A jumble of words and numbers were displayed on the screen. Information. Data, in which had collected by the survey team on LV-223.
Curled up in her chair, Sarah Anderson sat at her workstation. In front of the screen. Eyes fixated on studying and interpreting the data. Working. Her fingers were wrapped around a mug of coffee in her hands. A blanket, draped over her legs.
The coffee. The blanket. She believed they would both offer her warmth, and comfort. Give her a sense of calmness. Something to aid her avoiding from getting distracted by anything. The last thing she wanted was to be caught slacking or goofing off. Especially, when Meredith Vickers could be lurking around any corner. Watching. Waiting.
She then shifted her position in the seat. To avoid any cramps. Since, she had been sitting that way for a while.
She brings the mug up to her lips. Taking a drink of coffee.
The hot liquid soothing her throat.
"Having this space to myself is so nice."
She truly appreciated David for procuring this space for her. Ensuring that she was isolated. Allowing her to have privacy.
And it was nice, because she had a quiet place to concentrate. To escape to.
From the chaos.
Her eyes darted over. To an object sitting on her desk beside her.
A photograph.
A framed photograph. The photograph, was of three figures. Sarah, 21 years old at the time. The other two were her parents. Her mother standing on one side of her. Her father on the other. She'd been squished in the middle between them, during a group hug.
Sarah slowly lowered the mug.
Then, she placed it down into the desk. Putting it aside.
At the sight of the photograph, she felt a tug at her chest. Because, she had remembered the day it was taken. Very clearly.
It was the day she had been forced to say her goodbyes. The last time she saw them.
The day she left for the mission.
She picked up the photograph. Her thumb brushing against the glass.
"Mom, Dad." She mutters.
She wouldn't forget the last she saw them.
The way her Mother was trying so hard not to weep. Trying to be strong. But, so obviously not doing very well.
Her Fathers quiet and gentle reassurances. To console her.
Her own quick quips to lighten the mood.
That day had been sad. Because, they were sending her away. Their daughter. Their only child. Letting her go off into the stars. Not knowing how long she'd be gone. What might happen to her.
I know you were scared for me to go.
Of course they would worry. They were her parents.
But, it all seemed to turn out okay.
It's okay.
I'm okay.
"I know you guys must miss me."
She imagined how quiet the house must of been for them. How lonely.
That being apart from her was hard.
And she knew this, because for her it felt the same. Being so far away from them for so long? Made her ache.
Made her feel a little empty.
I miss you guys, so much.
Of course, she tried not to let her feelings distract her. Get in the way.
Try not to completely lose herself.
She wanted to be strong. For them. For herself. For the sake of making every minute of her time and her effort on this mission count. All in the hopes of what they would find. And the thought of doing what she wanted.
Make them proud.
But I swear, I'm going to make you proud.
I won't let you down.
She closed her eyes. Holding the photograph close to her chest.
Letting the memory of their voices linger. The 'I love yous' and 'We're proud.' The bittersweet expressions on their faces.
The warmth of their hug.
"I know I'll see you again someday."
And as she opened her eyes, suddenly she felt something wet. On her face.
She reached up.
She gently touched her cheek. Where it had become wet. From the tear that had managed to escape from her eye.
Roll down.
"Miss Anderson?"
David's voice suddenly filling the room, caught her attention. Making her head snap over.
To where he had entered.
She blinks. "Huh?"
"Miss Anderson, are you alright?"
David stands in place. Head titled as he analyzed the sight before him.
She blinked again.
"Oh. I...I'm sorry...I..."
He stared.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, yeah. Everything's good."
He then takes a step closer.
"Are you okay?"
She glanced down at the photo.
"Yeah, I'm..."
She raised her arm up. Then, wiping her face with the sleeve of her crew uniform. Getting rid of the tear.
Then sniffled.
"I'm good."
“I apologize for interrupting.”
“No. No. It’s okay. You weren’t interrupting anything.” She shakes her head.
“You appear distressed.”
She pressed her lips together.
“I just had a little moment to myself that’s all. Got lost really.” She explained, simply. Then, cleared her throat.
Trying to keep her composure.
“What's up?"
"Miss Vickers sent me." She stared. And he went on to further explain. "She asked me to come and check up on you. To see if you were making any progress with your work and if you needed any assistance."
Her brow furrowed.
"She sent you just to check on me?"
"I suppose perhaps it may have also been to ensure that you weren't neglecting your duties." He said. "Or getting into any trouble."
"I suppose that checks out." She mutters.
This didn't seem to surprise her. She fully expected it from Vickers.
"Figured she'd try to snoop somehow."
"Purely professional of course." David assured her.
"Yeah. Sure."
David stepped foward again.
Then, walking across the room. Over to her desk. He stops beside her chair, tilting his head down to look at her.
“How is your work going?”
“Good. It’s going good.” She reached out. Picked up her coffee mug. Then, taking another drink out of it. “I was just reviewing the data collected from LV-223 by the survey team.”
He looked over to the screen. Giving it a brief glance over.
Then, hums.
“I see.”
“So far, everything looks okay. Haven’t found anything concerning.” She stated.
Of course, she didn’t mind if he wanted to give it a look. Double check her. See if she missed anything.
A second pair of eyes could be useful.
“But, I could have overlooked something.”
“That’s certainly always a possibility.” David nodded.
“Do you need to look it over thoroughly?”
“I suppose I can, if it’s what you’d like me to do.” He then gestured to the empty chair sitting next to her own.
Asking permission to take a seat in it. And to join her.
“May I?”
“Go ahead.” She gives a little smile.
“Excellent.”
David then lowered himself into the seat. And sits down.
prometheus | gen | Elizabeth Shaw, David 8 | g | ~3.4k words
might as well call this Elizabeth and David's fucked up yet excellent adventure and have done with it. this is humour on the verge of crack, guys: not meant to be taken seriously.
‘You do understand that before you inject, insert, or implant anything into me, you need my permission to do so?’
fic: we don't know what we know until we've known it
flyingrat said something about the other side of the coin. so I wrote this.
~
David has been gone from the mess no more than ten seconds before Charlie leans forward and calls after him, ‘Yeah, and my little dog too, right?’
‘A-plus,’ Janek rumbles from his corner. There’s spattered applause and Charlie grins and waves at the room at large before turning back to you.
His eyes are crinkled, laughing, and you shake your head at him, but you have to press your lips together to stop your smile. Still, ‘You do know he heard that, don’t you? You shouldn’t bait him,’ you say. ‘He can’t help how he was made anymore than we can.’
‘Yeah,’ he says on a laugh, ‘but when someone’s got a stick shoved that far up their ass, it’s hard not to give it a yank sometimes, you know?’
You lean in, resting your elbows on the table. ‘Why do you have a problem with him? We’ve had synthetics with us off and on on digs for the last two years. You weren’t like this with them.’
He shrugs, looking down at the beer he’s holding. ‘I don’t know. Well—’ he looks up, grinning a little again, ‘yeah, okay, so maybe I do.’ He rubs at the back of his head, and says, ‘Remember when the eights first came out? Those weird ads?’
You hook your fingers together and rest your chin on them, trying to think back. ‘A little. I was pretty young.’
‘Yeah, well, I do,’ he says, emphasising the last word, ‘and they seriously gave me the creeps. I was, like, ten, I think, and I remember asking Mom why anyone would want to buy Lurch to run their businesses or whatever.’
The laugh spills out of your mouth before you can stop it. You look your accusation at him, but he’s still grinning, completely unrepentant. You shake your head again; he’s the most aggravating mix of adorable and annoying when he’s this tightly wound.
You tell him, ‘Lurch or not, we’re probably alive right now because of him. Try to get on with him, please?’ You tap your finger on the back of his hand when he snorts. ‘Holloway. I’m serious.’
He looks at you for a moment, then he says, ‘Fine. I’ll make nice with the freakshow. Just don’t expect me to say please and thank you, all right?’
‘I never have,’ you say, and he laughs, but you can’t quite leave it alone. ‘He’s acting as he’s been programmed to act. He has no other choice.’
He’s staring at a point somewhere in the middle of your face, frowning slightly. You snap your fingers and he says, ‘What? Oh. Programming.’ His laugh isn’t amused this time. ‘Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.’
Post-movie: Shaw repairs damaged David in the Engineer ship. Warning: Prometheus spoilers and brief disturbing imagery.
She fixed him the best she could. There was only so much she could do.
When it was over, despite her best efforts, the illusion David's creators had tried so hard to create was damaged. Permanently. She could reconnect his severed head to his body, but she couldn't repair his torn dermis, leaving the taut pale cords in his neck—glistening, sickeningly organic—nakedly displayed. Something in the wiring was ruptured beyond what Shaw could fix with the few meager tools she had smuggled onboard in her rescue pack. One of his hands twitched now, grasping the air at random intervals. There seemed to be a lag in his processing—every question Shaw asked him (tilt your head this way be still this will be over soon) was met with a glossy, blank stare before his words or facial patterns formed a response. His smoothly modulated voice was marred by the digital burble of feedback.
He guided her through the appropriate tubes to reconnect—she fused them with a tiny melding instrument used to cauterize human wounds. David was calm, clear, reassuring.
If the procedure caused him pain—if David could feel pain at all—he didn't let on. He lay on the cold slab in the dark, cavelike, empty chamber that served as his operation theater stoic and slack as a broken toy. His blue eyes gazed mildly past her sweating, intense face, as if he were studying the sinuous shapes and symbols engraved into the domed ceiling of the Engineer vessel.
“There.” David's large, cool hand gently closed around her wrist. Shaw heard the click of servos as he smiled. “That should do it.” He sat up, experimentally flexed his arms. His brow furrowed as he examined his spasming left hand.
Shaw gathered her instruments, placing them back in the bag. “Everything all right?”
He fixed her with that cold, clinical stare, his mouth still tilted into a smirk. “Didn't you know? They can only kill me with a golden bullet.”
Shaw dismissed that bizarre, cryptic statement as another one of David's obscure quotes. David's mind was cluttered with centuries of human trivia—poetry, books, film. Shaw wondered what kind of fulfillment a machine could possibly get out of entertainment meant for living, breathing people—but it seemed needlessly cruel to ask.
There was a purring sound as Shaw ripped free a swatch of gauze and fixed it around the gash in David's neck. He lightly touched the gauze with his fingertips, looked into Shaw's eyes. A moment of vacant disregard. Then a smile. That same light touch on the back of her neck, raising goosebumps.
“Thank you,” David said. “I didn't expect this kind of courtesy from you. Due to the--” A simulated pause in human speech? Or a glitch? “Circumstances that have transpired.”
The air was still in the engineer ship, and the silence was heavy, thick like velvet. The hum of air processors and coolant systems was absent—the Engineer's vessel ran on methods more sophisticated and subtle than a human ship. No windows or portholes other than the viewing panel in the “cockpit.” It was like flying through the stars in an enormous tomb. Every word they spoke fell into the empty darkness like a stone dropped down a deep well.
Shaw stood there, in this dank little crypt her fathers had built for a purpose unknown to her, looking at this man-shaped machine her people had built for reasons just as maddeningly vague. She watched David sitting there on the stone slab, his plastic face molded into a mask of apology, his hand twitching on his knee. His shirt was stained with the milky fluids of his own artificial internal organs—and there, over where his heart would be, half peeled away, an embroidered decal bore the name of his dead creator. For a moment she felt nothing but pity for him.
“You're right, David. You didn't deserve to be put back together—if a human being had exploited and endangered me and my crew in the way that you did, I would call him a murderer. But you're just a machine. You were just doing what you were programmed to do. I no longer consider you dangerous.”
David stood. His movements were stiff, awkward, uncoordinated. “But you do consider me useful.”
He was walking towards her. Shaw's muscles tensed. Three sensory memories hit her—David's smooth cool fingertips brushing the skin at the nape of her neck, the squirm of the alien fetus deep in her belly, Charlie's hot-cold skin pressed damply against her as they lay together in tangled sheets. Her lips parted, her ears rang. “Of course. You can pilot the ship. I need you to get where I want to go.”
“Is that all?” He smiled, showing white teeth. “I wonder, Dr. Shaw, if you're aware that I am likely the only thing with a human face you will ever see again.”
He emphasized the word thing slightly, and Shaw repressed a shiver. David let his hand brush her elbow as he left the chamber. Shaw watched him leave, watched silently after him as he steered his broken body out into the corridor, out into the darkness.
Photoset for my own fic. I Promise You a Forever (now on Ao3) featuring alien!Charles/David 8 and an attempt to have children which rewrites history. Currently COMPLETE (chapter 3/3)
