Hearing her name, her first name, was always strange. Most of her adult life, she'd been Ripley. Ellen had a softness to it that she felt she'd lost a long time ago. Maybe she'd never really had it, come to think on it. It hadn't been necessary -- not for her job and not with her daughter either. She allowed herself the smallest smile, just a corner of her mouth curling up. "Dwayne."
The apartment was just like hers, almost exactly. His might have been lived in more. Ashtrays, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol lingering in the air. Hers had a never-been-lived-in quality, but the furniture was identical. The man standing front of her, however, seemed older somehow. Worn. Torn. His face was scarred from the alien's acidic blood, and she could see the scars beginning at his neck that she knew would stretch down his torso. Ripley'd been grateful to Bishop for patching him up, but she'd wanted to tend him. She felt that even though Burke had been the one to send the colonists out to the derelict ship, it had been because of her testimony. There was some of this mess on her shoulders.
She glanced at the glasses and shrugged. She didn't want one now but she was sure she would soon enough. "Sure, why not," she paused and watched him as he moved, looking for signs of more injuries. That might not have been the entire reason, but it was the only one she'd admit to. "How's life treating to planet-side?"