#preferably in like a worryingly possessive way but y’know

[pwuppyl0ve]

song is making me feel crazy btw i’m in a Mood. the mood being. um. need the kind of sex tht doesn’t rly feel like sex and makes all my friends worry for my safety

[ripuels]

For @outreotter​ <3

(Another one that got way out of hand, also I haven’t managed to read over it mine soul is on Jupiter locked in a fridge sorry. Posting it as text under the cut because tumblr remains awful about my ask box~)

“If you're in some kind of trouble, you can tell me.” Christopher doesn't steer far from her hip as he welcomes her into the lounge room and she falls into the couch. 

“What makes you think I'm in trouble?”

The responding look is one of disbelief, he hardly has to be reminded who he's talking to. 

“Okay, okay sure. I'm avoiding someone, and your- the door wasn't locked, and I thought-” Amanda sees the incredulous synthetic stand opposite, arms folding across his chest, “oh my God, this was such a bad idea. I'm just- yeah, I'm gonna go.”

“Wait!” Samuels catches her with urgency, she freezes at the edge of the couch. “Stay, for a tea? I haven't seen you in a year, it's been odd to say the least, and concerning- the radio silence after all we've been through, and suddenly you're in my hallway, I- it would be nice, to catch up.”

She sits back down, nodding slowly. “Tea never hurt anyone. But just tea, then I gotta get back to work.” 

“Amy- Ripley,” he corrects himself as she flinches to a microscopic degree, “it's Sunday.”

She knows what he's getting at, calling her out on any reason to leave in a hurry. “Is it?” Her voice drags with a heavy sarcasm even Christopher couldn't miss. “I had no idea. Mostly because I've been working non-stop for about five weeks. Fucking staff cuts left us with half the crew and double the work, and I can't even complain because I'm one of the fortunate ones who still has a job. And-”

Samuels watches as she sinks comfortably into the couch pillows, ankle crossed over the other knee. It's funny that such a simple movement reminds him how flexible she is, especially her hips. 

“Sorry,” she groans and scrubs at her eyes, “that's exactly what I'm doing right now isn't it?” 

“It’s quite alright. I'm interested and happy to listen.” 

“It’s just, my whole crew was made up of contractors, once their time was up, they didn't want to bother renewing and The Company saw the opportunity to save some dollars.” Amanda huffs, “fuck all the rest of us I guess.” 

Samuels nods compassionately, pacing over to the kitchen to put the kettle on, leaning over his elbows on the bench. It's amazing how unique this synthetic has developed compared to all the others, since the breakup she had never struggled to speak to other Samuels units, though identical, she never saw his face in them. But him, Christopher, he could be standing amongst a hundred others and he'd be the sole blip on her radar. 

“You're obviously not easily replaced,” he means it in more ways than one, “maybe take it higher to HR, they could always steer you in the right direction. I’d be happy to help, if you needed anything from Legal-?”

Ripley smiles, pulling her hair over her shoulder and sliding her forearm behind her head. “Any excuse, you haven't changed a bit,” she laughs, definitely joking though not far wrong, “but I don't want to bug you for help. You've done enough for me after everything, and I already owe more than I could pay you back in years.”

“We had years,” Christopher says simply, fondly, an ease in his voice that Amanda can't tell is reminiscing or final. Or which one she would prefer it to be. “And they were good years. Consider your debt paid. However nonexistent it is.” 

She gently scratches her fingertips in the hair behind her ear, letting out a resigned sigh as he prepares a few mugs. 

“How long have you been back?”

“Two months.” She says with a hard stare. He doesn’t look upset or surprised by the fact that she hadn’t called around to visit, but curious. “I moved in with- with someone, in the hab units, y’know the permanent accommodation ones? By the bay. Nice view, but really quiet.” By that, she means lonely. “Figure I may as well set myself up if I’m going to be around for a while.”

“Oh, I see. Have you…” He starts, taking a moment to compose himself a little better, stripping the desperation out of his voice. “Have you found someone? Human?” He adds a little unnecessarily. 

After him? Hell no, she thinks. She had her shot at love, at life, at everything, and she blew it. What the fuck would she even do with a new lover but silently wish they were someone else? Someone in particular. 

“No, God no. I've just, been around.” She says nonchalantly, which isn't a total lie. A few dates, made a few more friends, he always said she needed more of them. 

“Anyone right now?”

Amanda doesn't mean to laugh, a little sadly, looking directly at him. “Always.” 

“Oh.” 

The synthetic doesn't seem surprised by the revelation, in fact, he doesn't look anything. 

“Dammit, Chris. Have you turned your emotional programming off again?” Amanda knows him, and knows he is smarter than to lie to her, so he stays quiet. “You're getting worryingly good at faking it. Even convinced me for a while there. Why the hell?” 

Samuels tugs his tie loose with a finger, a movement usually telling of his synthetic measure of anxiety. This time however, it looks more habitual. His face is icy, unbothered, his eyes relaxed under a numb brow. “I found it easier to function.” To cope. “How did you know?”

Ripley gets up and wanders to the other side of the bench, hands wringing at the edge of it. “Because this isn't you, Samuels. Even before you met me you were emotional, sentimental, and now you're just- just like all the others. But worse actually, because you're choosing to be.”

As if she hadn't spoken at all, he finds another subject. One he would experience an immeasurable amount of panic over had he been able to feel anything at all. “Did you ever find any more answers?” His controlled hand pours boiling water into two mugs. “To the whereabouts of Ellen?”

“No, and turns out I didn't want them anyway.” Amanda doesn't need to try to sound convincing. “It's a huge universe out there and I could look for my entire life, waste- my entire life, and not even get a net to the bottom. I'm finished. It's what she would have wanted, I think.”

“I believe you're right. It's what we all wanted for you. To find some peace.”

“Closure.” She smiles weakly and he nods. “I’m getting there. One step at a time. First things first, I still gotta settle into my new joint. Make it, I don’t know, comfortable. Like this place.” 

“You're always welcome to stay here. It is half your house too.” Christopher stops himself from saying home, something it hasn't been in over twelve months. “There is a spare room or two.”

“I couldn't intrude like that. You probably have a whole social group, a girlfriend, boyfriend, both, who knows. Feels wrong to kick your door down so suddenly,” she says, a little downhearted. The synthetic opens his mouth to assure her he absolutely doesn't, but she trudges onward. “Thanks though, Chris. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He resigns to nod, knowing first hand that corralling this woman never ended well in the past. “Offer isn't retractable, not that you won't let yourself in anyway. Clearly.”

Amanda takes her tea with a thankful smile, leaning on her elbows. The man across mirroring her. “Hey, yeah.” She rests the rim of the mug to her chin. “Why was the door unlocked?” 

“It’s silly, really.” He finally looks away, perhaps considering dishonesty. “I haven't locked it since you left, since I didn't know if you still had a key or not. I'm not sure what possesses me to do it, but I thought of this place as a safe haven of sorts, for if you ever need.” He finds himself looking into the face of a woman who knows her soul is being x-rayed. “Good thing too, came in as a handy sanctuary, from mysterious pursuers.” 

At this she rolls her eyes. “Okay, you got me. There wasn't actually anyone, I just wanted to drop in but something came over me. It was as if-” she takes a sip and shrugs, “it was just dumb.”

“As if what?” 

“As if- I was coming home I guess. I was just going to knock but before I knew it, I was standing in the hallway, and then you were there and, yeah, I panicked.” She finds herself smiling along with him. “You should turn it back on, by the way. Your feelings. It's not fair that I'm here all shaky knees and racing heart and you're just a slab of limestone.”

His face falls. “I don't think that's a very good idea.” 

“Why? What's wrong?”

Samuels straightens off the bench. “It just isn't.”

Amanda doesn't push. “Y'know, if you need someone to talk to, support, I'm here. I might not have always been but, I am now.” 

He thinks for a moment, remembering the times when his ex-lover would break down between his legs in the bath, against the wall of the hallway, when he came home to her tiny frame hunkered behind the couch, terrified, knife in her defensive hand and sweat beading on her forehead. She'd always let him be there, let him in, and he never allowed her the slightest room for guilt. 

It had been months since Samuels felt anything, since he became lost in processing grief, regret, anxiety. Why would she leave? How could she? Would she ever come back? But above all, could she ever come back? He knew Amanda would follow the trail until the end, whether it be of the line, or her life.

If he were to tune into all of that now, should the dam crumble, he doesn't think she should be around to see it. But if she leaves, it may be for good, truly, this chance as fleeting as her.

“Amanda, I- I would, but I haven't- not in a long time. I have reason to err on the side of caution, that it may not be something you want to witness.” Samuels' report is composed, even as he fidgets with the mug handle. “I have no clue what to expect, but suspect it will not be pleasant.”

“Keeping shit bottled up is only going to break you. I’m not going to push, but let me help you, if you need. Anything. No expiry date.”

Samuels rubs his hair back, disturbing the perfect form that somehow always defied not only the weather, but her playful tussling. He seems defeated by the fact that he has nothing to lose. “Could I-” he starts, placing his drink down, “Could I just trouble you for a hug?”

Amanda recoils, she doesn't know why her reaction is of surprise, not until she remembers where they stand. Square one. Or perhaps more accurately, not even on the same tile at all. “Yeah, course you can.” 

She takes the initiative to wander over and feed her hands under his arms, dragging them together tightly around his chest. Without hesitation he takes her around the shoulders. 

He hasn't changed a bit, still warmer than he should be, still wearing the same deliciously oaky cologne she brought a few Christmases ago. The one he wore because he was convinced he smelled of chemicals. Like new silicone baking trays. Amongst other things. And he still holds her as if she is vanishing before his very eyes. 

Now more than ever, she thinks. Even at her scariest, most dire moments, when his hand was the only thing holding her to the face of the Earth, he never squeezed so desperately. 

“Samuels,” she whispers, turning her face from his shoulder to nestle into the crook of his neck. His grip eases as if foreseeing the 'you're hurting me' or 'that's enough now' coming. “When was the last time you had a rest cycle?” 

“Since the morning.” 

“You sleeping every day now?” Amanda steps back hesitantly, her thumbs rubbing his forearms. 

“No,” he clarifies. “The morning I woke up and you were gone.” 

Her heart gives a punishing ache, but presented with the opportunity to make things right, she wasn’t going to screw it up again. “’Kaye. C’mon. Bed with you. Now.” 

“I'd rather be here. You're due to go to work soon and I haven’t seen you in-”

“Fuck work. You need me. You need somebody.” She wriggles up behind him shoves his waist forward. “Rest cycle for you, then if you want, I'll duck out and pick up some dinner. Maybe Italian and a bottle of wine, and if you're really lucky, or the wine is good, I'll stay the night. But only if you’re prepared to turn everything back on over dinner and we talk about this. Properly.” 

“Wait, you'll truly stay?”

She nods her head as he peers over his shoulder. “Couch or spare room. Or would you prefer I went home? Just figured, you might want the company.”

“No! No, of course I do. Please.” He's not even able to change out of his work suit before he's pushed roughly on the bed, the throw rug at the base is dragged up to his chin. Amanda at least unfastens a few buttons of his shirt and unhooks his tie. “What will you be doing while I rest? It'll take-” he seems to calculate, discomfort and disappointment falling over him, “four hours, twenty-five minutes.”

Ripley flops down the the bedside chair, pulling out her phone. “I'll just be here, for when you come to.” 

“Alright.” Christopher hums, rolling onto his side, his eyes fluttering closed. Looking as close to a dead battery as she had ever seen him, though physically at full charge. “Before I- I am out, I want you to know, I’m so happy to see you, Amanda.” 

“Happy.” She teases gently. “And how can you tell without-?”

“They’re already back online.”