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Chapter 3

Yay! The third chapter is finally out! No smut here unfortunately (I know you want it. I do too. We're getting there), but it's still good nonetheless. The next one might be out any time from tomorrow to a month from now. I make no promises. That's the nature of writing and of life as a student. I still adore comments and reviews, so keep 'em coming! Enjoy!

Also I'm not a gun nut, so if I got something wrong here, then feel free to correct me.

*You know the drill*

George's sleep was fitful and shot through with nightmares. He dreamed about when he and the other marines first entered the base, about the bloody corridor. He was standing there with Corporal Meyers and the others, staring down the hallway.

A floor panel at the far end burst outward, and a xenomorph emerged, just like the first time. But in his dream, the xenomorph was the same way who slept besides the marine now. George could tell it was him because of the patterns running along his jaws and the side of its dome; they were unique for every xeno.

The xenomorph jumped at them, and the marines opened fire, riddling his body with holes. The alien screamed a human scream, in a human's voice, the voice of George's companion. He fell to the floor dead, acidic blood spurting from countless wounds.

More xenomorphs emerged from the floor, walls, and ceiling, charging the marines from every direction. Countless shots rang out, and countless aliens fell to the floor, screaming in human voices, begging for mercy, for empathy, for pity. One of the aliens reached a marine, the man pulling a combat knife from his belt as the xeno raised its tail. They stabbed each other through their hearts, crying out with one voice, the same voice, as they fell to the floor.

The battle continued, George powerless to do anything but watch. He wanted to stop the violence, to stop the pointless suffering. But he couldn't speak, couldn't even move, until at last he was left all alone, standing in the bloody hallway, surrounded by the corpses of humans and xenomorphs alike. He could still hear the screams, stabbing into his ears like blades.

George awoke with start, sitting bolt upright. He was covered in a cold sweat, perspiring despite the chill. The rain had picked up again, and was now pouring as hard as when he had first landed. He was still a little sore, but mostly the pain had faded.

It hit him then what the point of the dream was, what his subconscious had been trying to convey. The xenomorphs were people, just as much as humans were. They were capable of sentience, speech, recreation, and who knew what else. George imagined a human in the place of all those xenomorphs in the hall, of a human's skull getting torn apart by bullets at it emerged from the floor instead of a xenomorph's dome.

The marine felt sick to his stomach. He felt like a murderer. Opening his mouth to let out a sob, he felt bile rising in his throat. Quickly throwing off the blanket, George leaned over the edge of the metal sheet and retched violently, throwing up into the mud.

When he stopped he wiped a hand across his face, clearing away the vomit from his lips. He heard a quiet hiss behind him, and turned around to see his friend looking at him with concern.

"You are sick." The xeno observed.

"I'm upset. I feel like a murderer." George explained. "I didn't join the revolution or the marines to kill people, I came to save people. But here now I just realized that xenomorphs; you; are people too."

"Did you kill us?"

"No, I'm just a medic. But I watched your kind be killed, and I never said a word to stop it. And I tried to kill you."

"We want to kill your kind and use you to make more of us. Not your fault to stop us. Just protecting yourselves. You didn't kill me. Now we are together; friends. I forgive you."

"Be that as it may, now that I know that you are all sentient too, I have to end the violence against you. It's not right, that you can be just as intelligent as us, but that we only see you as animals." George stood up and stripped off his T-shirt, stepping out into the rain to let it wash over his body, washing away the sweat. He soaked the shirt, wrung it out, then hung it under the roof to dry.

"It is how things are." The alien said simply.

"Sometimes 'How things are' aren't how things should be." George objected, "That's what revolutions are for. That's why I joined the marines."

"Revolution?"

"When people protest and revolt against someone or something that is not good for them. I'm part of a revolution against corporate rule. There are groups of people called corporations, who used to control this part of space. They were cruel and greedy. They took from the people here but didn't give anything back. One of these corporations was called Weyland-Yutani. They were the ones who imprisoned you and the other xenomorphs to experiment on you. But the other revolutionaries and I are trying to make them go away."

The xeno growled. "I heard some of the humans here talking about a revolution. It scared them. They talked about calling for help. Then we escaped. Now they are all dead."

"Yeah, about that." George said, remembering the man he'd seen on the security camera, "At least one of the scientists is still alive. I saw him on a security camera."

The talons emerged from the alien's fingers. "Let's kill him."

"I'm afraid we can't. I would really like to, but we have to respect agreements about the treatment of prisoners. I bet we can still sneak in a punch or two though."

The xenomorph grinned maliciously.

"But before we can do that, we have to get out of here." George said. "I've tried both the elevator and the stairs, but both have collapsed. I was thinking of trying to climb the slope above us. It's not an immediate problem though, we have another day at least before we need to get moving.

The xeno shook his head. "We can get out the same way as the other xenomorphs and me did before; through the ventilation."

"'I'. 'The other xenomorphs and I.'" George corrected. "But it's a good plan. You guys always seem to know your way around the vents."

The xenomorph smiled at that. "We should stay here until we need to leave. You are safe here, and we have food and a nest."

"That's a good plan. Are you sure about the way out?"

"Yes. It was how we escaped after the scientists blew up the elevator and stairwell. They are not good at strategy."

"Excellent. So... now we wait."

They fell silent and stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Waiting is boring. How long do we wait?" The xeno asked.

"I think about thirty hours."

The alien stared at George blankly.

"Oh, yeah, you don't know what hours are. We have a day and a night and a little more to wait."

"Okay." The xenomorph moved to stand up, but winced and fell back down as he tried to get his legs under him.

"Here, let me help." George moved closer and let the xeno wrap an arm around his shoulder. "Stand up with me." He heaved the alien to his feet, finding him lighter than expected for his large size.

The xeno took a few wobbling steps, before letting go of George and stepping off of the metal sheet into the mud and rain. Pointing his head up at the sky, he let the water wash over him, cleaning off the dust and grime that had accumulated over the last few days, along with the last remains of their sexual romp a few hours before.

George was slightly concerned that the plaster over the gash in the xeno's stomach would be damaged by the rain, but thankfully it didn't seem to be affected.

As the xeno cleaned himself, George got a nutrient bar out of his pack and took a bite, trying to ignore the glue-like texture and bland flavor. At least it contained all the vitamins, minerals, and calories he would need for a while.

The alien finished grooming and stepped back inside the tent. The marine tore off a piece of the bar and offered it to him. The xeno looked him dead in the eyes and said "I prefer to starve than eat that."

"Suit yourself." George replied simply, and continued chewing. When he had finished with breakfast he stood up and stretched, then laid back down and was content to just watch the rain fall and wait for the time to pass.

The alien was not so easily sated in its desire for entertainment. He got antsy within the first few minutes, tapping a taloned toe against the metal sheet, looking around for something to do. He then stood up, walked in a circle a few times, and sat back down. Finally the creature became still, staring out of the tent at the rain.

George was relieved; a stir-crazy xeno was not something he wanted to deal with.

The alien tilted his dome towards him a little, which George ignored, thinking that he was just glancing around. Then he felt a tug at the holster on his belt.

"Woah!" The marine shouted, leaping to his feet, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Getting your gun." The creature answered innocently, staring up at him with a hand still stretched toward the holster at the human's hip.

"Why?!"

If the xeno could have blinked he probably would have. "Because it's interesting, and I'm bored." He replied, in a tone like he had just been asked the stupidest question in the galaxy.

"Don't touch it again. It's dangerous and you don't know how to use it."

"Then teach me."

'He's getting quite good with English.' George's subconscious noted. Out loud, he said simply said "No".

"Why not?"

"Several reasons. First off, it makes a loud noise, and I don't want to attract unwanted attention."

"We could go inside and shoot in there."

"I thought that you didn't like it in there. Remember when I suggested going in there yesterday and you curled up and refused to move?"

"I wasn't bored then."

George rolled his eyes. "The second reason is that I have a limited supply of ammunition and I don't want to use it up before I might need it."

"You will not need it." The xeno stated simply.

"Why not?"

"Because I am with you, and I can tell my brothers and sisters not to harm you." His voice took on a slightly sultry tone "If you wanted I could mark you with my scent, and that would make all of the xenomorphs leave you alone whether or not I was there."

George narrowed his eyes "What would that process entail?'

The xenomorph grinned lustily "Letting me jack off on you."

"That is never going to happen." George stated flatly. "And Jesus Christ, are you always this horny?"

The alien made a shrugging motion. "Not being around lots of willing mates all the time is new for me."

"Oh, moving on from that, the third reason is that I had hours and hours of exhaustive training before I was even allowed to touch a gun. This will be your first time, and it'll be the real thing. There's too much that could go wrong. And as an extra fourth, you are deadly enough as it is. You xenomorphs took out almost an entire squad of elite marines with nothing but talons, teeth, and tails. Giving you firearms would make you an order of magnitude more dangerous."

The xeno played his trump card: "If you won't teach me how to use the gun, then I will have to stay here and be bored. And horny. I might need to masturbate." He flashed another lusty grin "I might need your help..."

"I told you yesterday that I'm never going to do that again."

"How about I release some pheromones and see if you can resist them this time? I don't think so, but I like surprises."

"Want me to dump water on you again?" George warned.

The xenomorph's grin got wider. "How long can you keep doing that? How long do you think I'll let you keep doing that? I could knock that metal thing out of your hands with a flick of my tail if I wanted, and you'd be powerless to stop me."

George took a step back. He felt like reaching for his gun, but didn't bother. At this range the xeno could and would kill him long before he got it out of the holster. "Are you threatening to rape me?"

The xeno's smile instantly disappeared, and he stiffened noticeably. "No. Never. Rape is bad."

"Oh really? Is that an idea you picked up from humans?" George asked, half-jokingly.

The alien snorted. "I saw many scientists touching females who did not want to be touched. We obviously did not get this from you. Our xenomorph instinct is against rape. It destroys bonds and trust in the hive and does not feel good. We do not rape. Ever."

"Well, see, that's all well and good." George said, relaxing his posture and sitting down in front of his companion, "But what you did yesterday, forcing me to essentially have sex with you after drugging me with your pheromones, that's pretty much rape."

The xenomorph gave him an odd look, which morphed into a sort of lopsided smile, as if he was internally laughing at a joke that only he understood.

"What is it?" George demanded.

"There's something you don't realize about my pheromones." The alien said slowly, with that knowing expression still painted across his features. "They don't work on unwilling people. If you were afraid of me, and I deployed them, you wouldn't notice them, except for the smell. If we were fighting, you wouldn't notice them. If we were even both in the mood to mate, but you didn't want to mate with me and didn't think I was attractive, then they wouldn't affect you."

"The pheromones are not the start of the mating ritual, they are a part of it, to be used during it to enhance the mating." The xeno cocked his head to the side, looking at George as if he were a particularly interesting laboratory experiment. "But you were affected by them, which lets me know that you were both interested and at least kind of willing to mate with me. You can't trick me when you act mad about what we did. You are not really upset at me, you are upset with yourself, for not fulfilling society's expectations of you. You are ashamed to want to mate with a xenomorph.

"And I know you want to. I saw how you looked at my penis. There was want in your gaze, not just scientific curiosity, whatever you might tell yourself. You admired me. Even then, I wasn't sure that you were actually interested in me as a mate because of our different species. So I put out some pheromones, and sure enough..."

He trailed off, leaving George struck dumb. "You got eloquent quick." He said, that being the first thing to pop into his head. "Where did you learn all those words?"

"The scientists said them. I remembered them for later, to copy and use to hunt. Now I get to practice with context."

George sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hands "Look, I don't want to have sex with you, or to be your lifelong mate. I like you as a friend and as a teammate. You're handsome and elegant, I'll give you that, and very well endowed down there. I'm sure you make females and males very, very happy. But I'm not attracted to you like that."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" The xeno asked calmly.

George groaned and buried his face in his hands.

The alien cooed gently and rested a hand on George's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I might be wrong about my pheromones. All I know is how they work on xenomorphs, not on humans." He stared off into space. "But I don't think I'm wrong."

"Ok, you win." The marine said suddenly, standing up and grabbing his shirt from where he had hung it up to dry. "I'm going to teach you how to shoot."

"What, just like that?" The xeno asked, surprised.

"Yeah, c'mon."

Meyers probably wouldn't have approved of target shooting while being emotionally compromised, but he didn't know and wasn't there to stop it. George just wanted to get his mind off of what the xeno had told him.

His head was swirling, full of what his companion had said. As silly as it sounded, he couldn't be sure if it was true. Was it just left-over lust that had led to him more or less willingly stroking off the alien earlier, or had it been genuine interest in science, or perhaps the xeno might be right and it really was sexual attraction. He didn't want to think about it, and he felt ashamed that he kept thinking about it anyway. Interspecies sex was just plain weird and icky.

He and the xenomorph reached the base of the ladder, and he motioned for the alien to climb up before him. "If you hurt yourself and lose your grip I'll catch you, or at least try and break your fall." The marine explained.

The xeno nodded and began climbing up the ladder.

George gazed up after him and blushed bright red when he got a very good look at the xenomorph's backside, prompting him to stare at the ground instead. When his companion reached the top of the ladder, he climbed up after him.

Stepping through the air-lock and closing it behind them, they walked down the hallway to the office, which was the largest room. George noticed that the xeno skirted around the entrance to the laboratory skittishly, as if he was afraid the room itself might reach out and grab him.

When they had reached the office, the human started rifling around for something to shoot at. He heard the xenomorph growling behind him and quickly turned around, finding his companion holding a framed picture of one of the scientists.

"He hurt me." The xeno explained quietly, rage adding a razor edge to his voice. "He cut me open and poked at me."

"I'm sorry." George murmured.

"He was too, when I escaped and cornered him. He didn't know I could understand him, but he still begged me not to kill him, to forgive him. He sobbed that he was sorry. It didn't stop me. I cut open his belly, spilling his guts all over the floor. I stood and watched as he screamed in pain, trying to keep himself closed with his hands. He screamed and screamed. Then he cried. Then he died. I tore his body apart and left him there. I wish I could have made him suffer more."

'Yikes. Note to self: do not piss off a xenomorph. I guess I was right though, if he had caught me after I sprayed him with steam he probably would have gutted me alive too.' Out loud George said "Well, I guess we found something to use as target practice then." He plucked the picture out of the alien's hands and put it on a table at the far end of the room, then returned to his companion.

"Now," The marine pulled his gun from its holster, "please be careful with this. Watch carefully what I do, then do it yourself." He held up the revolver so that the xeno could see it clearly. "See this little switch on the side here? This is called the "Safety". Right now it's in the "On" position. When the safety is on, you can't fire the gun. Watch." He aimed the gun at the picture and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

"Oh yeah, and it goes without saying that to shoot the gun you have to pull the trigger."

"I know that." The xenomorph told him.

"Ok. To switch the safety off, you flick the switch to this position." He demonstrated, and his companion looked on attentively. "Now here is the most important part: Never ever point a gun at someone who you don't intend to kill. Never do that. It's called muzzle-sweeping, and it is extremely dangerous. It doesn't matter if the safety is on or off, don't do it. Is that clear?"

The xeno nodded.

"Ok, two final things. Firstly, when you fire a gun, it forces itself back in your direction. This is called "recoil", and you have to be ready for it, otherwise the gun will fly out of your hands. Secondly, this particular type of gun is called a revolver, and this particular revolver is a double-action. On some revolvers you have to manually pull pack the hammer, this little part here, which also turns the cylinder, this part here, and only then can you fire. Those are called single action revolvers.For a double action revolver though, you all you have to do is pull back the trigger, and both the cylinder and the hammer will be moved by it and the gun will fire. This does make the trigger harder to pull though, so keep that in mind. Now we do it for real." George took the xeno by the arm and pulled them right up next to each other. He put the grip in the alien's hand and wrapped the creature's fingers around the trigger, putting his hand on top of the xenomorph's. "Ready?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Ok, aim down the iron sights; that little circular thing on top. Good, now let's pull the trigger." The marine squeezed his fingers down on top of the xeno's, and together they pulled back on the trigger. The gun fired with a deafening bang and kicked back hard into the alien's hand. George was bracing to take all of the recoil himself, but the xeno handled it without so much as flinching.

The bullet smashed into the picture dead in the center and exploded, sending shards of wood and flakes of burnt paper everywhere.

"Do all guns do that to the stuff they hit? I don't remember that happening when we fought the researchers."

"No, this one has explosive bullets. Most guns just pull holes in things."

"Can I shoot more stuff? That was fun!"

"Sure, I guess. Have you got the hang of it, or do you need me to help?"

"I can do it."

George removed his hand and stepped aside, watching carefully as the xenomorph looked for a target.

Spotting a bobble-head sitting on a desk, the xeno took aim and fired, blasting the innocent ornament into a million little pieces.

The next item to be executed was a stapler, followed shortly by a computer mouse, another framed picture, a drinking bird, and a coffee mug. The alien hit his target every single time, which surprised George. Apparently xenomorphs learned even faster than was previously thought, although in hindsight that made sense. Going from an embryo to a full adult in just a few days probably necessitated a steep learning curve.

The marine made a silent mental note that he was glad to have grabbed the floppy disk when he did, because he was pretty sure it would not be intact anymore had he left it be.

Grinning with destructive glee, the xeno tried to take a potshot at a filing cabinet, but the revolver just clicked. His smile instantly disappeared. "What happened?"

"You've used up all the bullets." George gently took the gun back, flicked the safety on, and opened the cylinder, dumping the casings out into a little pouch for recycling. He took fresh bullets from his belt and loaded them, snapping the cylinder shut when he was done. Replacing the still-warm weapon in his holster, he said "I think that's enough for today. I might need this ammunition later, so I can't afford to waste any more."

"I said that you were safe with me." The xeno objected, although he was probably more upset about losing his new toy.

"Can't take any chances. That's the first thing they teach you when you join the military."

"Then at least tell me more about guns! What were the longer ones which fired faster that the other marines carried?"

"Those are called assault rifles." George explained, walking out of the office and to the break room with the xeno in tow. "Or at least that is their official name. You might hear other people call them machine guns." He sat down in a large cushy armchair facing the door. The xenomorph took this as an invitation to raid the rest of the furniture for pillows and cushions, then assembled them into a nest a meter or so away from where the marine was sitting.

Using his talons to fluff up the improvised bedding in rather the same way that a cat would, the alien lay down and looked up at George attentively.

"How is your injury feeling?"

"Better. I am healing." Without missing a beat, the xeno said "Now tell me about the other guns."

George looked up at the battery operated clock mounted on the wall. He could tell he was going to be here for a while.

It was late evening by the time their conversation finally concluded. It had been a long ramble from guns, to chemistry, to biology, back to guns again, then to weapons in general.

George found it rewarding to talk to the alien; he was highly intelligent and remembered everything he said. But their conversation highlighted something which had eluded the marine's attention up until they point.

"Do you have a name?" George asked.

"No." The xeno replied simply. "Xenomorphs do not have names. We recognize each other by our unique scents."

"Did the scientists here ever give you a name?"

"If they did then I don't want it. I don't want anything from them, least of all something as personal and defining as a name. The only thing I want in relation to them is to inflict upon them suffering for all that they have done to me."

The hours of conversation had sharpened the xeno's language skills to precision.

"Then what should I call you. Not having a title is fine now, but if I ever need to get your specific attention, then I really do need to know what to call you."

"Ok, then let's choose a name for me."

"What, right now?"

"Why not? Do you have anything better to do?" The alien joked.

"You're right, I don't, so I guess we can do it now. Do you have any preference, or...?"

The xeno shook his head.

"Ok, I guess I just start listing off names then. How does Edward sound? John? Clyde?"

"Those are too... normal. Find more esoteric stuff."

"Mary?"

"That's a female's name."

"I knew a guy named Mary."

"Next."

George rolled his eyes. "Ok picky, how about something mythological? Paris?"

"That's the name of a city."

"It's also the name of the prince of Troy in ancient Greek mythology. Oh, that's another good one: Troy."

"No."

"Zeus, Apollo, Poseidon, Nyx, Gaea, Erebus?"

The xeno paused for a moment, then said "Any more?"

"I'm outta ideas if you don't like any of those. I could switch over to Roman or Persian myths if you like, maybe throw in a few Abrahamic ones as well."

"No, I think I've heard enough. I'm tired now."

George looked up at the wall clock. Half past nine. "The shuttle will be here tomorrow afternoon, so I suppose we should get some rest." He tried not to think about what the shuttle arriving would mean, because he himself wasn't sure yet. He didn't know whether he could take the xeno with him or would have to leave him behind. He wasn't even sure if he could show the xenomorph to his squad-mates. He couldn't imagine that encounter ending in anything other than a hail of bullets.

Sighing heavily, George heaved himself out of his chair and went to the door. "I'll be back in a moment, I'm just going to gather up our stuff from outside and bring it here to our new nest-er, encampment."

The xeno nodded distractedly, as though he was thinking about something else.

George walked down to the airlock and opened it, stepping out into the rain. He descended the ladder as quickly as he could, and began packing up their previous camp. He picked up the jacket he had been using as a pillow and quickly put it on, checked to make sure his backpack was fully packed, then took down the tent-roof that had been covering the metal sheet where he and the xeno had spent their first night together.

Packing that up too, he picked up his backpack and jogged back to the ladder, climbing up and inside the airlock again, whereupon he closed the door behind him to keep in what little warmth there was, and to keep out any rouge xenos who felt like exploring this area. What with his xenomorph being present, and with the aliens seemingly being adverse to going anywhere near the old laboratory, he felt reasonably safe, but George didn't feel like taking chances. Not now. Not when escape was so close.

He walked back to the breakroom, closed the door behind him, and turned around to find the alien still staring off into space, lost in thought.

"Ok, I'm all packed up." George interrupted, setting down his pack next to the arm chair. He pulled out the thermal blanket and tossed it to his friend, who spread it over himself. Sitting back down, he bade the xenomorph goodnight before leaning back and closing his eyes. "I always hated sleeping while sitting." The human muttered, more to himself than to his companion.

"In that case, why don't you come down here and sleep with me?" The xeno asked.

George opened his eyes and looked down at the alien. The xenomorph scooted over on his nest of cushions and pillows and lifted up the blanket, beckoning the human to join him.

He hesitated. "Xenomorphs are kinda cold, your exoskeletons leech away all the warmth."

"I can change that. These things on my back; dorsal tubes you called them, I can use them to regulate my body temperature. You want me to be warmer? Your wish is my command. Happy?" He reached out a hand. "And I promise that I won't do any sexy stuff. You have my word. Now come get in here with me, it's obvious you're miserable up there."

Sighing softly, but also with a small smile on his face, George got out of his chair and lay down in the nest with his friend. Like the xenomorph had promised, his exoskeleton was now pleasantly lukewarm.

The xeno covered them with the blanket and wrapped his arms around George's midsection, pulling him close. The marine growled softly as he felt his butt press against the alien's groin.

"Get your mind out of the gutter. This is just a friendly, platonic cuddle." His friend said, annoyed by the human's touchiness.

The xeno sounded sincere, so George tried to internalize what he said. He was quite comfortable, really. The tar colored skin that covered the alien's exoskeleton was quite soft and silky in certain places, like the creature's belly and the inside of his arms. By virtue of the xenomorph's impressive height, George was able to snuggle his head into the nook under his companion's dome, pressing the back of his skull against the alien's neck.

A gentle warmth radiated from the xenomorph's body, and the delicate embrace put George at ease and helped him relax. Compared to the hard metal and tough jacket-pillow of the night before, the cushions under his head were extremely soft and comfortable. He felt himself drifting off almost as soon as he laid down his head.

"Er-e-bus." The xenomorph murmured softly, rolling the syllables around in his mouth. "Erebus. Erebus. What does that mean?"

"In Greek mythology, Erebus was an ancient being who was the personification of darkness and shadow. He was born from the primeval nothingness known as Chaos." George explained sleepily. "Like that one?"

"I do. Erebus." There was triumph in the creature's voice, soft and subtle, but there nonetheless. "That's my name. Erebus."

George smiled and chuckled quietly, sharing in his companion's joy. "Goodnight, Erebus."

Erebus chuckled back. "Goodnight, George."