Newt pushed a piece of paper over to Bishop.

They were sitting in one of the hallways in the outer fringes of the ship, a metal panel slid back so that Bishop could get at the wiring and junction box behind it. The last spot for repair was proving incredibly difficult to fix, and the android suspected that the ship's sensors were to blame; hence the reason why he'd undertaken the delicate and tedious task of making an extensive check of the starboard bow's wiring. He was fairly certain this box was the root of the error since there was some evidence of an electrical fire.

Newt had trailed him the entire day, dissatisfied with the prospect of spending another day hanging out with Hicks in the control room while Ripley continued to unsuccessfully coax the ship's computer into accepting the welding repairs they'd done on the final damaged area.

She'd brought along six markers (stolen from the medbay and captain's quarters early on in their journey) and several pieces of paper, and as they'd moved from junction box to junction box, she'd kicked along a small metal crate that she used as a makeshift desk, sitting down beside it and doodling while Bishop worked.

Androids do not feel emotions - at least, not in the same way humans do - but it could be said that Bishop felt something akin to bemusement when Newt had volunteered (insistently) to accompany him that day. The two of them weren't particularly close, but Newt hadn't forgotten all he'd done to save their lives back on LV-426.

"Try not to cause any trouble," Hicks had told her teasingly as she'd left with Bishop that morning.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Bishop had replied. He'd glanced down at Newt and given a quick, almost imperceptible smile. Her response was a suspicious, thoughtful scowl that then broke into a hesitant grin.

Since then, they'd spent the day in relative quiet - until, that is, Newt found out about Bishop's special talent.

Newt tapped the crate with her fingers, pointing at the piece of paper. "Bishop. Draw me something," she said.

Bishop carefully let go of the wires he was holding, his face utterly blank and calm despite the fact he could easily cause an enormous fire by crossing the wrong ends. Another benefit of being an android: he didn't get nervous. People are only nervous when they don't know what will happen, but Bishop knew with complete confidence what he was capable of. He was programmed to do rewiring on ships like this; therefore, there was nothing to be afraid of, no self-doubt nagging at him and making him second-guess himself.

Kneeling down next to the crate, he slid the paper closer and accepted the black marker that Newt offered him. "What do you want me to make?"

She looked down, frowning in thought and kicking her heels against the metal grating floor. The average things that an Earth child would have thought of - a butterfly, horse, or cat - hadn't existed on LV-426. Apart from the books her mother had read to her, Newt had never seen the fantastical creatures so abundant on Earth. Just the horrific aliens, and that was the last thing she wanted to see again.

Delving deep into her imagination, she squeezed her eyes shut and sifted through all the books she'd read. Her eyes flew open again as she remembered her favorite story: a well-worn, dog-eared book with no illustrations, just thick lines of text that (at Newt's vehement behest) her mother had read to her time and time again. It wasn't a children's book, just an old, dusty volume filled with in-depth information on every type of cattle, a random novel in the LV-426 library that no one had ever checked out before. Newt found it one day when browsing the shelves and had been fascinated by the soft paperback cover faintly imprinted with the image of a rolling green fields and blob-like herds of cows. Despite her mother's explanation that it was a book for grown-ups (read: wordy, long, and boring), Newt had stubbornly insisted that they check it out and read it together. So they had, and her mother would read to her about the strange animals as Newt colored, listening with intense focus and asking questions now and then. After checking the book out six times in a row, the bemused librarian finally gave it to her, knowing it wouldn't be missed. Like the rest of her possessions, it had been lost in the mad panic after the aliens' arrival.

"A cow," she ordered. "Draw me a cow."

Bishop's eyebrows raised a fraction. "What kind?"

"Tex-as longhorn," she replied promptly, stretching out the unfamiliar word in an effort to pronounce it correctly. The Texas longhorn cow had been her greatest fascination. She'd asked her mother dozens of questions about it, like how it didn't tip over with such long horns and how they didn't knock into each other or get tangled up when they ran. She'd even had a pet imaginary Texas Longhorn for a while that she insisted would follow her around the base. (Any time there was a huge mess in her room, she would innocently explain that it must have been Barty the bull.) That had stopped when she became too mature for imaginary pets, of course.

Bishop nodded. "Alright." He paused, then set the pen down to the paper. With even, unwavering pressure, he began to draw. There was no sketching, planning, or hesitation; Bishop's hand moved quickly an unerringly, transferring the image he had accessed from his database onto the paper with printer-like precision. It took him just one minute to render a realistic rendering of the cow which he slid back to Newt.

She stared at it for a long moment, studying each part of the animal. Her mother had shown her pictures of cattle, of course, and she was doing her best to compare them now, checking for any imperfection. She pushed the paper back over to him. "It's supposed to have spots."

"Spots?" he repeated.

She gave him blank look as if he was being utterly ridiculous. "Yeah. On it's shoulders and nose and stuff."

He nodded again. "Very well." He got to work, carefully adding several spots and splotches all over the cow. They were imperfect in their perfection; he couldn't bring himself to make lopsided circles or splatters, so instead the cow was dotted with absolutely perfect circles. He showed the paper to Newt again.

She studied it again. Then, a huge grin spread over her face. "It's great, Bishop." She looked up at him. "You should be a drawer."

He took a split second to process her expression, then mirrored her with a small smile of his own. "Artist," he said. "Not drawer."

Newt pulled out the rest of her markers, lining them up neatly. She only had a handful of primary colors - red, blue, and green, to be exact - and she selected the green marker, starting to color in the body of the cow that Bishop had drawn. "Make me some other animals," she said, nodding at the paper piled beside her and adding: "Please."

Bishop sat down, crossing his legs and picking up another piece of paper. "What do you want drawn next?"

She squinted at the paper as she colored. "Hmm. . . a Red Angus."

"Another cow?" he commented, mentally pulling up the image. His eyes unfocused slightly as he allowed his arm to move over the paper, copying down the black-and-white rendering of the picture automatically. He made sure to leave plenty of negative space for Newt to color in.

"Cows are an important part of the ecosystem, Bishop," Newt said sternly.

He glanced over at her. "You're right. They are." He went back to work, and they stayed like that for an hour, Bishop pulling up a new piece of paper and asking what type of cow Newt wanted next. She even let him branch out a little, drawing cows inside a barn or in a field with a bright sun overhead. Once, he even slowed himself down at her request and did his best to let her follow each line he made on her own piece of paper. Together, they drew a thickset Braford bull, and though Newt's lines were shaky and ambiguous, they both agreed that hers was the better finished product. She offered to let him color one of the drawings, but it became abundantly clear that creativity was not his strong suit; Newt had to tell him what color to put where or he would simply stare at the picture, unsure where to begin when creating a neon-green cow with yellow spots.

After the hour was up, Bishop got back to work on the wiring, leaving Newt to work through the stack of pictures he'd made for her. Sometime during the day Hicks had figured out how to rig the shipwide radio system to constantly transmit music from the music player he'd repaired, so they'd been enjoying the retro songs he'd been playing for most of the afternoon. Newt would tap her foot and hum under her breath, and (despite himself) Bishop found that he was nodding to the beat as he worked. Periodically Newt would hold up a picture she'd finished with a beaming grin. Each time, rather than merely glancing over at her and giving an approving nod, Bishop would stop what he was doing, walk closer, and study the picture carefully, making note of the colors she used and the accuracy of her lines. Then, when he was finished, he would carefully hand it back to her and smile before returning to his task.

They returned to the control room hours later, Bishop carrying Newt's crate and markers while she ran ahead with the stack of papers (with Bishop pausing to pick up each one that fluttered off the top of the pile).

"Well, hello there, sweetheart," Ripley laughed as Newt hurried into the room, setting the drawings down on the table and fanning them out proudly. Ripley picked up one of them, glancing towards Bishop as she recognized the computer-like accuracy of each image. "What are these?"

Bishop set down the crate in one corner and handed Newt her markers, adding the forgotten drawings to the pile on the table. "Newt and I made art today."

"They're cows," Newt explained patiently. She held up one. "This is a Florida Cracker cow. Do you know what that is?"

Hicks and Ripley looked at each other. "No," Hicks said.

Newt sighed heavily, rolling her eyes at Bishop. "They don't know what a Florida Cracker cow is, Bishop."

Bishop shook his head, turning to the computers to check their progress. "Shameful."

As Newt cleared her throat and launched into what would prove to be an hour-long lecture on every cow breed they had drawn, Bishop smiled. And it wasn't just because he had spent the day with a child who had treated him like a real person, appreciating his android qualities rather than fearing them or treating them like a spectacle or magic trick. And it wasn't just because he could hear Newt berating Hicks for daring to mistake a bull for a cow when they are most certainly NOT the same thing. Those things were most definitely worth smiling over, but there was another reason for his expression:

The last damaged area was now registering as repaired on the ship's computers.

Cryosleep was back online.

They were going home.

A/N: My apologies for the delay on this chapter! Life has been a bit busy for me, but never fear, I'm always planning the next installment for this story. :) I'm sorry to drag out the suspense on Hicks' proposal, but I really wanted to have a chapter showing what Bishop can be like and what his friendship with Newt would look like. I think Bishop is sometimes underappreciated, but he's always been one of my favorite characters from Aliens. He's really selfless and kind, and I wanted a scene that would show that! Anyways, as always I appreciate all your reviews/comments and I hope you're doing well!