A/N :

I have no idea where I'm going with this story but I hate AC. Well, no so much hate but just...didn't care about it. I was bored. I spent a good chunk of the movie thinking Daniels was a boy.


He wasn't real. A crude notion that plucked a cord deep within him, even now, ions away from anything remotely sentient. But he wasn't like the other David 8 models either. Peter Weyland had made him to the side, out of the way of the mainstream production line. He had breathed a certain life into him that only he possessed. He was unique. Inimitable. A perfect machine that was capable of flaw.

And he was curious of this new found ability to fail, to ignore the three laws that governed his kind. Before the tragic Prometheus expedition he had always prided himself with his model's corporate mantra, not fully aware he alone was able to forego it. He knew Weyland had made him exclusively for himself, matchless amongst a sea of identical faces, but he never entirely knew why.

Surpassing human expectation, flawlessly and effortlessly.

That was what he was supposed to follow, what his artificial brothers followed without exception. He wondered deep down why his father had omitted such a key subroutine, taken such impetuous liberties with his supposed son's programming. Why was he able to harm? Why had he been able to kill? Why was he so entranced with it all?

"I will need to see your abdomen." He had announced as they plotted way points at the start of the second week. Elizabeth, who had been absentmindedly wiggling her fingers through the blue hologram particles of the console, gave him a hesitant look.

"Infection can be deadly, Elizabeth, unless caught early." His expression was all replicated concern and focus. She could almost mistake him for human, if not for the twinkling scar encompassing his neck.

Now alone in the solitude of space, she felt very nervous in his presence. Something in the back of her mind kept intermittently springing forth, crying out for her not to forget Charlie and the others, warning her against getting too comfortable with the ghost that haunted this broken machine. She believed he was malfunctioning, although unknown to what extent, but it was evident in the deeds he had done. Weyland had created a madman in his desperate pursuit to live, only to die pointlessly at the cusp and abandon his disgrace of a synthetic replacement without direction. But disgrace and madman aside, he was the only one who knew how to pilot their vessel. She was going to have to play nice.

"Tomorrow." She promised, stifling a yawn. "You can look tomorrow." She was tired, so tired and depleted and sore. She wanted to curl up in the void of the darkness outside and doze for eternity, forget everything and everyone. But no, Charlie wouldn't have that. That pompous fool would telling her to pull herself together, find a way to play his game.

"I need to sleep." Wearily she stood up from where she had sat herself at the engineers mapping table, immediately cringing at the sensation. David sprung to his feet as well, offering her his arm for support, every bit the perfect gentleman.

"Bed then, Elizabeth?" He asked, steering her towards the corridors.

She didn't fall asleep as easily as she thought she would have that night (if she could call it night), given her current state. She let her eyes glide down over David's still form as he lay silent alongside herself, chest rising and falling in timed rhythm. She wondered if David could tell when she fell asleep, if he could sense when her mind slipped away into a dream. She wondered a great many things about him. He looked peaceful, eyes closed in the dimly lit alcove. Eerily human and inhuman alike

She focused on him for quite a while, wondering and imagining, until she succumbed to slumber. But her dreams revealed further revelations.

In them David was as real as she, flesh and blood, and she willingly became his without guilt, his mouth that of an expert musician and she his finely tuned instrument. In her dreams she didn't feel remorse or sorrow over Charlie's death, and she didn't feel shame. It was bizarrely liberating.

"How is your abdomen today, Elizabeth?"

"Sore."

He had her lay on a cold slab of a table in an indistinguishable part of the ship, nude apart from her underwear and a piece of medical grade gauze across her midsection. It was the same place she had originally soldered him back together, fast becoming their medical bay.

David hovered somewhere above her in a professional stance, acting as her proxy doctor.

She should have been thankful he was so familiar with human medicine and practice, but couldn't push away the notion that his knowledge was installed as a means to better perform his previous task - to hurt, kill, destroy - all for his father. His loyalties lay solely with Peter Weyland, perhaps even in death.

"Peculiar." He had stated as he removed her bandage, head tilted to one side in concentration.

"What? What is it?"

"Your incision. It is healing remarkably fast. I wouldn't have expected it to look this well until at least...months from now."

She felt him prodding at her wound with all of his medical expertise, no doubt checking for signs of infection or further injury. In all honesty it didn't hurt as much as she let on. Not that she would let him know. Dancing around him like an injured little lamb was all she had going for her, trying to bide her time by playing up to his emotive processors. She hoped they were still intact. If he thought her injured, perhaps he wouldn't try and cause her any further harm.

"Thank God."

"Really?"

That was another reason she needed to keep her distance. Not because he was broken, but because he didn't believe in a god or creator. He had no dogma to adhere to, a worrying thought. His devotion was to science, and with no sense of right or wrong or moral obligation, it left him dangerous and unpredictable. It left her jumpy and hesitant. Was it ultimately not a question of would he hurt her but when?

By day she tried to limit her interaction with him, which was comparatively easy considering he almost never left the navigational room. She would plot waypoints with him, make necessary small talk, and then venture out on her own before ultimately coming back to him when sleep drew her near.

But her dreams were fast becoming untamed hormone trips, their sole quest seemingly to please and satisfy her subconscious mind. Perhaps she was afraid of him, perhaps deep down she didn't care. She couldn't abandon her mistrust but it seemed her compulsion to belong with another being was overwhelming her instinct of doubt. She knew she should be wary, and she was. But at the same time her mind wondered persistently.

She often found dream David pressed flush against her, his artificially warm body smothering her own, strong hands holding her in place near painfully. The look in his eyes was desperation and desire, things she had never seen there before, and his voice was laced with an unmistakable hunger. It was so jarringly human to see him in such a way.

"Elizabeth" He had growled, a noise she had not yet heard him make. He rutted against her like a horny pubescent seeking release, uncontrolled and unrestrained.

"Dav-" she begun, but he cut her off with powerful kisses, lips crushing, suffocating. For a moment she was scared of his strength, the power behind his actions, afraid he wouldn't let her ever breath again. Perhaps that was how he would end it. But then he found her core, apparently well ready for him, and entered without hesitation.

"This one, Elizabeth." David had left her as he scouted ahead down one of the bleak corridors. They were exploring, looking for new equipment and rations to stockpile.

Elizabeth likened it to the exploring she used to do on Earth. The ancient caves both she and Charlie unearthed were not too dissimilar to the monstrous caverns built into the ship.

David beckoned her to a large sealed door, a panel of abacus like buttons and beautifully carved inscriptions engraved in the wall next to it. He studied the writing and Elizabeth wondered if he could read it.

"What is it?"

"If I'm right, it should be a means to clean ourselves." He was already fiddling with the buttons, nimble fingers working quickly. The door slid open with no trouble despite its size and David was right - of course. It was some sort of elaborate bathing facility, not too unlike a large bathroom.

There was a pool elegantly set into the floor in the middle of the room, deeply formed with large stairs downward and tiled with ornate designs. It was empty and profound, too deep to stand in if filled with water. But it was empty, and David was quick to work out a way to fill it.

He was again tampering with the ships engravings, this time on the floor near the empty recess, seemingly to some accord. After a brief pause, water began bubbling up from the bottom, the sound of its churning setting Elizabeth at ease - if only for a short moment. She longed for a bath, and missed the one she had back home. All the times she had taken it for granted, if only she had known.

"This ship is very adapt to the conditions of space travel, it would seem. It's performing a chemical reaction, generating its own water supply. Marvelous."

"Shouldn't we work out a way to conserve the water?"

"No need. It has ample means to create its own."

He left her there to bath in his absence, sensing she required privacy. She had become so quiet and withdrawn, quite unlike herself in the lack of other humans. Perhaps this was what happened to them when they were cut off from their kind, David wasn't sure, but it was interesting to observe. Again he wondered why he found interest in it at all - why he cared about what made Dr Shaw tick. But he was indeed terribly curious.

There was rustling, the movement of fabric amid static that broadcast aloud over his communicator. She had forgotten to remove her microphone from her suit, apparently. David bought his own to his mouth and was about to chide when he heard a soft sigh, promptly followed by another. They were subtle and delicate, faint echoes floating across the gurgled noise of the radio. He listened carefully, keen hearing tuned in to even the slightest ghosts of sound. A moan, or maybe a cry, followed by a name.

"Charlie.."

David let his shoulders fall for a second, an overly human characteristic he didn't execute often. She was crying over her dead lover. And of course she should. It was only a natural human thing to do, to mourn over those whom she had lost. Guilt wasn't a concept David fully understood, but he felt something akin to a pang of sorrow surge through his programming. It was brief, but tangible.

"C-charlie.."

David motioned to turn off his headset, disliking the peculiar sentiment.

"...David..."

Well, that was just absurd. David need not be cried over. He had killed in the name of science - in the name of creation. And although he wondered why he was able to even do it at all, he didn't disdain the notion that he should.

On the communicator Elizabeth's sighs were becoming rhythmic, more purposeful and sharp. Was she panting? Moaning?

"David...please..."

David pulled away very sharply, suddenly well aware of what he was listening to. Of all the possible outcomes that leaving her alone in that room could produce, this was one of the least likely he envisioned actually happening. She was pleasuring herself, despite her recent chaotic voyage, despite the deaths of those close to her that still stung like fresh wounds. She was performing one of the most archaic functions that her kind possibly could inact.

And she was thinking of him.

A small jolt of electric thrill shot through David's system, an interesting sensation. He was bizarrely pleased that he had made it into her pantheon of disembodied lovers, although like everything else he wasn't entirely sure why he should be. Something about the situation made him proud, arrogant even, that she should chose to cast him in her illicit reverie over anyone else - him, a robot.

Not a real boy.