A/N: My previous stories have been primarily from Lex's point of view, so I wanted to write a bit more of Scar's. This is set in the same 'verse as my other stories, but can stand alone. This chapter partially recaps some of the events of AvP, but with a lot of altered/embellished details. It is an AU after all! Sorry if this chapter is less interesting for it; it's kind of an introduction.

Thank you to all who take the time to read.

Plenty of daylight remained as Scar trotted soundlessly through the woods. He glared up at the sun through his mask, marveling that Earth's star could shine so brightly yet produce absolutely no warmth. The entire planet was a bit chilly for his liking, or the liking of any yautja, and he found these northern winters especially unsavory. All the more so since his near-disastrous chiva, where he and his late brothers had been sent to one of the coldest places imaginable. That memory alone seemed to drop the air temperature further and he adjusted the controls on his wrist gauntlet to raise the temperature of the mesh covering his body. He was beginning to understand why humans insisted on swaddling their bodies in layers of cumbersome cloth. He huffed his annoyance at nothing in particular and noticed a few small animals scatter. It was carelessness of the sort he'd typically grown out of, though he saw little use in attempting stealth at the moment, given the thin layer of frozen white powder covering the ground. Every one of his footsteps was broadcast clear as day. Human languages had words for this irritating substance. His own did not. It was a mystery why human populations didn't concentrate around the hotter latitudes at the planet's equator. It seemed that many actually preferred a cooler environment; including the one he currently pursued, who he hunted more ardently than any prey. She was an inadvertent warrior, forged from impossible survival and thrown into his path by the most unlikely of circumstances. While the rest of her kind were little more than collateral damage, she was unforgettable. The one who'd endured the trial with him, who he'd marked as his own. The one who saved his life and his honor, and who he'd willingly sacrifice both for. Lex.

In the beginning, she hadn't even been worthy of death by Scar's hand. She had been a complication in his chiva. An obstacle on his path to manhood. She had his weapon and he intended to take it from her and cast her aside. Her survival was of no consequence to him. Even now Scar felt a twinge of shame for ever thinking so little of her, but nothing in his individual or cultural experience could have prepared him for the events that unfolded afterward. He'd meant to make a quick getaway once the serpent turned its attention to her. He'd reached for his spear, only to find it hefted in her tiny hands as the serpent pounced. She ran it cleanly through the chest and it thrashed in death throes before falling still. Such prey were no easy kill even for his own kind, and yet this small, fragile creature had slain one without assistance. Scar had told himself that he couldn't afford a distraction. He'd made his blooding kill and given thanks to the sacred goddess of the hunt. The serpents were breeding rapidly and while he wouldn't run from death's call, Scar refused to allow his new triumph to slip away so easily. The chiva was the start of life, the marking of one's maturity and acceptance into adult society. He would survive his hellish birth from this planet's icy womb and would claim the glory that was rightfully his. His brothers had already failed. It was a shameful thing for a bloodline to end at chiva, to have it revealed that one's offspring were weaklings. Scar couldn't dishonor his mother's name with such a death. As for his brothers... it was regretful that they hadn't been strong. They would scarcely be remembered, having died unable to prove themselves worthy members of society.

The human female had called out to him then. Scar wanted to walk away but instead found himself turning to face her. Suddenly, holding his spear, with the carcass of the serpent at her feet, she was longer an obstacle, but a possibility. And a puzzle. Despite her act of bravery, the smell of her fear was heady and strong. He advanced on her, inhaling deeply, letting that scent prick at his basest instinct to chase and conquer. She shied away at first but quickly composed herself, staring up at him as he towered over her. Her next words were ones he'd never forget: take me with you. Rationally, Scar knew that this alien female couldn't understand the implication of her own words. But viscerally and emotionally, he reeled from her shocking forwardness. All hunts were strictly single-sex affairs. A woman offering to hunt with a man- or multiple men if she chose- was a powerful confession of desire and an invitation to intimacy that would invariably follow the kill. Even spoken innocently in the strange, lilting speech of humans, the words had flustered him. Accidental innuendo aside, Scar could see the survival-fueled logic in her words. The desperation. Her chances of survival alone were zero. And his own? Scar pondered. Every second he lingered, the odds stacked higher against him. Normally this was a strictly controlled environment with a fixed number of serpents loose. The human interlopers had upset the balance, however, and now dozens of serpents crawled in the darkness, with more hatching all the time. Scar knew he was strong. He did not doubt himself. But he was still one against many. This alien would, perhaps, skew the odds a bit more in his favor. She was no yautja, probably good for little more than a diversion, but she had earned a kill of her own, just as he had. Outside interference with the chiva was strictly forbidden, but technically speaking his chiva was already complete.

Having sufficiently rationalized his desire for her involvement, Scar set about butchering the fresh serpent corpse. If the alien female was to be of any use at all, she needed a weapon and protection from the serpents' blood. She watched him; while Scar wasn't familiar with human facial expressions, the sounds she was making seemed to convey disgust. This was her kill, yet the idea of taking a trophy repulsed her? Her skittishness was both baffling and amusing. Feeling devious, he jammed his knife into a nerve cluster at the base of the serpent's brain, causing its inner jaws to spring out. She made the strangest, high-pitched little sound and jumped back so fast she nearly over-balanced. Scar gave a long trill of amusement and, to his surprise, she appeared noticeably less fearful. The corners of the fleshy opening that served as her mouth were tilted upward and her symmetrical rows of blunt teeth showed.

"Wow, aren't you hilarious," she said, her voice carrying a lighter trilling note of its own. He assumed this sound, this expression, was some human version of laughter. Humans were noisy and though Scar didn't much care for their racket, he found this particular sound unexpectedly pleasant. She accepted the crude spear and shield he fashioned for her and lifted her gaze to his masked face. Her eyes were a deeper shade of brown than her skin, he noticed offhandedly. He nodded and took off back down the dim corridor. She followed close.

In the hours that followed Scar watched her transform from a frightened, fleeing animal to a person determined to survive. To a warrior. He recalled the years of preparation he had gone through for his chiva. Now he watched a similar process unfold within her, only forcibly accelerated like a time-lapse video. There had been a moment of doubt when she violently stopped him from killing the last remaining infected human. But even that act in itself had been strong and defiant. Far from the weeping pleas he'd heard from other humans, she spoke to him aggressively. Stared him down. Put her hands on him. Then, instead of the misguided attempt at compassion Scar had expected, she raised the human weapon she'd found nearby. Her hitching, trembling body and rapid breathing told him of her highly agitated state. Against his better judgment, he lowered his own weapon, curious what she could do.

The human male before them was already dead. The bullet would only spare him a grotesque parody of afterlife. And the female- she may have killed in self-defense, but could she be a warrior now, when it was one of her own kind who posed the threat? Another human, who she'd previously been in alliance with? They'd been hunting together, were they... Scar shook his head and huffed. No, he was certain humans didn't share that custom. He stared at her shaking hands and willed her to squeeze the trigger. Would she...? The gun's shattering report was his answer. The human male's pathetic whimpers fell silent. The gun slipped from her hand and she pushed past Scar without looking back. For a moment he stared after her, his great head turning to follow her movement, and suddenly felt that the odds were back in his favor.

It was rare that a chiva should end in such extenuating circumstances, but Scar knew what he had to do. He detached the explosive device from his gauntlet, armed it and ran. She followed, her shrill, raspy breaths echoing behind him. They had reached the base of the tunnel to the surface when the serpents attacked again, in greater numbers. Without thinking Scar pushed her ahead and turned to face them. She was already clamoring for the sled that would haul them upward. He expected her to unlock it and save herself. The serpents lunged for them and Scar roared his defiance. He slashed the throat of the first, dancing to the side to avoid a spray of acidic blood. The beast's heavy head listed unnaturally to one side and Scar gave its body a solid kick, driving it permanently to the ground as its neck snapped with a sickening crack. A second one followed fast on its heels. Scar met it in a deadly embrace, driving his blades into its underbelly again and again. Acid sizzled his armor. Thick green ropes of entrails began to sag from the tears in its chitinous outer skin but still it attacked, teeth gnashing relentlessly for Scar's skull. Too much time wasted; a third had sprung onto his back, its claws sinking into his shoulder armor. He muttered a brief prayer for forgiveness- it appeared that his mother would have no offspring strong enough to carry her bloodline after all- and redoubled his attacks, determined to meet death courageously. The serpent's chiton finally ruptured and Scar twisted out of the way just in time to avoid being buried under a heap of flesh-searing gore. He clawed backward behind his head at the third serpent. It had already torn away part of his armor and was rearing up to strike its killing blow. The blow never came. Instead, he heard a ferocious cry from the human female. She had some sort of projectile gun in her hands and was turning away from the sled, away from safety, and launching herself at him and the monster on his back. Nearly chest to chest with him, she fired. A massive stake pierced the serpent's skull and it slumped lifelessly against his back. He shook it off and met the burning intensity flaring in her expressive eyes, so similar in appearance to those of yautja. Those were not the eyes of prey, but the eyes of a kindred spirit. A fighter.

The bomb detonated. Like all yautja weapons, it was nearly silent, but there was no mistaking the wall of blistering heat and flame lapping at their heels as they ascended on the sled. On the surface Scar ran hard, frequently glancing back over his shoulder to ensure that she was still near. She stumbled as the ice began to crack around them and he grabbed her arm, hauling her onward. He marveled at how light she was. His hand easily encircled her upper arm. With one final, desperate leap, they crashed onto stable ground as the world around them collapsed in a deafening roar of ice and stone.

Scar waited for the explosion to fully subside before rising. His arm had landed across her back and he withdrew it carefully as if afraid to disturb her. He stared down at the tiny, limp human as she staggered to her feet. The simple act of standing seemed to take all her strength. Was this waif of a being truly the same warrior who'd fought beside him just minutes earlier? Saved his life, even? Where had she found those tremendous reserves of strength? Humans were strange creatures, and Scar didn't pretend to understand. He was curious, though, and found himself wanting to understand. He unclipped the fastenings of his mask, wanting to see her unaided, just as she was. He stretched his stiff mandibles and snorted at the unwelcome feeling of frigid, unfiltered air filling his lungs. The human was oddly fascinated by this simple movement. She was leaning closer, eyes wide, studying. Without the mask, he could detect her scent more clearly. She smelled similar, but not identical, to the males he'd killed earlier. There was the lingering sweet tang of fear, sweat, and beneath that a hint of something deeper and more tantalizing. It was almost familiar, so very reminiscent of the scent of yautja women when they were... excited. All the more reason to survive the chiva, he thought rather crassly. He was now eligible to be chosen and taken by a woman. The human female was still staring at his face. It was awkward, borderline irritating, until it occurred to him that, though he'd seen plenty of humans before, she'd never seen a yautja. Nor had any other human who lived to tell about it.

He remembered his teachings regarding alien species sophisticated enough to commandeer and utilize yautja technology. There could be no survivors and no evidence. Sloppiness didn't merely jeopardize one's own life, but the lives of all other yautja who shared those hunting grounds, and possibly the entire species. Yautja hadn't seen war for many centuries and the matriarchs enforced strict edicts to make sure it stayed that way. The edicts decreed that this human female had to die now. For the first time in Scar's life, however, he found himself questioning. He couldn't see the honor in such an act, given that she had saved his life. It felt unjust to repay the debt of his life by taking hers. Before he was consciously aware of what he was doing, Scar touched the the side of the human's face with as much gentleness as he was capable. No longer made great by battle, her smallness was all the more apparent. She blinked her round, very wet eyes. The mass of wiry, fur-like strands on her head was all fuzzed out in a black, diaphanous halo. Even though she'd endured as much as he had, she looked so easily breakable, like she would shatter under the slightest amount of force. Scar froze then, realizing what he'd done. Men were strictly forbidden from initiating physical contact with women unless it was explicitly agreed upon beforehand. By now a yautja woman would've likely torn off a few fingers as punishment for the transgression. He was about to jerk his hand away when he realized the human's reaction was precisely opposite. Scar could see some of the tension fading from her posture as she pressed ever so slightly against his palm. He flexed his fingers lightly; her head fit easily into his hand. The texture of her skin was unlike anything he'd felt before. It was amazingly soft, but not in the way fur was. It was akin to the tendrils on his head, but smoother still yet. And so thin. Delicate. It would require minimal effort to snap her neck or crush her skull. She had to have known that, yet she made no effort to move away.

That simple, fearless display of trust made Scar's mind up for him and he slowly withdrew his hand. This human would live. His idea was a radical one and he'd never heard of anything like it being done before. He was newly blooded and it wasn't his place to decide who else was worthy of the rank. Among yautja, he thought rebelliously. She was different. He unclipped one of his trophies from his belt, a serpent's finger. A droplet of acid blood still clung to the end where he'd broken it off. He lifted the severed finger near her face and tilted his head, hoping she would understand him what he asked of her. What she had earned. After a moment, she did. And she nodded, tilting her head to offer one impossibly smooth cheek to him. A soft purr slipped out of him; while this mark symbolized warriors of his clan, it was being burnt into her flesh by his hand. His. Something possessive and dominant stirred in him like a flutter of dark wings. His purr deepened to a growl.

While he couldn't personally protect her, the mark would at least give other yautja pause before attacking. It was the best he could do. The air around them crackled and stirred, and Scar knew a ship was cloaked nearby. His clan representatives had come to retrieve him. He quickly pressed his spear into her hand, the one she'd used to make her first kill. It was fitting that she keep the weapon; she'd used it as it was made to be used and he had not. No warrior parted from the weapon of their blooding kill. Her hand closed around the spear and the corners of her mouth pulled upward again in a subtler intimation of the pleased-amused-happy expression he'd seen earlier. The ship was visible now, crystalline light and snow flurries bending around it. He had to go before he was seen with her. He dashed away from her, still feeling her curious eyes on his back.

TBC