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It's four in the morning before Samuels decides to go to bed.
He realizes the hypocrisy of his actions; fetching a tired, cranky Amanda, riddled with anxiety at early hours, wishing her painful history would stop following her to bed, wasn't beyond the norm. He's always happy to help- his mind a practical device around the clock, so between her needing an uplifting chat and being an absolute mess, it's hardly out of his way to be with her at 2AM or 2PM. Only once every two weeks does Chris actually need rest, which is definitely not an unachievable goal considering today is that day, but it's his turn to stay awake lost in thought. A synthetic with it's mind wandering, easier convinced it's faulty than the alternative.
Even now after finally making it to bed he's still sitting upright on the edge, hands on his knees. His attention equally split between two extremes, the origin of much wonder that is Amanda Ripley and a loose thread in the carpet.
Yes, definitely faulty.
It's inevitable really, Samuels is certain one day Amanda will grow tired of him. He had tried to keep out of her way as much as possible, an etiquette program restricting him from being unnecessarily seen or heard. A friendly helper, always present for when needed and invisible for when not, but living with Amanda is different. She'll get restless if he hasn't started a conversation for a few hours, or if he tries to go unnoticed, and not take up too much of her day. She likes him present with her. It's nice, there could be no denying that much, assuming someone truly cares about him in a way that doesn't directly benefit themselves. Sure, Samuels offers his time and effort when it comes to housework and creature comforts, and she returns the gestures in forms of gentle gratitude, leading him to believe she actually saw him as sentient. Alive.
Not that he genuinely has a life, but decides that with Amanda whatever it is is worth living. Even if he is technically just an over-sized household security drone.
Christopher has barely laid down when a single hard knock rattles the door.
“Yes?” Samuels calls out, getting to his elbows.
The handle turns and Ripley tumbles through the threshold.
“You're up early.” Or up late.
Amanda whines as she rubs her eyes, nodding, and stepping into the room. “Why d'you close the door on my face? We were just talkin'.”
She's lying, and though not offended by it, Chris can't determine her intent. He knows with certainty he's been sitting here in the dark for forty minutes, why she would proclaim otherwise baffles him.
The woman teeters on the spot, her shoulders fall as she scratches the back of her neck, eyes barely open.
Not lying but asleep, and dreaming of him apparently.
“Oh, Amanda.” He adores softly. “Do you need help?”
“No, I need sleep.”
“Brilliant idea, do you remember how to get back to bed?”
Amanda nods, but doesn't move.
Had Samuels been acting like this, he'd have diagnostics run and be out of commission until whatever bug had been fixed. This woman however, an organic mess of sleep deprivation and wobbling in the doorway, it was endearing.
“You're in my bed.” She states matter of factly, more lucid since walking brow first into his door. “We were just talking about this. It's fine, just, scooch.”
He doesn't debate who she had gifted to on a technicality, if he's honest with himself this whole apartment and everything in it, belongs to Amanda. Himself included. She'd hate it if he ever confessed to feeling as such, but he quite likes the idea of her possessing him, it's a tie to her that feels real. Friendship is nice, and with her it is valued above all else, but it's still an imaginary construct, a bond more easily broken than an agreement to own and belong. This, he understands.
Ripley walks towards him and before Christopher truly understands what's happening, she lays down, huddling up in the gap at his side. Her head isn't even on a pillow, and her knees are poking off the mattress, but she sighs contently and wriggles her bottom a little closer.
In a slight panic he sits straight up, there's a worrying amount of protocol for this in his directory, which is exactly 0 and he's at a complete loss. He knows what human males would do in a situation like this, but as it stands, he knows such exercises are not intended for him, and however stress relieving it may be, Ripley does need her sleep. It's all very illogical, and nothing that much interests him anyway. But still, Christopher realizes curiously, the process in general had still crossed his mind.
He scoots over on the mattress so Amanda has enough room, it's a double and there's not much to give, but she takes it happily and rolls to face him, her hands form fists in the hem of his shirt.
“C'you stay? We can chat, until I fall asleep.”
Samuels's voice setting is as low as it will go. “I believe you're sleeping right now.”
“What?” Amanda squints accusingly against wildly escaped hair.
"Nothing, dear." He says, tucking the loose strands behind her ears, finding his hand cupping her cheek.
He could stay, she has requested him to. There could be no harm in sharing a bed, considering this human being had previously displayed her comfort proximity to him, having fallen asleep with her head on his knee and hand in his own before. But beds were far more intimate than that, it's where couples slept, real couples and not this undefined wishful thinking.
It's fine. She'd said. He is wanted here in this moment, at least in her dreams where he could be anything. Even human.
There's a pang in his chest like a static shock and he realises he doesn't hate anything in the universe but this feeling. Samuels sits up, unfolding her fingers from his shirt like aluminium foil. He arranges his pillows under her head and pulls his blankets over her frame as it curls inward. He can see the scars on her shoulders, gratefully not deliberate but the markings of fire, debris, and violence, he pats the blanket into them. However long healed, they still hurt her while she sleeps. Especially when she sleeps alone.
“You leaving?”
“I think it's best that I go.” Samuels replies, deadpan.
“Oh. 'Kaye.”
The image of her waking up net to him, embarrassed that she, a grown woman, had crawled into his bed in the night and being apologetic to him of all people- of all things- moves his feet to the door.
Amanda blinks in the darkness. While all she would see is a silhouette watching over her, he can see all the features in her face. The sadness, disappointment, loneliness. She reaches up and hugs the pillow (his pillow) wrapping her arms tightly around it, engulfing it into an embrace.
Samuels mentally kicks himself, cursing his faulty programming. He did the right thing, but God help him, he should have just stayed.