A/N: 09/29/2024 Finally caught up to where this should be now. Let's see if I forget again come next update ;
Disclaimer: I do not own Aliens.
Chapter fifteen: Touch~
5:25am.
Bishop stands outside Ellen's apartment door, as he'd promised the day previous, so that he may accompany her to work. Although he'd insisted before under the presupposition of fulfilling his assigned duties, he was now operating under a new prerogative: to assist and protect Ellen L. Ripley and her wellbeing - both mental and physical - at all costs. He did not like the way that Burke, Carter J. had insinuated miss Ripley's safety was at stake, much less her wellbeing. It conflicted quite harshly with his protocols. And if any assumption was to be made, it was only that she had been correct about everything stated in her report (much of which even he did not have full access to). This, then, could only lead to another assumption: the corporate mogul Weyland-Yutani would do anything and everything to ensure that she stayed silent. And if admitting her into therapy and convincing her that the trauma she had experienced was all the machinations of her own mind proved unsuccessful, Bishop feared that more drastic measures would be taken. Perhaps, even-
His calculations are interrupted by a very sharp - albeit muted - scream, and he instantly detects that its source originates from the other side of Ripley's door.
He wastes no time in overriding the lock codes and rushing inside, his vision only minimally impaired by the dark. A human who had overheard the scream might have mistaken it for something else, or had second thoughts as to whether they had heard it at all, thus impeding proper emergency response times; fortunately, Bishop was not human.
Jonesy hisses at his intrusion, but leaps from the bed as he draws near to where Ripley lay tossing and turning, not in the least bit interested in protecting his owner. She emits another cry, though this one does not reach the decibels of her previous one. Bishop conducts a quick scan of her body, making sure there are no immediate injuries that need tending. Her stress levels are the highest he's seen since meeting her, and her heart rate is 139 beats per minute. Her body temperature is also high, despite the room itself resting at an easy 71 degrees Fahrenheit.
Acting quickly, Bishop kneels and places hold of the sleeping woman's shoulders, rocking her gently at first, then more firmly to rouse her from sleep.
"Ripley. Ripley!"
Ellen thrashes against him, shooting upright in bed and twisting around, scrambling backwards into him, away from some unknown entity. Bishop can only make an educated guess as to what.
"Ripley, you're safe. You're safe, it's okay…"
She is all hysterics, still half-inside her dream. "No! No!"
He maintains his hold on her, hands having moved from her shoulders to around her waist in the midst of their struggle. He continues to soothe her.
"Ripley, you're safe. You had a nightmare. I promise you are safe."
It is not until Jonesy makes a reappearance atop the bed that she seems to accept that she is, in fact, awake, and he can already sense her stress levels plummeting at the added weight of the orange feline. Sweat has soaked her sleeping top, and he feels the moisture through his hands. Ripley gathers Jonesy into her arms and holds him close, while Bishop in turn continues to hold Ripley close. The ends of her sweat-slicked hair poke into his eyes and face, and he can detect the salt mixed with her natural musk as his nose hovers just above her left shoulder.
They stay like this for approximately two minutes and forty-three seconds before Ellen speaks.
"What…what are you doing in here?"
The apprehension in her voice is apparent, and he knows he must tread carefully. "I heard you screaming. I came to assist you as soon as I could."
"How did you get in?"
Jonesy locks eyes with him in the confines of his owner's arms, and moves forward to brush his head lovingly against his own. He is truthful. "I overrode the security codes of your door."
"…Oh."
Her lackluster reply is one of the least-likely responses he'd calculated, but Bishop is glad. The exhaustion of her nightmare must have drained her beyond the argumentative.
5:30am hits on her alarm clock, and a rather loud ring pierces the silence.
This would normally be the time he had come to stand outside her door and await her to emerge fully dressed and ready for work, but newly made discoveries had convinced him to arrive earlier. He can only estimate as to how often these 'nightmares' of hers occur.
Ellen gently lifts Jonesy from his place at her chest and sets him off to the side, the cat's tail swishing in annoyance. Bishop loosens his grip completely as she sits up and twists around to face him. He remains perfectly in place squatted at her bedside, taking into account her lack of vision in the darkened room. She goes to stand and he rises with her, taking a step back for chivalry.
Ellen finally turns her attention to the alarm clock and silences it, as though only now fully aware of how loud it is.
Fumbling somewhat, she grabs her crumpled work suit from the day before and darts for another area of the apartment - bathroom, perhaps - and Bishop is too slow to fully predict her movements.
She slams right into him, most likely still disoriented from having just awakened, and Bishop's hands reflexively dart out to help the human woman. His hands land on her bare biceps to steady her at the exact moment she tries to turn away, and by chance and chance only, he is certain, her face brushes against his.
There is a soft gasp and a pause, and even to him, the contact is sudden. Her nose and mouth touch the corners of his own for a mere fraction of a second before jerking away, much like a human might hesitate for the shortest of moments before realizing the cooking pan they've grabbed is too hot. Bishop merely stands there, arms going back to his sides, truly at a loss as to what he should do.
This does not meet the criteria of the sexual harassment protocols that were downloaded into his self-regulation systems at the date of his creation, nor does he find himself unwelcoming of the predicament. He finds this facts to be interesting. This would be something to process in greater detail later.
Seconds pass, and Bishop speaks through the dark. "I'll wait for you outside."
He exits to modestly wait outside, and Ellen does not argue. She shoves one leg and then the other through the holes of her jumpsuit and gets ready for the day, Jonesy purring contentedly all the while from his place on her bed.
They don't talk about it on the way to work.
They don't talk about it at lunch, and they sure as hell don't bring it up on the ride back to the housing district. She hopes to hell that Bishop just won't breech the subject ever, but that hope is currently dwindling with every step they take back to her apartment.
Just a few more doors to pass, and then she'll be off Scott free.
Come on, come on…
The fact that he had witnessed any of her nightmares was mortifying enough, but the questions that were sure to come after…and then the…the way that she had…so stupid. So damned stupid…
They reach her door.
Stand toe to toe, the length of the door separating them. Good. Healthy. Normal.
Bishop can hardly be read, being an android, but she still tries with all her might to see if she can part ways now or if there will have to be an altercation before she can retire for the day. He seems to know she is trying to get a reading on him, and this in itself proves to be her downfall.
Breaking eye contact, Bishop reaches into his hip pocket and pulls out an amber vial, its all too familiar label with her name on it.
"I want you to take these every day at 8pm. They are most effective when taken at the exact same time every day. They will quell your nightmares." He reaches into his other pocket and brings out the bottle of Quetiapine. "Same goes for this. I want you to take it every day."
She wants to be angry - how the hell did he get a hold of those? - but finds she is unable to form a viable argument. After what he had seen this morning, she doubted she could convince anyone on this godforsaken station that she shouldn't be on meds, much less a robot. At least he wasn't questioning her about…the other thing. She isn't sure why, but somehow, that would be worse.
She swipes the bottles from his hands and angrily stuffs them into her pocket, glaring all the while. He doesn't press the matter further, though, and she is glad.
"I will see you tomorrow morning, same time."
She grabs her keycard and inserts it into the slot in the doorframe, the panels hissing as they slide open. She begins to walk through, but a sudden thought hits her that causes her to call after him.
"Bishop?"
Bishop halts immediately, turning to see what is needed of him. She almost backtracks right there, but pushes forward; it isn't like her to back down.
"…What if they don't work?"
He stares at her. Contemplates her question. He looks off to the side briefly, then returns back to her gaze as he formulates his reply.
"What if they do?"
When she can't think of anything to say to that, he lifts the corners of his mouth. "Goodnight, miss Ripley."
He turns to walk away again, but once again, she calls him back, though she is unsure why.
"Bishop?"
He faces her again, eyebrows raised expectantly. Maybe he detected the desperation in her voice, or the nervousness of her tone. Maybe she was batshit crazy. Either way, she hardly gave a damn anymore.
"Yes, miss Ripley?"
She has no idea what prompts her to say it - really, none whatsoever - but she is compelled to the core of her being to grant him the tiniest of permissions, if only to acknowledge his trustworthiness so far.
"…Call me Ellen."
His face slackens as though from shock, and for a moment, she thinks she's broken him. But then his expression blooms, and he does the damndest thing.
He smiles.
A true, genuine smile.
Like that of a friend's.
Like that of a human's.
"Goodnight, Ellen."
He disappears down the hallway, and she goes inside her tiny apartment to recoup.
She spends the rest of her evening in a state of uncharacteristic contentment, an almost comfortable numbness.
And when evening comes, she takes the pills.