Just wanted to say, that although I did say 'beef-up' the Hicks\Ripley thing, I was never going to lay it on thick. That would seem against the tone of the film. Lots of very small tidbits, gradually adding to the attraction, building the tension...

0000

After the marines had broken from the briefing, Ripley felt raw. She should've expected the marines to be no better than anyone else she'd told about the aliens.

At least they didn't look at her like her shrink did; like she was broken. No, just a rambling idiot, seeing monsters where there weren't any.

The marines busied themselves for a couple hours and Ripley tried to keep busy. She re-read the reports from Hadley's Hope from the past six months prior to their silence. She re-read the mission briefing, and tactical analysis. She took a turn in the rec-room, running herself into a fine dripping sweat but did little to tire her mind.

Eventually, she wandered back to where all the noise was coming from. Marines were working like bees in a hive.

She saw Burke and Gorman standing together talking. Ripley had no wish to join their conversation.

Giving them a wide birth, she walked out in amongst the finely controlled chaos. She needed something to do. Something, anything to take her mind off seeing Kane convulsing on the dinner table.

"Clear, please."

Ripley jumped back out of PFC Frost's way as he pushed a rack of incomprehensible equipment passed her.

"Excuse me," Hudson came passed in the other direction, carrying god knows what.

"Damn it," she growled to herself. Scanning the bay, she spotted Apone and strode over to him.

Apone was with Hicks but Ripley didn't let that stop her. The young marine may unnerve her but if she allowed herself to sit idle much longer, she'd go crazy.

"Did you check number three?" Apone was asking.

"Yeah-"

"Let me see that. That's good. Right."

Ripley stopped in front of the two men, "Hi. I feel like kind of a fifth wheel around here. Is there anything I can do?"

Hicks looked at her doubtfully but it was Apone who spoke, "I don't know, is there anything you can do?" and then both of them were looking at her doubtfully.

Ripley was taken back, but wasn't going to back down, "Well, I can drive that loader."

Hicks and Apone looked at each other.

"I have a class-2 dock rating."

"I'm sorry. That's not a toy," Apone told her.

Hicks said nothing but the scepticism on his face was enough to rile her.

"That's all right," she answered Apone crisply, "This isn't Christmas."

Apone looked again to Hicks who shrugged as if to say, It's your call.

Apone shrugged too, "Be my guest."

In two minutes Ripley was strapped in and had the motors running, the familiar whine of the loader somewhat comforting to her.

She knew she had an audience but that was okay. They could watch.

Walking the big machine over to a stack of modules, she used the controls to quickly and safely load one from the top. Turning the loader back to face her audience, she asked smugly, "Where do you want it?"

To her surprise Hicks laughed quietly. Apone looked shocked but then joined in with Hicks, laughing from deep within his belly, "Bay 12, please."

Ripley smiled, vindicated. "All of them?"

"All of them," Hicks answered in that low voice of his, still grinning and not breaking eye contact, "Those modules behind me?"

Ripley looked to the big stack behind him, "Bay 12?"

"Please."

"If you finish that," Apone cut in, "You come see Hicks. He'll keep you working hard."

She bet he would.

"All right," she answered and went about her task.

Apone seemed to be absent, but he did say for her to find Hicks. After their previous exchange, she walked over to him a little less unnerved than before, "Looks like everything's winding down, but is there anything else I can do?"

Hicks' looked at her with those intense green eyes, but this time there was definite amusement there, "Not going to now tell me you can drive an APC?"

"APC?"

He looked behind her pointedly and she followed his gaze. It was one of those heavily armoured troop carriers. Ripley smiled smugly, "I'm sure it can't be that hard to figure out."

Hicks scoffed quietly, "Well, grunts do drive it, right?"

Ripley laughed too, out of pure embarrassment, "I wasn't suggesting-"

"Hicks!" Gorman's voice came from behind Hicks, full of his usual contempt but this time louder, "You're fraternizing when my launch bay's a shit-storm? Zip–up your fly, marine, and get it done!"

Fraternizing? Gorman thought she was fraternizing with his men? After all the arm twisting he and Burke had done to get her to go on this mission?

Ripley felt acid build up in her stomach, but before she could turn to face Gorman, Hicks gave her a small shake of his head, his eyes actually apologetic, the corner of his mouth upturning briefly before dropping it and turning to face the lieutenant full on, "Yes, sir."

Gorman seemed satisfied and marched away, undoubtedly to strike up terror somewhere else close by.

"We're almost done here, anyway," Hicks said quietly, his eyes tracking the lieutenant, "Thanks for your help."

Without anything further, he walked away to do as he had been ordered.

Ripley watched, then turned away to see Bishop run over to APC Hick's had mentioned. A few seconds later the APC powered up and began moving.

Gorman was an arsehole, of that Ripley was now sure.

Apone came walking though the door into the bay but at this point she sooner chew her toe off than give Gorman another chance to think her the fraternizing type. Did he think her some teenage girl with her tongue hanging out?

She wasn't. Neither was Hicks, she released. She had been wrong about that.

"Ripley!" Burke came over to her, "You've been busy."

"I don't like sitting idly by and watch others work."

Burke didn't seem to get her point, "Well, they're about ready to get underway. Gorman says to stay near that big armoured truck and we'll be told when to get in."

A smile touched her lips, "It's called an APC."

The great calamity of noise coming towards her, Gorman, Bishop and Burke turned out to be Apone. The whole marine unit came running out together with Apone nipping at their ankles. They were all beefed up in battle armour, helmets and equipment, but none seemed any less agile under the weight. Each carried a wicked looking pulse-rifle on steroids; except for Vasquez and Drake who'd grown canons out of their waists.

Apone was still belting out orders, opening the door to the APC. Apone and Hicks went in first, followed by the rest. She waited a five count then stealthily climbed in and found an empty seat. Burke sat next to her.

Hudson came over and locked in the bar around them, securing her and Burke, "Let's get to it! Wahoo!"

He moved over to the next group of seats to lock them in too, "I'm ready, man. Ready to get it on!"

Ripley looked away from the babbling Hudson and found Hicks watching her again.

As the APC moved along and up into the belly of the dropship, Hudson continued his bullshit and Ripley pointedly kept her eyes forward. She didn't want to react to the nervousness swelling in her stomach, neither give Hudson the satisfaction of an audience. Or let Hicks' stare unnerve her further. Or even more so, let Hicks see the fear in her eyes.

She breathed and kept her eyes forward. Keep breathing. Eyes forward.

Then the floor dropped out from under her.

Closing her eyes tightly, she waited for the drop to finish when the engines kicked in.

The engines kicked in, hard, pressing her against the bar in her side. But with the ship in forward acceleration, it was no longer bouncing and safe for her to open her eyes.

The marines were all calm and silent, waiting with expectation and confidence. They were all old hands at this.

Even Ripley. She was a pilot after-all.

Gorman though-

Ferro's voice came through the intercom, "We're in for some chop."

Gorman squeezed his eyes closed and gripped his seat. He was pale and sweat beaded on his face.

Still pissed at him, she called out to him, "How many drops is this for you, lieutenant?"

He looked over at her, "Thirty-eight." He looked like he was about to puke, "Simulated."

From Ripley's left came Vazquez' voice, "How many combat drops?"

"Uh, two. Including this one."

The marines listening in scoffed and sneered, but Ripley glared at Burke. She was trusting her worst nightmare to a rookie commander? One who'd been throwing himself around like he was some kind of general.

What an arsehole.

She looked over at Hicks, expecting him to offer her some further assurance that Gorman was indeed a capable commander.

Well, if he had any worries about Gorman, they obviously didn't affect his confidence. Hicks was fast asleep, his head gently rolling against his seat with the sway of the ship. His mouth was slightly open and a lot of the hard edge she'd seen in him had disappeared.

He looked peaceful and damn it if he didn't look even prettier.

Ripley shook her head.

"Don't worry, Ripley," Hudson cockily called out to her, obviously having spotted her staring at the unconscious Hicks, "Every good soldier grabs shut eye any chance he gets. Nothin' to worry about."

He reached over and waved his hand in front of Hicks' face and when he was satisfied his superior was truly asleep, he grinned widely and jumped up onto his feet, "But me, I'm ready now, man. Ready to get-it-on! Check it out, I am the ultimate badass. State-of-the-badass art! You do not want to fuck with me. Check it out."

He came over to her, checking the locking mechanism for the protective bar was engaged, "As I say, Ripley, don't worry. Me and my squad of ultimate badasses will protect you." He waved back to the others who cheered him on. "Check it out. Independently targeting particle-beam failings-"

Ripley sat there trying to take no notice of Hudson and his bullshit. It was hard. She wished someone would shut him up.