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

Disclaimer: I do not own Aliens.

Chapter ten: Session 01~

It takes her about a week, but she lands a job interview with the loading dock supervisor.

She's never actually used a power loader before but she's capable and willing to learn. Or at least that's what she tells the guy with all the confidence she can muster. Given her first few day's events being awake, she doesn't particularly see the point in trying to find a silver lining, least of all in the far reaches of space. The best she could do in that respect was that she had asked Burke to do some digging and find her daughter; fifty-seven years was a long time, but 68 years old wasn't too terrible of an age. If she could, she'd like to see her. She only hoped that the company wasn't any less reliable than they already were back in her day.

"You did very well during your interview, miss Ripley. I'm certain they'll hire you."

And once again, she is reminded that on top of everything else, she has to deal with this one. Her second shadow.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Bishop."

Bishop had sat in on all of her interviews, something she had been extremely averse to but, just like everything else, had no say in. She's still not sure if she should take his encouragement as a good sign or bad, considering that he's literally made to help humans and make them feel better. She decides to remain neutral. Maybe she'll get the job, maybe she won't. Either way, she has to keep moving.

Without her pilot's license, and because of the big red 'MARK' on her profile, any workplace that ran her serial number would find that she was under psych eval, and most of the interviews she's had so far had ended right there. This had been the first job opportunity she'd had that held promise, and she supposes that this alone is reason enough to celebrate. And it wasn't like Weyland-Yutani had 'generously' filled her fridge with the good stuff. But still, she's going to keep her expectations on this one realistic, if not leaning a little towards the pessimistic side.

Although Bishop had officially been assigned by the company to 'oversee her progress', it really meant that he was there to make sure she didn't go crazy, either by harming herself or harming others. She doesn't care for Bishop and she certainly doesn't need him, but his company is admittedly better than Burke's; it had only been a week with very short doses of interaction, and already she found herself wanting to throttle the tiny man. But of course, she's not going to tell her therapist that. Why give your persecutors more ammunition when they already had the gun to your head?

"I apologize," Bishop relents, keeping pace with her long legs. "I was merely stating that you managed to hold your own despite your circumstances. I admire that quality."

I admire its purity.

His words cause a hitch in her gait, reminding her of something Ash had said about the alien specimen they'd brought with them back on the ship, but she quickly recovers. So he was going by facts and not by feelings. Or rather, the pandering to her feelings. Ash had been bad enough, and though she had come to terms with the fact that he and Bishop were not the same, she also felt in her very human heart a whole new swell of anger towards this newer model than she had ever felt for the old one. The very notion that an android be made with the sole purpose of catering to humanity like needy little babies absolutely repulsed her; Ash had been a full-fledged science officer. At least he'd had a logical purpose.

"Well, stop admiring," she snaps, cutting through the air with her hand as they walk. "I'm here to jump through as many hoops as I need to until I can get my license reinstated. Then I'm off this rock."

Bishop chooses silence and she can't be more relieved.

They reach the Health & Wellness district, and eventually come to a stop at private room 208. This is the room that she's been in once so far, and will most likely continue to be in at least once every following week for the foreseeable future. This is her therapy room. This is where she serves her time. This is where she will truly make a difference in the outcome of her situation, possibly the rest of her life.

All for Amanda, she tells herself.

"I'll see you in an hour," Bishop nods courteously.

Ripley responds with a glare and shoves her keycard into the slot beside the door. It opens and she heads inside, briefly looking after Bishop's retreating figure and wondering what on earth he does to keep himself occupied on this godforsaken station while she's gone.

Hello. My name is Dr. Friedman. I will be your assigned therapist for the time being. May I ask your name?

...Ellen. Ellen Ripley.

Very good. Hello, Ellen.

Hello.

Would you like to start?

I...really don't even know what to say.

That's perfectly fine. Why don't we start from the beginning?

Hmph. The 'beginning'.

Yes. The beginning. Let's start with your family. Do you have a husband? Children?

I had...someone. Once. Twice, actually. But it didn't work out. I have a daughter. Amanda.

Amanda?

Yes.

What a lovely name. Have you seen her recently?

Not recently. But I'm hoping to make a reconnection.

I hope you're able to do that, too. I see in your profile that you're originally from Earth. What brought you to the company?

Money was good. I wanted a better life for Amanda, better education. Weyland had good pay rates and even better promises. Why would I not go?

Fair enough. And how long did you work there before coming across LV-426?

Is this not all in my file?

It is. But to speak about these things out loud can be therapeutic in and of itself.

...

...

...I did two voyages aboard the Nostromo. The second being my last.

And that's when you found the distress signal from LV-426.

...Yes.

And what did you find there?

I found...

…

…

…Yes, Ellen?

…Nightmares.

The door to room 208 slides open, and Bishop stands there like a loyal…something. Waiting for her like a company dog. She doesn't even know what to call him. It. He's just…she doesn't even know. She's just been to therapy but it feels like post-lobotomy. Her head hurts.

"How'd it go?"

"Well, the company seems to have deemed me one level shy of being completely insane, but so far so good."

She supposes that with her crazy stories of parasitic aliens and murderous androids and derelict ships that (according to them) 'don't exist', it made perfect sense why they wanted her to go to therapy once a week; to see if her story changed. She's just not sure if she should renege or follow suit. Which would serve her better? Perhaps they wanted her to lie, and say that she found nothing, and convince her to shut the fuck up about it so word didn't get around. Or maybe they wanted her to go into further detail about her horrific escapade, and thought that putting her in a 'safe' environment would make her more open about it. Did it even matter? Would the outcome for her be the same regardless? She didn't think so. At least not yet. So many things to contemplate…

Ripley raises her hand and bites at her thumb nail, stress filling her brain. Bishop takes notice. Bishop always takes notice.

"Something bothering you?"

As though burned, she jerks her hand back to her side, unhappy that she can't even think in peace without being questioned.

"I already played Twenty Questions in there." She shoves a finger to the door of Dr. Friedman. "I'm not doing it again."

He puts his hands together, bowing to show his remorse. "Of course. I apologize."

And they walk.