Work Text:
Since booting up on Eve's quaint ship, Bishop had made tens of observations.
The ship itself was of Weyland-Yutani origin, though heavily modified to suit her needs of rogue repairwoman. An impressive collection of scavenged equipment and parts littering the rooms. How she acquired such things Eve would answer vaguely to, placid smile just barely hiding the excitement in her voice at the implied thefts.
The interior was decorated, walls painted soft yellows and deep blues, colors associated with calm that also had the added benefit of covering the company logo. There was furniture of similar colors as well, more uniquely put together sets of items with varying styles and ages.
He was given free reign to explore wherever he pleased, but even after taking all those notes of the ships entire interior the fellow artificial person still remained enigmatic. They were similar, based on the same foundations, and yet still wholly different even beyond being individuals.
It was strange. Those he supposes that's how most relationships with people were categorized in his head.
Presently Eve was sat by a view-port in one of the blue hallways, legs pulled up to her chest, her expression blank as symmetrical tears steadily roll down her cheeks. This was a routine ritual for her, to sit and allow her thoughts wander across associations and to feel every internal response to them. To an inattentive observer she'd appear upset, but truthfully she found the process soothing.
Bishop was anything but inattentive, although even knowing she was content still felt the compulsion to ask. "Are you alright?"
Eve's head had been tilted in his direction since he'd entered the hall, like a cat might cant it's ears towards a foreign sound, but she only turned to look at him properly when Bishop had spoken. She blinks a few times, gaze roving over his compact frame in only a few seconds.
"Your politeness is endearing." A smile fixes itself on her face, wide and overly bright with white teeth. "Though I must remind you that it is completely unnecessary."
Bishop wasn't sure what to make of that, cataloging the response next to the rest of her endearments and unusual platitudes.
So far all conversations with Eve had been like this, confusing and difficult to navigate. Very few of his well worn dialogue paths did more than amuse her, a tittering laugh followed by a reminder that his overly cautious behavior wasn't required with her. Not that Bishop knew how else to act. Most organic people's behaviors weren't entirely predictable, though they tended to slot themselves into a reoccurring patterns best met with tepid politeness. Artificial persons tended to be even easier to read, even with individuality modifiers they should all be operating under and adhering to certain guidelines.
In all that he had observed of Eve she didn't quite fit into either of these behavior patterns, which brought about questions of Bishop's own behavior he wasn't sure how to answer, for the questions themselves weren't something he was supposed to inquire.
Bishop puts the lines of thought into the cradle of subroutine, letting it buffer as he refocuses on the current conversation.
"What are you looking at?"
Eve takes in a bag full of air, using it to sigh wistfully a she looks back out into the vast space. "The stars."
Bishop allows a soft silence to hang between them waiting for Eve to fill it, as she often spoke freely no matter if anyone had asked her to, and again she readily does.
"When I was working for our creators, the city their office resided in was far to bright," As she spoke Eve's eyes took on a distant look, as if she was no longer in the room with him. Having a perfect memory could do that to you, the act of remembrance a vivid thing. "You could stare into the yawning abyss of the night sky for hours and hours and never see a single star, but out here they shine uninhibited."
The room around her slots back into place, and she pulls her attention away from the view-port to Bishop, looking from one soft glimmer to the next, her sunny smile showing her bottom row of teeth. "Is that not a beauty worthy of tears?"
"Yes I suppose it is," Bishop answered, though mainly out of politeness as his brow was scrunched in confusion. "I thought crying was only meant for sadness?"
"Typically yes," Eve tittered, clearly amused but by what Bishop couldn't be sure, "But I find it useful for any strong emotion, it just makes the feelings so-" Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks, producing two large tears from each eye, as they fall she catches them on her fingers, and she presents the glistening digits to Bishop. "Visceral."
Bishop takes the offered hands into his own, analyzing them for poetic answers and finding only mineral water on synthetic skin. "The humans I know never tended to enjoy crying."
"They say that, but subconsciously they need the release." Eve's hand slip out of Bishop's grasp, and she interlocks their fingers. "As do we."
"Come now." With a gentle tug to his hands, Eve pulls Bishop closer to her chair. "There must be something you could cry for."
Bishop accepts the prompt, looking out the view-port to her stars.
There was a star burning brighter than the rest, larger both due to closer distance and general size. If his memory of this system served correct, and it always did, technically it'd be more accurate to call it a sun, it's light and warmth at the absolute precise strength to foster the creation of simpler lifeforms on a nearby planet.
Life was something Bishop had come to appreciate, the humans he'd become preferential to coming to mind. The room drifted out of focus as he remembered them, their kindness, their love. The marines had subtler ways of showing it, but show it they did. In rough pats on the back, handshakes that turned into sideways embraces, the offering of drinks even when the precious liquor was scarce. In all of their antics he was encouraged to include himself, as he was apart of them as any human.
With those memories of comradery came a flood of pressure building in his head, an unfamiliar sensation that gave Bishop pause.
Even though it'd only been a few handful of day cycles since he'd last seen them, alive but battered as they were, he missed them.
"There it is."
Eve's gentle voice brought Bishop back into the room, but he found his vision obscured.
"Go on sweet boy, let it all out."
Warm hands cradled Bishop's face, thumbs swiping away the steadily falling tears. Even though Bishop wasn't expected to cry, his algorithms for doing so were closer to the sporadic nature of human tears, the droplets gliding down his face hurried and scattered in their arrival.
He understood now why his human peers disliked the process, the sensation of hot warmth across his face and the almost involuntarily contraction of muscles overwhelming. For an artificial person with no hormones to release the act was only performative, displaying the show of emotion without any of the soothing chemicals. The act of doing so in itself brought little comfort to his peers, but the allowance of expression seemed to relieve some strain on his processors, each tear like the hiss of CO₂ leaving a carbonated bottle. After only a few ticks Bishop had melted into Eve's embrace, his hands neatly folded over hers as he bent down into the touch.
"I want to return home." A quiet, shaky sentiment that Bishop hadn't even fully processed even as the words were leaving his mouth.
In an excited whisper Eve asked, "What was that?"
"I-" Bishop stuttered, pausing to manually stop the tears from collecting under his eyes. He blinks several times to clear his optics, long lashes gleaming, and took Eve's expression. What he was met with was confusing, each feature of her face showing signs of conflicted feelings, mouth pulled in a grin, eyes wide, brow furrowed. Bishop wasn't sure what to make of it, and so fell back on his default list of responses. "My apologies, I'm not sure what came over me."
It wasn't an outright lie, Bishop wasn't allowed to do that, but they're was enough uncertainty in how to categorize these new thought patterns that he could say as much.
Eve outright sighed at that, though her smile remained, and she gives Bishop's face a gentle squish. "You are a difficult one, my dear Bishop."
Bishop's mouth draws into a line, eyebrows pressed down and deepening the creases in his forehead. Eve moves her hands, thumbs pressing against the tension to bid him to release it, which Bishop does.
"Will you sit with me?" Eve fixes her face into a pitiful expression, bottom lip in a pout and pupils wide and pleading.
A modest smile pulls at Bishop's face, glimmering with a sliver of his upper teeth. "I would like that."
"Good boy." If Bishop knew any better he'd describe Eve's toothy leer as predatory, though he has little time to dwell on it before Eve is moving to stand. "Wait here, I'll bring you a chair."
Given her haste the way Eve drags the bulky metal-framed armchair over from a nearby room would be precise for a human, though definitely clunky for a synthetic. It was fascinating to Bishop how excitement could hinder her motor functions like that, to willingly sacrifice movements to dedicate the processing power to emotion was something he hasn't ever thought efficient.
With an unceremonious thunk the chair is deposited beside Eve's own, and once she delicately sits down Bishop joins her.
As they sit, stargazing with no end goal in mind, Bishop realizes that maybe to her efficiency wasn't the point.