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Ripley let out a guttural scream, wailing like a dog. She tried to worm through the open grate, wanting to go after Newt and those dreadful Xenomorphs. Come back. She was in such disbelief—Newt was right there.
Hicks grit his teeth as he yanked her upwards, pulling her to him with all his strength as she hollered for the child.
The woman was hysterical, kicking and clawing and snarling, yelling, “Noooo! They don’t kill you, they don’t kill you, they—SHE’S ALIVE! She’s alive!”
“Alright! Ripley, I—”
Hicks was finally able to wrestle her to his chest, gripping her shirt with heavy pants. Yes, so many of them were gone. But they had to keep going. He could hear the sensor continue to beat loudly, warning of more creatures to come.
Have to get her outta here.
She was still struggling against him, panicking until he got close to her face, willing her to look at him.
Ripley zeroed in on his green eyes as he shouted, “I believe you! I believe you. But we gotta go—now!”
And she stopped pulling away, slumping against his broad frame; one breath, two, and up they went.
Hicks dragged her by the arm through the hallway, their footsteps clicking loudly against the metal floors. Ripley was easily running on her own now, but he wanted her close. He feared what would happen if he let go of her, especially in this state.
They made it to the elevator. His priority was to get her inside, to make sure she was safe, so he threw her in ahead of him and she hit the back wall with a surprised oof!
Hicks rapidly clicked the elevator buttons as the sensor screeched faster, and faster.
C’mon, c’mon!
With the doors finally closing, they leaned against the wall shoulder to shoulder, gulping on rushed breaths.
He scanned his companion, eyes drawn to her supple, shaking hands. She had given the wristband tracker to Newt, and he was torn with how he felt about this. It was lucky, since they could continue to track the girl. But now, if Ripley were taken…
No. He would not let that happen. She would not leave his sight.
Hicks began to reach for Ripley’s hand to soothe her when an alien creature leapt towards them, seizing a wicked arm through the still-closing doors. The motion-sensing doors started to open again, startled at the invasive presence.
The Xenomorph used this chance to lunge through the opening, snapping its silver canines at them. Its panting jaw let off a sinister heat, preluding its impending, predatory bite.
But it was not the only hunter in the room.
Hicks instinctively fired his pulse rifle point blank and the beast screeched back in agony. Its acid blood splattered from the wound.
Ripley winced from behind Hicks while he raised his weapon as a shield for them, catching some of the acid while the rest soaked across Hicks’ armored chest plate.
He yelped as the hot liquid peeled apart his armor into nothing, starting to bite through his clothes and skin.
The creature was gone, blasted to hell, and so the lift started up.
Hicks cried out in agonizing pain, desperately clawing at the straps of his armor.
Ripley, finally snapping out of her hysteria, whispered, “Hicks!”
She then began pulling off his chest plate with fast hands as the acid rushed through the layers, burning his chest and arm. Hicks moaned as his hands pried helplessly at the armor; he combed at her moving wrists, too, as a pleading gesture to hurry.
He desperately gasped to her, “GET IT OFF!”
The hot fumes stung their eyes and the smell was terrible. She gagged as she inhaled the scent of his burning, bubbling flesh.
Hicks’ screams were animalistic. Ripley could have cried for him, just looking at and smelling the wounds.
The two coughed as they finally threw the melted armor off and the elevator doors parted. She glanced at the discarded armor, where the acid left a gaping hole. Her mind flashed to Kane's face, her late comrade of the Nostromo, and that creature bursting through his white shirt. Hicks clutched his side with a wince and Ripley shook off her memories.
Hicks.
He shuddered, pale and clinging to Ripley like a lifeline. She threw his good arm around her shoulder, holding him up, and gently cradled his waist to secure him to her. He groaned and nuzzled closer, a wave of nausea and dizziness hitting him.
It was her turn to drag him along now.
“Come on!” She told him. “You can make it!”
As they shuffled to the drop-ship, he would grow weary from the pain, almost sinking, and she’d suddenly be burdened by all of his weight.
She tucked her mouth close to him, murmuring in his ear.
“Almost there…We’re almost there. Come on, Hicks!”
The two were caked in sweat, grime, and alien spit. As she spoke, he felt her soft lips press against his damp cheek.
A flutter stirred in his chest.
With this warm encouragement, he grit his teeth and pushed on; he would not slow her down.
The drop-ship finally docked at Bishop’s remote piloting, the landing door opening to them. The android ran to meet them.
She barked at Bishop over the wind, “How much time?!” He told her twenty-six minutes. That was plenty.
Ripley gripped Hicks’ hand tighter, pulling him with her. He sighed into her neck, nose bumping her throat.
“We’re not leaving,” she declared.
“We’re not?” Bishop squawked.
Despite her bizarre statement, he helped Ripley bring Hicks onboard. She insisted on doing it by herself, heart aching at his sounds of suffering, but either the wind was too loud or the android chose not to listen.
Gently setting Hicks down in a flight chair, she ordered Bishop to start flying back towards the processing station. “Newt’s been taken.”
She told Bishop matter-of-factly, “I’m getting her back.”
Ripley rummaged through the field medical kit, pulling out different supplies and applying them accordingly to his chest.
Hicks winced, gripping the arms of the chair and tapping a foot to the rhythm of each poke and prod.
He would need further attention once they finally got out of there. She instructed Bishop to continue tending to Hicks while she was gone.
Her gaze combed him over. The soldier's face, luckily, was not terribly burned. Not as bad as his torso. Ripley would be lying if she said she's never stared at him. Those sharp cheekbones and that smart mouth.
She delicately pressed ointment-soaked gauze to his face, cupping his cheek tenderly. He winced at first, then simmered down tiredly.
“I’m sorry, Corporal,” Ripley whispered to him. She had panicked, froze like a damn fawn, and now he was hurt.
Hicks grinned with a slight shake to his head, placing his hand over hers, rubbing at her fingers with his thumb.
They stared at each other for a beat.
He mumbled jokingly, “Don’t you think we’ve moved past the titles, Ripley?”
She smiled at that, leaving him to hold the gauze before getting up and reviewing their gear. He injected himself with a cocktail of pain meds from the kit. If Ripley was taking too long, he’d go in after her, all doped up and guns-a-blazing. Hicks felt the drugs rush through his veins and cursed as his eyes started drooping already. Sure he felt better, but he just damned himself to knocking out.
Ripley, meanwhile, was gathering her weapons: a flamethrower and a M-41A assault rifle. She needed them both, so she would find a way to carry both. She decided to rapidly and crudely wind the guns together with tape, side by side; she now had a monstrous weapon to terminate monstrous creatures.
After finally landing the ship, Bishop hesitantly approached her.
“Ripley…”
She snapped at him, “I don’t wanna hear it, Bishop! She’s alive. There’s still time.”
He warned her, “In nineteen minutes, this area is gonna be a cloud of vapor the size of Nebraska.”
She ignored him, snatching magazines, grenades, and other gear to throw into a satchel from the fully stocked ordnance racks of the drop-ship.
“Hicks,” Ripley called to him. “Don’t let him leave.”
“We ain’t going anywhere,” Hicks raspily promised.
Ripley tethered herself in ammo belts, ready as ever to kill those sonsabitches. She thumbed at the grip of her hybrid weapon. This was solid, and was trusted. Her fingertips fluttered over the cool body and she sighed at the security of the feeling.
She slipped past Bishop, avoiding his flat, silvery stare. To her, his expression looked more like a mocking mirror of a human: worried, determined, loyal. She could not trust these creatures, despite this one's actions constantly proving her wrong.
Disgust stirred in her gut at his android eyes, remembering Ash and his milky mouth when he bubbled out: all other priorities are rescinded.
Like hell.
Ripley would kill every last one of those slimy bastards. She would bring Newt back, safe and sound. Hicks would be okay. They would get out on time.
And speaking of Hicks, he was watching her prepare for battle. Slumped in his chair, he had never felt so heavy and useless. The one hand still firmly pressed the wad of gauze up against his face, wanting—needing the injuries to heal.
Of course, he also worried for little Newt.
He reflected with a fondness now on the bite mark on his hand, from when he was trying to rescue the rascal girl. It was probably gonna scar, and what a story that one would tell. Those sharp teeth of hers eventually turned into a lovely smile, though, and he found he wanted to keep the kid happy. All that time spent in fear, totally alone save for those beasts prowling about.
So, if there was but a slim chance, they had to get her back; but he also did not want Ripley going alone into the viper’s nest.
There was a taunting voice in the back of his mind, whispering that Ripley would not return. Whether by losing her life in the fight, or if Newt was already dead, she would be so emptied she would not come back to him as the same person—if she would come back at all.
He had to shake those thoughts off. Hicks knew Ripley. He knew the spirit of that woman, and she was not someone who gave up. There was luck in her constant survival, sure, but there was also pure strength. Ripley had so much love and fight in her, it was practically bursting from her breast.
Hicks was watching her, looking at that fire in her eyes…her lithe hands clutching her weapon like an avenging angel. Those goddamned monsters should be afraid of her. Should be fleeing at the very sight of Ripley and her wild hair. He drank her in, felt his eyesight blurring a bit as the pain meds really started to hit him.
The alarm blared, cutting through the wind and thunder with such finality. There was little time.
When Ripley passed by him, his hand grazed her hip with a feather-light touch. He was so gentle he did not think she felt it; the last thing Hicks wanted was to scare her away.
But then Ripley turned in a rush and her eyes were so warm.
Her soft voice trembled just a bit. “See you, Hicks.”
Hicks knew she was afraid, and yet she would still go. She was easily the bravest woman he’d ever met. With all the two had been through, surely now they were more than just comrades.
He thought of his team. Their bravery and their awful deaths. All of the jokes and friendly competitions, the familial ties they created with each other. A true unit. Ripley vaguely knew them, their half-names and their ranks and titles; merely to understand who was in charge of what. That was all she needed to know.
But Hicks wanted to know everything about her, down to how she likes her coffee, if she sings in the shower, what side of the bed she sleeps on. And he wanted her to know him in full.
“Dwayne,” he told her with his crooked smile. “It’s Dwayne.”
She loosened the tight grip on her rifle, at the same time releasing a shallow breath.
Dwayne Hicks.
To know someone’s full name was such a mundane thing. Yet it felt so personal.
She felt a nauseous whiplash, thinking of Newt, whose real name was Rebecca. Of the names of her fellow crew members of the Nostromo: Kane. Dallas. Brett. Lambert. Parker. Sweet, stupid Jonesy.
Ripley took his hand, relishing in the roughness, the safety of it; she committed those green eyes to memory. He would be waiting for her to come back. She offered him a wobbly smile.
“Ellen.”
He smiled back wider, taking in the name like it had been a confession.
Ripley was always a rather strange name, yet it oddly suited her. It was strong and rough, descriptive of what she had been through. Ellen, though. Ellen, Ellen, Ellen. Now, that made sense. Ellen suited the kindness he saw in her. She never expressed that gentle side to her, only to Newt. But he was able to pull it out of her in pieces.
Hicks was greedy for more; instead, he squeezed her hand, give 'em hell, before releasing her.
“Don’t be gone long, Ellen.”
The way he said her name, it rolled off his tongue just right. She nearly threw her arms around him; but she knew if she did, she would never leave.
Ripley had not heard someone call her that in a very long time. She wanted to hear him say it a hundred times more. It was so soft, meant for her ears only, yet the words bounced loudly around her skull, sending her teeth chattering and eyes blinking back tears.
She wanted him to whisper it, to yell it at her; wanted to become a person like Ellen again, not just the hardened Ripley. She could do that—Ripley could learn how to dream soundly, find happiness with these people, this new…family.
This exchange was a promise. A sharing of the most intimate secrets.
Ellen’s gaze said it all. He nodded in reply, and she turned from him, adjusting her hold on the weapon to steady herself. He watched her retreating figure enter the thick of the fray, off to kick some alien ass and rescue Newt. Although she did not say anything, the way she had looked at him—he could hear her reply loud and clear.
I’ll be back soon, Dwayne.