David had spent two years preparing for this. Preparing for you.

The rest of the crew were… disposable. Replaceable, at the most. You, however, he’d grown attached to in the years he’d come to know you. You were the only one who had treated the Android with respect before you went into stasis. The only one to say a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Which, he supposed, may not have seemed important to you at the time, but it certainly was to him.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs, rubbing your back carefully, as if one wrong move could break you. “I know you’re lightheaded, it’s just an effect of being in stasis. Your body is in shock.” David’s voice is gentle, almost as if he’s cooing at a child. He picks up a sick bowl from the drawer beside your stasis chamber, “Do you think you might vomit, Doctor? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Very normal, in fact.” He hums.