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Ripley awoke abruptly, letting out a scream as beads of sweat flew off her face and her hand gripped her chest. Her heartbeat began to slow, but her chest ached terribly. Images of her nightmares, which were filled with red, white, and acid blood flashed through her mind. She cursed under her breath, and wished she never had to sleep again, or even blink for that matter.
She forced her aching bones to move. She slid off her bed, which was nearly too short for her long legs, and padded her way to the sink. She had her own room in their little apartment. Newt resided in the one next to her, and they slowly had been working on her actually enjoying the comforts of a bed rather than the hard floor beneath it.
Hicks volunteered to sleep in the living space on the couch, and wouldn't hear Ripley's arguments, even while he was being treated for his acid burns. He had said something along the lines of "I've slept on the bottom bunk under Hudson and his rancid-ass feet. This is nothin' Ellen, really."
However, Ripley still barely slept, even in the comfort of the bed. Her, Hicks and Newt were granted therapists after the events on LV-426, but Ripley struggled with using the calming techniques recommended to her.
Dwayne Hicks was more the quiet type. He had been journaling and seemed alright to the average person, but Ripley could tell he was also struggling with rest. His good eyelid drooped (the acid had permanently scarred his left one), his shoulders slouched, and it took him a few moments to respond to things.
Ripley splashed cold water on her face and neck, wiped herself with a towel, then opened the door to her bedroom to enter the narrow hallway. She pressed the button on Newt's door, feeling the need to check on her to make sure her nightmares hadn't manifested into her real life. Sure enough, Newt was fast asleep in her bed.
Reassured, Ripley shut the door quietly, then turned to the living space. She was surprised to see the back of Dwayne's head, his figure sitting up with a table lamp on next to him. Their television played and casted a bluish light across the room, the volume low. She walked around the right side of the couch, and before she could get a word out, he beat her to it.
"Thought I heard you," he said, lifting his gaze from his lap where he had a notepad propped on his thigh. He was wearing a loose tank top and boxer shorts. Ripley wore a tank top of her own and only underwear. It was comfortable between them, seeing as they had already gone to hypersleep and woken up in the same attire before. Although, there was still the occasional stolen glance from the both of them.
Ripley would catch him looking at her legs for longer than she thought he intended while she prepped her coffee in the morning, and he would look away (not without biting his lip to keep from sheepishly smiling). He would catch her looking at his fit torso after he'd had a shower or his arms when was helping with a leak in the neighbors apartment. Nothing had happened further, but there was admittedly a spark between them. Neither were quite yet brave enough to chase after it.
For now, she sat herself on the couch with a big sigh. She glanced at his notebook to find word scribblings, catching the words 'Hudson', '426', 'big-ass bugs', and 'not enough'. She also saw him sketching an impressive portrait of Apone, his massive cigar unmistakeable between his teeth. Hicks was, as she found out after they began living together, an impressive artist. A talent he mostly kept to himself.
Looking up, Ripley realized Hicks was looking at her. She quickly looked away from his private journaling.
“Sorry,” She told him. “Don’t mean to pry.”
“There’s nothing in here you haven’t experienced yourself,” He admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, other than this, thankfully.” He turned his face and pointed at his acid scars with a circling finger.
The doctors weren’t able to save Hicks’s left eye, resulting in his frustration with the loss of his peripheral vision. His left cheek, jaw and ear donned skin that looked like it had been stretched. His chest and shoulder also had the markings. She had pointed out to him that the ones on his chest formed a shape similar to a heart, almost resembling the graphic on his old armor.
She found it more amusing than he did. At least, for right now. It had only been a few months.
Despite the scars, to Ripley, he was still the roguishly handsome and soft-spoken guy she’d come to respect. Though he had never said it out loud, Ripley knew he was self conscious about the scarring as well as how it affected his sight. He often turned so his non-burned side was facing her or whoever he was talking to, and she’d catch him clenching his fists or jaw when he ran into small things.
She smiled non-humorously. “Can’t say I’ve earned one of those yet, no.”
Despite his self-deprecation, Dwayne managed to smile to himself. He looked back down at his notebook, tapping his pen on his knee.
Ripley brought her legs up and crossed them, sinking further into the cushions. A comfortable silence enveloped them for a few minutes, save for the low television audio.
“What do you see when you close your eyes?”
Hicks’s voice startled her, and she realized she had been lost in thought. She turned her head and saw he had already folded his notebook, closed it and put it down. He had even shifted positions and was sitting low against the cushions, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs far out. He was close enough to look up at her from where he sat/laid.
Ripley’s heart sped at the thought of her memories. She didn’t enjoy remembering them, always feeling like her good memories were overshadowed by her bad ones. She’d been trying in therapy to overcome that. Though whenever she saw her old friends and family, whether it was through photos or images dancing behind her eyelids, she saw them as they were in their final moments. Which was always horrific.
After a long pause, she let out a shaky breath and decided to turn her attention to the shoulder strap of her top, where a loose string had become very interesting all of a sudden.
“You said it yourself, there’s nothing you’ve seen that I haven’t seen, and vice versa.”
Hick’s tracked her hand fiddling with the string with his eye. “Still a lot of stuff that you’ve seen that I haven’t.” He nudged her knee with his elbow. “And vice versa.”
Ripley eyed him after the nudge. “You’ve read my report, haven’t you?”
Hicks let out a small sigh. His tone wasn’t annoyed, but patient when he spoke. “It’s just that… we have counseling and all. But we’re the only people that went through all of this bullshit, the only ones that can fully understand each other.”
Ripley twisted the string around one finger, trying to process his words. She may be good at parenting; listening and talking to Newt attentively was like second nature to her. Hicks had become good at it too. But when it came to speaking about her personal struggles, especially when that resulted with a deeper bond with someone… it was difficult. Everyone she had grown close with recently she had lost in terrible ways. She felt like she had let them down, could have done more, or questioned why she was the one to survive out of them all. Guilt would follow soon after.
When she tried to speak up to those around her, she was ignored. As much as she felt the urge to, she couldn’t slam every dumbass she came across up against a wall out of frustration. With every door sealed with their blowtorches on LV-426, they may as well have torched that same amount around Ripley’s heart. Newt, Hicks, Bishop and Jones were the only ones who could often penetrate them.
Hicks surprised her suddenly as he sat up, tucking one of his legs under him and sitting closer to her. “Feel free to disagree, but the way I see it…”
He gently reached over, taking her hand away from where it was fiddling with her shoulder strap and the loose string. He then took the strap between his own fingers. The tips of them grazed her shoulder, and Ripley suppressed a silly little shiver. He carefully took hold of the string between his fingers, and Ripley met his eyes.
“You're hanging loose and on your own, like this bug here.”
He looked back down and gently tugged the loose string free. He held it up for the both of them to see. He was facing her entirely now, scars and all.
Ripley didn't miss the vulnerability of that simple action.
Hicks then reached down to the hem of his shorts, where he pulled it apart until a small tear formed. He pulled a couple of the new strings free, then placed them all in his open palm.
“When you can sit alongside us: me, Newt, and Bishop. Then-” He let the strings fall from his hand. “We can feel lighter together.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Ripley’s mouth. She let a thoughtful silence wash over them before finally looking back at him, a small laugh bursting from her lips.
“That was quite poetic.” She tilted her head suspiciously. “Did you rehearse that?”
His wide grin was contagious. “No rehearsal,” He admitted. “But I think my time out of the corps is bringing out my sensitive side.”
“You were always sensitive, even as an active corporal.” Ripley pointedly told him, stretching out a leg. “But it’s what made you stand out, and what made you the best.”
Hicks shook his head, his smile turning sad. “I ain’t better than anyone, especially compared to my team.”
Ripley’s heart sank. She turned her body towards his and swung her arm over the back of the couch, matching his position. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know you didn’t.” He reassured her with a nod. He was looking down now, but somehow registered that she had moved her arm over the couch’s backside like his. He reached forward and took her hand in his. They hung together there in the open air.
Ripley gave his hand a squeeze, and he squeezed back. She felt she needed to give him something in return for his vulnerability.
“You’re right, you know.” She reached forward and grabbed a box of cigarettes off the coffee table. She took one out, then looked around for a lighter. Hicks reached behind him to the lamp table and retrieved one, lighting it and holding it out for her. She leaned forward and let it ignite, breathing in deeply before continuing to speak. “I struggle a lot with this.” She gestured between the two of them.
Hicks kept his attention on her, head tilted in interest. It was refreshing.
She went on, not quite ready to hold his eye contact but able to talk while looking around the room. “I feel like I carry this…this guilt with me everywhere. Talking to people isn’t as easy as it used to be, before everything. Especially when most of the time I try to speak up, no one ever seems to fucking hear me.”
Ripley saw Hicks swallow before speaking. “I wish I could have taken things more seriously. Y’know, before everything started. I’m sorry you felt out of the loop when you really were the smartest person in the room.” He winked. “You always are.”
Ripley ignored the flutter in her stomach and raised an eyebrow. “I was fully in the loop, Corporal. I think it was you all who were outside of said loop.”
A sharp laugh erupted from him. “That was bad wording on my part. You’re right as hell there.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, though.” She continued, turning and swinging her legs back over the couch. She hunched over to rest her elbows on her knees and took another drag from her cigarette. “You were the only one at the start who listened, checked in on me, helped me ease down…”
Hicks moved to match her position this time. “I just… I feel like I could have done more. I was the one in charge and we lost… everyone.”
Ripley gestured back towards Newt’s room with a nod of her head. “Not everyone.”
Hicks turned his head and settled his eyes on Newt’s door, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “You got me there.”
“I feel like I could have done more, too.” Ripley had lost count of the amount of times she’d replayed the events of the Nostromo and LV in her mind, thinking of every possible alternative action she could have done to possibly save a crew member. “Fucking exhausting mindset.”
Hicks nodded along, then they met eyes. “I know it’s not an easy thing to think about yourself, but I want you to know you did incredible back there. If it wasn’t for you coming along, I’m certain that little girl and I wouldn't be here today.”
He reached forward and brushed a stray curl from her eye, one that had become damp with sweat during her nightmare. “You’re strong. Frankly the most fucking fascinating person I’ve ever known. I hear you, and I most definitely see you…”
He unabashedly let his eyes look her over at his words, and she laughed, blushing. She reached up and pushed his shoulder playfully before she put out her cigarette on the tray on the table in front of them.
He grew more serious again, looking at her as intensely as he could with a tired drooping eyelid. “I’m here to listen, and don’t forget it.”
Ripley felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t help but reach up and press a hand to the side of his face. She pulled him forward until their foreheads were pressed together. He let his forearm rest across her lap, where she gripped his hand. His opposite hand pressed against her back.
“I’d like for you to try not to doubt yourself too much, either.” She told him, eyes closed and relishing his closeness. “You are a fucking phenomenal leader, both in strength and heart. They knew that, and I know they shared comfort in having you there.”
Hicks let out a breath he seemed to be holding while she was speaking, and she felt a tear fall down his check where her thumb was. She wiped it for him.
They both remained that way for a little longer, taking in each other's presence. They eventually somehow ended up leaning against each other, his head above her’s and resting in her cloud of curls while her arm draped over his leg. Her eyes became heavy, but she still wanted to attempt to lift the mood.
“I’ll tell you one thing: I definitely don’t feel guilty for blowing that bitch out of the airlock.”
Hicks’s chuckle felt like home beneath her cheek. “Wish I could have seen that.”
The next thing she knew, she was waking up late in the day, and her and Hick’s had slumped to the side. Judging by the way her arm was protesting as she moved it from its squished position, they’d both be feeling sore when they got up. But for the first time in months, she had no nightmares.
Before drifting back to sleep, she noticed the small green child’s blanket draped over them from a little visitor in the night. Her eyes shut, and back to sleep she went.
Hicks never slept on the couch after that.