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Hicks stares at the ceiling. His hand moves slowly over Ripley’s back, her body curled against him.
Her skin is soft under his fingers, and her breath brushes his collarbone. She’s asleep.
He isn’t. Not yet.
Every time he closes his eyes, it all comes back. It’s burned into his eyelids. The images flash by, violent, like shards, like shadows stretching, twisting.
He doesn’t want to think about it. He just wants to think about her. Her skin against his. The two of them, a few hours ago.
She shifts, restless. Because his hand has stopped moving.
He resumes his slow caresses, and she settles again.
Ripley sleeps.
He keeps watch.
And he thinks.
***
She had found him in the infirmary, struggling to pull his shirt off, his face tight with pain.
“Let me.”
He pressed his lips together but nodded, giving in.
She helped him ease the fabric over his shoulders. Her fingers brushed his bare skin. Hicks’s breath hitched.
He’d already removed the bandage covering his face, and Ripley caught herself staring, a faint look in her eyes, something like appreciation. It threw him off balance.
Jaw clenched, he started peeling away another dressing near his shoulder.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Sit down.”
He obeyed without a word, lowering himself onto the cot.
Ripley was close enough that he could feel the heat of her body, her breath ghosting across his cheek. Something stirred deep in his gut. Something instinctive, long forgotten.
Suddenly he was back on LV-426. Her body pressed against his while he showed her how to use the pulse rifle.
The smell of her hair. Their hands brushing. Her mouth so close to his when she’d asked him to show her everything.
She snipped the gauze with surgical scissors. Hicks shivered at the touch of cold metal. His burns had nearly closed, leaving a web of scars across his skin.
“You should take a shower,” she said.
“Yeah.”
He set a hand on her shoulder, grimacing as he stood. “Give me a hand ?”
***
The light was harsh and pale. The air heavy with steam.
Ripley pushed Hicks back against the wall. Her hand tangled in his hair, her mouth found his. She wasn’t gentle. But she was careful not to hurt him.
He was hard and trembling where she pressed against him. His breath caught when her hand closed around his flesh.
Ripley had thought about this for a long time. What he’d be like, how he’d feel. She watched him tilt his head back against the tile as she stroked him, eyes squeezed shut. The sight undid her.
He groaned. Water fell steadily over them, hypnotic. Ripley stopped thinking.
He opened his eyes when he felt her mouth on him. Water beaded on his lashes. And he looked at her that way. Full of pain, silent respect, and something else entirely.
There were so many things Hicks wanted to say to her.
So many things he wanted to ask.
So much he wanted to know about her.
But no coherent thought would come.
Not with her hands on him. Her mouth moving like that.
Her palms rested on his hips, but Hicks didn’t move. She knew he was holding himself back. So she gave more. Wanted to see him unravel for her. Completely.
She felt the tension in his fingers when he slid them into her hair. Not to guide her, but to stay grounded.
A tremor ran through him before he gave in, a low, broken sound escaping his throat. She followed him through it. Took him all the way there. Until he was shaking and breathless.
Hicks pulled her up again. The heat of his breath against her lips. Then their mouths met. Again.
He tasted like salt and smoke and ache. He tasted like hers.
***
The Sulaco hums softly, like some sleeping creature drifting through the dark.
Inside, everything is quiet. Intact. Except for the mess in the cargo hold.
In the ship’s belly, a row of hypersleep capsules bathe in a bluish light.
Ripley watches Newt through the glass, her little face peaceful. A fleeting, tender smile tugs at her lips.
Next to her, Bishop. Or what was left of him. Still offline since his encounter with the Queen. Lying there, eyes closed, body sealed under a plastic sheet.
The glass is cold beneath Ripley’s palm. She shivers. Without him, she and Newt would have died.
She runs a hand through her still-damp hair and leaves the room.
***
She’d programmed the ship to wake her and Hicks twenty-four hours before arrival at Gateway.
Just a precaution.
***
Ripley found Hicks on the deck, a cigarette between his fingers, eyes lost in the stars.
“How long ?” she asks.
“Ten hours.”
He stubs out his cigarette and looks up at her.
Ripley reaches out, brushes her thumb across the rough line of his jaw. His eyes are tired.
“You should try to get some sleep.”
***
Hicks is lying on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. He isn’t asleep when she comes in.
In silence, he watches her strip off her jumpsuit, then her tee-shirt. The pale light slides over her breasts.
When she’s naked, she comes closer and stops. He can’t take his eyes off her.
He runs a hand along her hip, and she climbs onto him. Her warmth steals his breath. He needs her so badly it hurts.
In his flesh.
In his chest.
In his gut.
Maybe it’s love, he thinks.
She lifts her hips, pulls down his shorts, and sinks onto him. The breath rushes from his lungs.
Her eyes grow blurry as she moves above him. But they never leave his.
He thinks he’s moaning, holding on to her. He isn’t sure. He isn’t sure of anything anymore. All he can see is her face, undone in pleasure.
He sits up and pulls her close. Holds her trembling body tight. And kisses her until he can’t breathe.
“Ellen…” he whispers against her lips.
“Me too, Dwayne. Me too.”
***
Standing on the deck, Ripley lets out a stream of smoke and watches the blue curve of Earth grow closer.
Sitting on Hicks’s lap, Newt stares with wide, amazed eyes.
Ripley almost envies her innocence. Until she remembers everything the little girl has been through.
Her hand shakes a little as she brings the cigarette back to her lips, but her chest feels full, warm with love.
In the middle of all this chaos, life is giving her a second chance. And she intends to take it.
No matter what.
***
Ripley holds Newt’s hand when the Sulaco’s airlock opens to a team of men in sterile suits.
Ahead of them, Hicks has one hand resting on the sidearm strapped to his thigh.
"It’s just a precaution", he told her earlier.
And she knows that there could never be too many.