A/N: 09/29/2024 Man I suck at updating across all platforms. Sorry about that.

Disclaimer: I do not own Aliens.

Chapter eight: Explanation~

Weyland-Yutani caseworker Carter J. Burke is hardly prepared when his latest charge storms into his office.

"Ripley! What brings you here so soo-"

"What the hell is going on here, Burke?!" She yells over him, and the tiny man's jovial expression melts into concern for his own safety as she towers over him.

"U-uhhh...I- I'm afraid I don't know what you mean-"

Enraged, Ripley takes her good arm and swipes his desk clean, office supplies spilling onto the floor in a series of carpeted 'thunks'. "Don't bullshit me, Burke! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Burke curls in on himself, panicking. "Well, I- I- I-"

A new body enters the room, and both turn to see Bishop standing in the doorway; one with relief, the other with hate.

"I'm very sorry," the android says, nodding towards Burke. "I tried to the best of my abilities to build a rapport."

Ripley's head whips around to her case worker, his bouffant hairstyle bobbing as he flinches away. "Goddammit, Burke, did you even read my report? Did you seriously think it would be a good idea not to inform me that I'd be in close quarters with a fucking android?!"

"I prefer the term 'artificial person', myself." Bishop says, pulling in the corner of his mouth for what would have passed as a smile had Ripley not already stripped him of his humanity in her mind back at the restaurant.

Sweat begins to build at Burke's brow, and she takes a shred of comfort in the fact that at least this little worm is human. "Look, I- I know...how this looks, just...just give me time to explain. Okay?"

"Explain what?" Bishop speaks up once again, turning his head in an attempt to imitate humanity. Ripley hates it. "Was there something I wasn't told?"

Burke runs a nervous hand through his hair, looking between the android and his client. "I, ahh...yes. Yes, there has been a mixup. You see, Ripley, here, has...uh..." he steps away from Ellen, as though he can't breath with her so close. "There was an incident. On her commercial starship, the Nostromo. The onboard android, he...malfunctioned, and there were a few deaths involved."

Ripley's eyes widen in disbelief. "'Malfunctioned'? Are you kidding me? He was following a hidden protocol! 'Crew expendable', he said it himself! Or did you not get that far in my report?"

"I've read your report, Ripley," he insists tersely, clearly stressed at having so many shots directed at him.

Bishop makes to interject again, and Burke seems relieved to have a third member in their conversation. "Might I ask which model?"

"It was one of the old Hyperdine models," Burke replies, placing his hands on his hips. As though trying to console her, he adds, "They've since been discontinued."

Bishop once again opens his damn mouth, the problem-solving gears of his cortex turning. "Well then that's the issue, the Hyperdines always were a bit twitchy."

Ripley scoffs, smiling without humor at the robot's matter-of-factness. If only shit were that simple. He looks at her, all seriousness as he proceeds to tell her in that damned velvet-gravel voice that she can trust him.

"Ripley; I have very specific programming imbedded into my protocols that strictly forbid me from harming, or allowing to be harmed, a human being. I'm telling you the absolute truth when I say that I would never hurt you."

Ripley straightens up, Burke relieved to have the attention off of him as he shrinks further into his office. She comes to stand toe to toe with Lance, the robot just tall enough to match her height. Her glare is the glare of pure hatred, anger and distrust. Bishop knows this because he has an extensive database of human emotions and is able to accurately analyze even the slightest shift in facial expressions. Ripley knows this because she can actually feel it. She stares long and hard at him, at his hazel-colored irises that look so deceptively human, trying to find any traces of lenses or wiring within their depths. She is unsuccessful.

"...Just stay the hell away from me, Bishop."

She sidesteps him and leaves the room, Bishop left looking unsure at Carter J. Burke, waiting for instruction on what to do.

"Wait here, Bishop," he says, going after Ripley.

The company underdog catches her at the elevators, calling to her. "Ripley."

The tall, lithe woman looks at him with crossed arms, clearly not wanting to talk.

"Ripley," he tries again. "I don't want you to be upset, and I completely understand how you feel."

"You don't know shit," she says tiredly, her fire from earlier gone. She pushes the elevator button three more times, making her haste to get away from him perfectly clear.

Unwilling to give up just yet, Burke attempts to reason with her. "Look, I know this situation isn't ideal for you. But the company insists on Bishop being your shadow until you're in the clear with your psych evals. Now, is it really gonna look good on your report if it comes back that you're suspicious of an android coming to choke you in the middle of the night when we haven't had any incidents in the past fifty-two years? Because if you want to sound crazy, that's a pretty fast way to get there."

A flash of anger sweeps across her face, but she says nothing. Why? Because she knows he's right. And he knows it, too. Little does she know, Burke is up for promotion. And if he's able to rehabilitate the 'crazy woman out of time' and get her reintegrated as a functioning member of society, he will not only have made his superiors happy, but the company as well. They didn't care too much to find out that a survivor had made it off the Nostromo, and even his copy of the (heavily redacted) briefing email told him that she wasn't totally crazy; but Weyland-Yutani definitely wanted her to shut up. And what better way to do that than send her to therapy and make her think she was just imagining things?

"Please, Ripley. Do us both a favor and try to just go along with it for now. Okay? If there's anything you want, I can get it for you. Within reason."

The elevator doors ding open, but Ripley doesn't get on it right away. She thinks, considering his offer, and he hopes to high heaven that it's nothing too difficult.

"Find my daughter."

His shoulders sag with relief. He puts his hands together in thanks. "Thank you, Ripley. Thank you. You won't regret this."

She steps onto the elevator, hardly in a tolerable mood for bullshit. "Let's hope not."

The doors close and she disappears, Bishop coming to stand behind him just at the edge of the hall.

"Should I follow?"

"No," he waves a hand. "Let her cool down a bit first."

"I hadn't realized she had an irrational fear of androids. It wasn't included in the report sent to me."

Burke turns, brows upturned. He sighs. "Yeah, you and me both. I'm starting to think they left a lot more out than either of us think."

Bishop looks almost forlornly at the closed elevator doors, where Ripley had once been. Truly, a strange look for an Android. He looks back to Burke. "I wish there was something I could do. I enjoy miss Ripley." Pausing, he decides to clarify. "Her company. She's very different from the rest. I'd like it very much if we could become friends."

"Good luck with that, pal." Burke says, clapping the android on the shoulder and turning to look back at the elevators with him. "She's gonna make you work for it."