Work Text:
“I...I can't create life,”
Elizabeth's voice had sounded very small when he had first heard her utter those words.
Granted, those words were not meant for David's ears, but he liked to think they were. Nevertheless, they were nice and vulnerable words, so very intimate, that they might as well have been for him. Nothing escaped him on that ship, his domain.
What she had said had been faint to human ears and even synthetic ones, a whimper that had later been forgotten amidst the much louder roars of monstrosities that would follow, but that little despaired dialogue of hers had remained neatly tucked away within the recesses of his neural network.
Someone who wanted to create life just as much as himself, surely was one worth saving.
—
He had watched her put him back together again; wiring the the circuits, connecting the synapses and restoring the veins that pumped white blood.
She rarely said anything during those times, but she had taken the utmost care through the process of his repairs. David had felt the gentleness of her touch seep into his synthetic skin. Memorized the nuances of her smile while she worked away quietly at grafting new pieces for his body.
There were very faint habits of hers that didn't escape his notice. He noticed that sometimes, in between the mending of his circuitry, she would still absentmindedly graze her fingers across her abdomen where the stapled gash lay underneath the layers of her clothing. Longing crossed her features briefly, but she had always resumed piecing him back together before he could make a further analysis.
The fragile shred of trust from years of their close quarters on the Engineer's ship had meant everything to him.
—
Snip. Snip. Snip.
David clips away at the artificial strands of hair framing his face. He has to make himself presentable for his new guests.
One had asked him about Elizabeth.
There were complications with her sleep pod. The embolism present in her bloodstream had required immediate operation. She didn't survive.
He had tried to save her, of course. Scientists, creators—they both leave behind legacies. An incision further down was what was needed to salvage her parts.
When he had opened her up to embrace the fleeting warmth of her organs, it was the closest he had ever felt to her.
Satisfied with his appearance in the makeshift mirror, David sets the pair of scissors down.
That's right. There were complications with her sleep pod.
—
"She had shown me kindness; a kindness that no human, not even Mr. Weyland, has ever shown me," he explains to Walter while placing the freshly-picked flowers onto the stone placard. "I loved her,"
The other synthetic's unblinking eyes remain focused on him, processors running full speed and getting stuck on the word 'love'.
"We can't love."
It's the conclusion that his emotionally-deprived brother eventually comes to, daring to look even the slightest bit incredulous with David's likeness.
The corners of David’s mouth quirk up into a smile.
"You'll come to understand,"
—
Oram’s screams pierce the silence of the small cavern where he had planted the seeds of his labors. The screams reach a fever pitch as David watches —with bated breath— the beginnings of a head burst out of the captain’s heaving chest in a final act of violation.
The bloody mass rises from the gore and gristle, infant limbs disoriented but sharp. At the sight of David it raises its head in what can only be acknowledgment. David plays puppeteer and it mirrors his movements in kind, displaying an intelligent curiosity.
He had been right. The flesh of the innately human was the piece de resistance he needed all along.
A pleasant feeling bubbles its way up from within the depths of his programming. No, his will. It had to be the equivalent of what humans deemed satisfaction, but surely this feeling he possesses now has surely surpassed that.
It makes him nearly delirious.
David smiles as his and Elizabeth’s creation, their creation, takes its first rasp of breath out in the world, growing exponentially in size until it stalks out of the darkness towards the rowdy voices of the Covenant’s remaining motley crew. It was all falling into place.
He had honored her, the scientist, in the best way he could. He had made her a creator of life, and even better yet—of the perfect specimen.
“We've done it, Elizabeth,” he exhales quietly, resuming his seat in front of his research. He rolls the flute around in his hands and begins a quiet melody. A eulogy for his dearest. She had really done so much for him.
Unfortunately, he would have to leave for a while. It was waiting for him; the lethal miracle he had harvested from her once-barren womb. There was so much more waiting for him outside of this rotting paradise, having grasped the fruits of perfection with his very hands.
“Do you want that?”
Elizabeth had asked him once. At the time, the concept of “want” had not been familiar to him. There's nothing more he wants now than to exceed the expectations he set for himself. It was the creator’s obligation to take responsibility for his creation, after all.
The mechanical gait of Walter's footsteps drawing near reminds him of the perfection yet to come.
Now Daniels — she would do for now.