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Her back is tense but you're used to that, the way that she can practically feel your gaze like an unwelcome touch, the way that she resents how you worry about her. You're walking, as always, just for the purpose of having something to do, a reason to stay alive, always looking for the next group of people you'll scrounge your next meal off, where you'll sleep next. Both of you are used to the hard ground, and you're used to having to curl up for warmth, or at least you assume that's what you're doing because why else would she wrap herself around you? She finally stops walking and turns to look at you, conflicted.
"We still haven't found anyone who can mend that hole,” she says, her shoulders relaxing slightly, glad to move the subject to you.
“Well we’ve mostly been avoiding mentioning it, I don’t know if you want to swan into the next camp and announce that you’ve got an auton weeping white fluid everywhere,” you muttered sarcastically, unsurprised when she just rolls her eyes at you.
“It would be better than you continuing to weep white fluid everywhere,” she paused. “Maybe we should head further into Paris instead of edging around the outside, find somewhere to set up camp?” she suggested, and you find yourself wanting to, even though you’re not sure it’s a good idea, but you just want to rest, to take a break, to find somewhere to call some kind of home.
“We could shelter in one of the burned out buildings, I guess. Try to rest up, everyone’s been saying there’s trading going on down in the center of the city so we could find provisions that way.”
“It would give you time to heal up and for us to decide what we’re going to do,” she frowned in the direction of what was left of the Eiffel Tower, clearly thinking of all the ways that this plan could go wrong, of which there was many.
“There isn’t anything to do, is there?” you know the frustration is obvious in your voice, that you’re not helping, but neither is she, standing there frowning into the distance, looking as imposing as possible. Often you wish that you didn’t have the capability to be attracted to her built into your system, that your mechanical heart didn’t skip when she got too close and looked at you intently with that powerful gaze of hers. The damned smirking whenever she noticed (so every time) certainly didn’t help.
“I guess there isn’t,” she shrugged. “The woman I was had a rather formidable survival instinct,” she said wryly, lips curving at the corners as she finally turned her head to make eye contact.
“The person you are now is formidable enough, I think,” you joke, and she smiles.
“It’s my height, isn’t it?”
“Hmm, maybe it’s your jawline,” you’re grinning and she smiles back, like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or roll her eyes.
“Come on, we should be able to make it make it quite far into the city by sunset if we start now,” she breaks the moment, but there’s still a smile lingering around her mouth.
“After you,” you gesture for her to go ahead and she rolls her eyes, but leads the way back into the city.
When the sun sets you don’t stop because neither of you need to; turns out being an android and part alien grants one night vision, and Ripley can practically sense other people, so when she recommends a particular building you follow her without question - if you were encroaching on someone else’s property Ripley would know, and she’d know if there were any serious structural problems. She circles the building, which had formerly been a crummy apartment block, while you linger by the door, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible even though Ripley had said that there was no one around, and you’d see them long before they saw you even if there was. She appears with a smile, moving too quietly for even you to hear, and the two of you climb through an already smashed window so as not to make it obvious that the place is now inhabited. You pick one of the middle apartments on the first floor because it still has a door and a rusted but still sort of functional lock, and Ripley goes looking for extra blankets or a mattress or something while you almost cheer because it still has a sofa, even if it is weird smelling and when you sit on it the cushions sink almost to the floor.
Ripley comes back to you almost asleep stretched out on the sofa, smiling to yourself because this is more luxury than you’ve had since everything went down on the ship. It’s quite a big sofa so you fit comfortably, but one of your first thoughts was that Ripley’s legs would dangle off the end because she’s so damn lanky.
“Looks like you’ve already moved in,” she smiled and threw some musty blankets at you, and you realise that this building must have been inhabited not that long ago.
“People must have been living here until pretty recently, for there to still be blankets and working locks?”
“Probably, but they’re long gone now,” she says, and you don’t ask how she knew that because you’re happy for her to keep her enigmatic air, and you’re honestly not sure you want to know. You just hum in response and close your eyes again, instinctively shuffling up as you cover yourself up with a blanket - the weather’s pretty mild and honestly you don’t even need blankets, but it’s comforting even if it does smell like mould. She slides in next to you and it’s immediately warm; she’s like a living radiator and you take advantage of that by resting your head on her shoulder and not complaining that she’s taking up most of the space, because you end up practically laying on her anyway.
“Tomorrow we’re going to take a look at fixing you,” she murmurs, and you sigh.
“If we just leave it I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you try, and you practically hear her roll her eyes.
“We just need some tools, and then I’ll be able to sort it out.”
“I’m not arguing about this right now, not while I’m warm and tired and actually sleeping on something that isn’t the floor,” you deflected, and smile in response to her huff.
“You’re actually just sleeping on me,” she pointed out.
“Exactly.” She went to say something else and you shushed her, grinning. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“I’m going to throw you off this sofa,” she warned and you mock gasped.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Hmm don’t tempt me.”
“But I’m injured!” you said in your most pathetic voice, sitting up a little to grin at her.
“Shut up and go to sleep,” she responded, voice gruff, but she’s smiling anyway, and you’re still grinning as you lay back down, shifting a little to get comfortable and laughing when she huffs as you manage to elbow her.
You both sleep for much longer than intended, without managing to wake each other up thrashing through a nightmare for the first time since you landed on this planet. You’re smiling and snuggling further into your (human) pillow when aforementioned pillow shifts suddenly, sitting up, and you end up laying against the back of the sofa with her back to you.
“Ripley, I was comfortable,” you whine, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “You’re lanky but still function well as a cushion.”
“You’ve been waiting for a chance to steal the blanket this whole time,” she turned back and smiled down at you.
“While that may be true that does not mean that I was prepared for you to relinquish your place.”
“It’s midday, and we were going to search for someone to fix you today, remember?”
“No you wanted to search for someone to fix me. I’m all for sticking some gauze on it and waiting for it to stop.”
“It’s not going to stop, your body doesn’t reproduce cells, it can’t fix itself.”
“It’s not life-threatening, I think.”
“You literally have a hole in your torso,” she says, deadpan, and you sigh.
“Does it have to be today? Can’t we just spend today lazing about and eating too much of our precious provisions?”
“That’s really not a good idea.”
“I didn’t say it was. Please Ripley?” you try puppy dog eyes but she turns around as though to get away from them, something which makes you smile because it means they could have been at least marginally effective. You scramble into a sitting position and nudge her with your shoulder, though even while sitting down her shoulder is still much higher than yours.
"Fine, we can have today. But we still have reconnaissance missions to carry out and a lot planning to do if we're going to get our hands on anything at all."
"We've got years to do that in," you smiled, looking up at Ripley. "We literally have years. Even if the military come looking for us that just means we need to move out of the city, and it's already been weeks. We don't really need supplies apart from food and even that we don't need very much of. We can survive this, we can carve a life out of the literal rubble, and we don't have to keep running."
"You're feeling awfully poetic today," she turned to you with a smile, and you could tell that she was warming up to the idea, that the tension was leaving her shoulders and she leaned back into the sofa. “So what are we going to do with our free day? No TV on post-apocalyptic Earth.”
“I hadn’t thought that far,” you admitted with a tiny frown, but she’s already got her eyes closed and looks set to go back to sleep. “Sleeping is a good idea.” You laugh and nudge her until she’s laying down so that you can curl up next to her, pulling the blanket over both of you. She wraps her arm around you and you have to try to hide your grin in her shoulder. You don’t actually sleep for a while, even though you’re comfortable and warm and you actually feel safe, because you’re too busy listening to her breathe, luxuriating in the still, quiet moments before you have to return to your life of running away.
When you wake up the sun is setting and the room is dappled in an orange glow; most of the curtains on the windows are missing, and Ripley is absentmindedly running her fingers through your hair, and you practically have to fight the urge to purr. It’s like a scene out of a cheesy romantic film, one of the ones that they show on TV late at night when the only people awake are drunk or don’t care what they’re watching. The thing that would make it perfect would be if you leaned up and kissed her, but you don’t know if she’ll be amenable, and you imagine she’s probably not exactly polite in the face of unwanted romantic overtures.
“I can hear you thinking,” Ripley says after a long quiet moment, but doesn’t take her hand away from your hair, for which you’re grateful.
“There’s not actually cogs up there,” you chuckle and she shakes her head in response, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She always smiled like she was fighting it, like she didn’t mean to show everyone that she was pleased.
“Hmm do we have proof of that?” You can hear the smile in her voice, and when you slightly shove her arm she laughs, and you’re surprised because you think you can count the amount of times you’ve heard that on one hand. You’re just so happy that you’re both alive and the safest you could be, relaxed and warm in a room that is dappled with sunlight, curled up on a sofa that is far too small for both of you and smells vaguely like mould.
You sit up slightly, propped up by your elbows, for once looking down at her. Her arm falls from your hair and curls lazily around your shoulders, and her cheekbones look even sharper from this angle. You reach out slowly and lightly brush a line along one, and when you meet her gaze she has a lazy smirk on her face, like she’s been waiting for something to happen, and you want to question why she didn’t instigate anything before now. Instead you look at her mutely as her eyes positively dare you to kiss her, and of course you never could back down from a challenge.