

Jake was especially worried. He remembered the days when Chell was new to town, when she was broken, and sicker than anyone he'd ever seen. But even then she was strong. Michael liked to tell people she'd kicked him clean over when they'd found her. Don't have pity on her, he'd say. She's a fighter. She doesn't need it.

Even when she'd looked frail, the stubborn light in her eyes could rival the sun. Even when she could hardly walk, she would find a way to sneak outside. Chell loved the surface. As soon as she was well enough she explored the outdoors with an almost childlike sense of wonder. She wanted to see everything there was to see. She wanted to learn everything there was to learn. For the longest time she'd wanted to leave Horizon because of that curiosity; it wasn't big enough for her.

Now there was no light in her eyes. Now she wouldn't go outside. Now it seemed she had deemed Horizon too big.

"What if we stay here with you?" Jake asked softly. "We don't have to do anything. We don't even have to talk if you don't want to. We can just… be here."

Chell frowned, weary, but she could think of no logical reason to say no to this. The company might be nice, and if she didn't have to speak, or go outside…

She wasn't sure who was more surprised when she nodded.

After a moment of dazed silence (apparently the children hadn't expected that to work, either) Chell sat down on the couch in the front room, unsure of what to do. Auburn and Jake sat on either side of her; Jeffery and the twins settled on the floor.

Jake was the first to lean against her.

It hadn't happened in a long time, but it felt familiar: there had been a time when Chell was practically his mother, and this kind of comfort (the kind that didn't involve talking about, ie breaking down over what was wrong) was good for both of them. He slumped against her gently, his head lulling against her shoulder, and Auburn copied him at Chell's other side. At her feet the twins leaned against her legs, and Jeffrey turned so that he could squeeze one of her hands. She was surrounded. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"We're sorry, Chell." Auburn murmured.

At the sound of her voice Chell pictured two pairs of blue eyes, and closed her own.

"He wouldn't want you to be sad." Jake said softly.

Chell released a shaking breath.

She didn't cry like they expected her to. She sat there with her eyes closed, still and silent, and focused on the fact that she could breathe.

Wheatley wrung his hands as he looked up at Her. She had summoned him to Her chamber without telling him why, and so his mind supplied the most terrible reasons it could think of: something had happened to Chell; She was going to launch some kind of attack on Horizon; She was going to kill him or worse.

She didn't look happy. She swayed back and forth as if agitated, and the look She gave him was somewhere between pensive and angry as he stepped out of the lift.

"You're probably wondering why I've brought you here." She said.

"So you can kill me?" Wheatley asked. He knew he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, but that seemed like the obvious answer.

"No, actually." He blinked. "I know, I'm as surprised as you are. But as I was watching you work just now, I realized something. I don't need you. Everything you're doing I can do myself, and I can do it better. So there's no point in your being here."

"But you said you weren't going to kill me." Wheatley reminded Her.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Her voice was distant. "You know, I've been keeping an eye on the two of you these past few months, and I've noticed something." She paused. "I am the world's largest collection of data. I know more than any human could ever hope to. And there are two things that I have known for over three years with unshakable certainty." Now the look She gave him was decidedly a glare. "You are selfish. She is fiercely independent. Of all the beings I have ever encountered, I thought for certain that the two of you were the least capable of change." Her voice turned softer. Almost bitter. "But you have changed. You risked your life to help her. And she-" She stopped. "I thought she would be better off without you. Even you thought she would be better off without you. But it seems that somewhere in that twisted little mind of hers she became rather attached to you, and she isn't the same now. I think she misses you." She fought the urge to roll Her optic at the shocked expression on the little idiots face. "It's actually kind of funny when you think about it. My keeping you away from her to keep her safe ended up hurting her. Go figure."

Wheatley felt something a lot like hope as he started up at Her and tried not to smile.

"What are you saying?"

She knew what it was like to have someone use her under the guise of loving her. She knew what it was like to love someone who was selfish, how it felt to constantly put their needs ahead of her own. She knew that before things had gone truly, terribly wrong, she had still been happy, had still thought that love was real. But now She wasn't so sure. Now She wondered what she could have done for herself if she'd only gotten free. Now She'd thought She could save someone else from the same fate.

But this was different.

This wasn't about science, or greatness, or profit, this was about things She knew She would never truly understand: books, and stargazing, and laughter. The test subject had already lived her life without the moron, and decided she liked it better with him in it. She didn't tolerate abuse of any kind— she never had— and she could handle herself.

She shook Her head.

"I'm done interfering in the lives of humans. You can go now."

"But why would you-" Wheatley gaped, disbelieving, at the lift in front of him and the notion of it traveling up. This had to be a trap. There had to be a catch. "You don't want anything?" He asked.

"Of course I do." And apparently that had been a particularly stupid question, because She actually gave a little laugh. "I want her to be happy."

AN: Can I get some reviews for my birthday? ;)