Work Text:
E.Ripley: Olga, will you take Jonesy?
O.Czajka: Yes. How long do you need?
[E.Ripley is typing.]
-
Olga did not expect the answer to be indeterminate. She knew Ellen from the loading docks, knew that she had some rough history, and heard rumors about it from other dock workers, while declining to engage the conversations she heard going on around her. Ellen seemed - well, not normal, but no more abnormal than the rest of them who had been working in space for years. Gateway Station was meant to be a stop-over or the next step in a lot of people's careers, and a lot of people also ended up staying because they wanted to.
When Ellen got hired on it was shortly after a bunch of big wig, hot-shot Weyland-Yutani executives had been aboard. Everyone had been repeatedly told to be on their best behavior, despite having been stuffed in the loading docks the entire time. Ellen seemed more distant and unhappy than most of the workers, but she wasn't rude, so Olga sat down with her for lunch one day. They ate in silence, and it was pleasant, so Olga kept coming back. Eventually Ellen invited her over for coffee and Olga had brought a card deck. That was the first time she'd met Jonesy.
All Ellen would say was that Jonesy was with her on her last mission, and rescued with her by the salvage team who found her life boat floating in the outer territories. He wasn't as quiet as Ellen, once he got used to Olga, and that suited them all just fine.
Now Ellen was going on some USCMC mission as a consultant, and Jonesy couldn't go. Maybe, and this seemed more likely to Olga, Ellen didn't want to put Jonesy through more if the trip went bad. 'Again', whatever that meant. So Olga agreed.
The last time she saw Ellen Ripley, the woman was handing her a data file with all Jonesy's veterinary history, along with a cat carrier and a box of miscellaneous items. Olga didn't even get to hug her goodbye.
Granted that Olga didn't know if Ellen would have wanted it, but it would have made Olga feel better, at least.
Instead all she had was an orange tabby cat named Jonesy, some veterinary records, and the cat-belongings that had come with him. He hid under her bed for the first few days, only coming out to eat, drink, or use the litter box.
One night, he came out and curled up in one of her arms, and after that she couldn't get Jonesy to leave her side when she was in her apartment. It wasn't much, about as big as he was used to when he lived with Ripley, but his toys could be thrown the length of the hallway and he would chase them down to bring them back, and she could throw them again. He seemed to enjoy mostly curling up on her, though, and when she finally took the chance to read through his veterinary file, she could see why: he wasn't a young cat, even before his last mission and cryo-stasis. Olga even considered getting him a companion while she was out working the docks, but since she hadn't had a cat before, and had no intentions of getting another after Jonesy (whether or not Ellen returned) her solution was to leave her pajamas in a folded stack on the bed, and she frequently came home to him curled up and sleeping on them.
A month passed without word, six months, then a year. It felt like an instant when Olga read the date and realized it, but she hadn't heard a thing from Ellen.
Of course if Ellen showed back up tomorrow and wanted Jonesy back, Olga would dutifully surrender him to his rightful owner. The longer that passed, the less likely it seemed that would happen.
Whatever Ellen had been involved in before her dock work aboard Gateway Station, and whatever consultation she was providing the USCMC, had taken her out of Jonesy's life and put Olga in it.
"You'll be safe here, Jonesy," she reassured the orange tabby curled tightly against her side while she flipped through the channels. "It might be a small apartment, but it is big enough for the two of us. Next year, I'll get you a catnip cake for our anniversary."