My very first AVP fic. The first chapters are being uploaded right now. I've always been a crazy Lex/Scar shipper (maybe that makes me a little crazy lol) and i was naturally heartbroken with Scar's death (though idk why i was surprised. The main hunters of the story always die in the Predator films. :( ) It's an unusual ship, but that's what makes it so great. I hope as i write more for this that i will grow more comfortable.

SN: I DID ALTER SOME THINGS (for example, even though it was the Yautja Elder who gave Lex his spear at the end of AVP, i changed it to the elder gave Lex, SCAR'S combi-stick instead. Thought it might help with the story and add a sentimental value or some shiz? Also, please forgive any incorrect information regarding the extraterrestrials, their abilities, biology and so forth. I'm not an expert and completely behind on this Universe, so there are a lot of specifics/technicalities that wont be here. Thanks so much for the support!

THE ENEMY'S HEART

COMPONENT I

When he had awoken: "where" had yet to register with the young Yautja – the Predator. All he could initially feel was the bitter cold the frozen wasteland had offered; all he could remember was the brown angular face hovering above with what he thought to be concern reflecting in those soft eyes – eyes that could flitter so easily from compassion, to rage, to even fear in a manner that left him constantly unsure and yet even entertained. As a hunter it was his job to read and understand the quarry better than it understood itself – but oomans, no matter how predictable the majority of their race, always had a knack for surprising the Yautja population…some more than others.

And she had without a doubt caused the Predator to rethink everything he thought he'd been taught. Slaves, sacrifices: they proved more than that. They were warriors in their own right; warriors who had earned not only the Yautja race's right as prey, but as a worthy opponent to be respected in the hunt and honored once it was over.

But that female with her radiant brown skin and long bodied hair, the build that showed her stamina and endurance, and her drive to not only survive but adapt and fight; that female was more than just an opponent or revered assistor in arms – she was a comrade…she was compelling. Beautiful even the longer he looked at her. She-.

He tried to move only to cry out in a growl and assortment of clicks in pain. A mirror of glass hung above him and now the hunter, blooded by the scar upon his forehead, not only noted the strange scarring upon his chest and upper stomach, but also recognized what appeared to be the medical bay of a ship. His eyes narrowed as the mandibles twitched in discomfort. The ship? But she had been there in the cold powder with him just moments ago. When had he-? A door slid open as another Yautja – a female – walked in. Her garb was barely there much like his own, however she wore no armor or bones or trophies of those killed. Plain simple leathers. She approached with a low hiss and began to look over the warrior and read a projected light that showed the status of his heart and oxygen levels. Stable. That was good, considering. The female Yautja reached out and touched the scar beneath his chest with a click and slow cock of the head. "You must expect the pain," she said to him in their language.

"A warrior lives for pain," he argues back alongside a solemn disposition.

The female appears to smirk at his tone before turning her back to him. Funny how after the hunt even the youngest of them could return so old. "Then don't scream as if you cannot handle it." She practically purrs at his irritated growl. As amusing as this was, caution was still in order. Hunters often killed anyone who offended them too greatly. Her clawed fingers touch a needle lying on a nearby table. "What is your name warrior?"

Name? "What happened to me?" he questioned, now knowing his suspicion to be true. She should not have had to ask. That information should have been known – he didn't recognize her not because of a potential head injury: it was because this was not the ship he'd been on before. That didn't bode well with the young blooded one. He waited for an answer but none came and the hunter tensed in anxiousness. This medic was daring to be so individualistic – though he had a guess as to that as well. The Yautja succumbed to her wish and told his name, interpreted in the ooman language as, "Scar." She purred again and he struggled to sit up, squeezing his eyes shut in pain but being careful not to vocalize the discomfort. She had her answer, now he would get his. "What happened?" he demanded again with impatience and threat to any further delaying of what Scar wanted to know.

"Do you truly not remember any of it, warrior?"

His aggression lessened. "Some," Scar returned with a soft smile. He remembered killing a facehugger, a few Xenos too as his brothers Celtic and Chopper had failed and their lives had been the cost. The male hesitated. The Yautja form of grief was not frail like so many species: they celebrated the lives of the fallen – praised them for an honorable end, or avenged them if otherwise. But there was always joy; sadness, yes – but always joy.

Scar remembered stalking after his stolen weapons as the oomans who took them began to fall under the merciless claws of the Xenomorphs one by one; screams continuously were evident throughout the submerged temple – informing the Yautja brothers that their time was running shorter. Finally catching up with the persistent and frightened fleshlings he prepared to exact retribution for their thievery only to be stopped by the pleading of the brown skinned ooman woman that cowered before him. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," she repeated over and over again leaving Scar bewildered as to whether or not it was her fear that gave him pause in the kill…or her courage to stand before him where others would have fled, urging the hunt on. It surprised Scar (and somewhat disappointed him to be honest) to be freely given back the weapon, and then aided in battle by her. Recalling her daring chase after him, shielding her with weapons made of a Xeno-tail and head, made the Yautja purr.

How courageous she had been, how terrified at the personal killing of the ooman comrade who faced agonizing death due to the birthing of a Xenomorph. Her reaction alone caused the Yautja to marvel at not only the fear, but the determination to spare the suffering counterpart from pain. She'd did it quick, aiming with perfect precision before walking away as if leaving the memory of him behind. After all, what good was he to her now that the ooman was dead? Grieve while moving forward; that was the Yautja way on the battlefield. Scar watched her walk out with interest and even admiration. Perhaps you are far more than I thought, little ooman, he had said to himself. Obviously she'd felt connected with the deceased male – but did not let those feelings stop her from doing what was right and ending the chain of destruction the Xenomorphs abided by. That was when it had begun: a strange desire to continue onward…at her side. With very little words but plenty actions they'd formed more than an alliance. The ooman and Predator had made a bond – one that even now made his heart flutter (causing the female to curiously inspect the scanner readings).

Yet it was after that where the memory of things had blurred. The sounds of a queen, the need and rush to make it to the surface before the serpents did…the final battle. "We killed the Queen," Scar stated with a low growl as his hand instinctively touched the spot where her tail had impaled him with a wince in memory. "The ooman and I."

With this the medic hummed and approached with the syringe loosely in hand. "That you did," she agreed pleasantly with awe. "The ooman's actions were well noted by the counsel and elders. The two of you together proved quite the force. Never in our history has a Yautja and ooman fought together. The fire tales to come," she mused. "But your fate did not end there." She pushed the warrior back down upon the table holding up the syringe for him to view alongside a smirk; his jaws immediately spread in distaste. The drug killed pain but not before giving it – it was an excellent replenishment and repair serum – it got the job done…but you would not enjoy the process. "You were injured – dying," she explained in a steady voice. "The brothers took you onto the ship and the Elder awarded the blooded ooman your spear. You joined Paya and the great warriors, I am told." With a sudden and fierce movement the syringe slams into the male's side and Scar screams out, clutching the table as his claws began to dig into the material. Some warning would have been well appreciated! He wanted to rip her throat out but the effects of the drug temporarily left him nearly paralyzed as the hunter writhed and convulsed lightly with a growl at her silent yet noticeable cackle. She was enjoying this.

The female observed his vitals carefully. But now all play was gone from her countenance as she continued on. "You carried a chestburster," she hissed low, looking then as his eyes widened in horror and paused as she was taken aback by it. His terror she was not sure about how to feel, for in all her years and severity of injuries faced never had she seen a hunter display fear before…though she supposed that reason was enough to give him the right.

A chestburster? That could not be possible. "How…?" he whimpered as the convulsions slowed and his scratchy breath returned to normal.

She narrowed her brows and gazed at him with a strange expression. "Dark magic…They took it out, hoped to use it on the game planet. But it escaped…It landed back on Earth. Wolf hunted after it – both of them, and many fleshling lives were lost."

Who would try such a thing? The Elder would never have allowed such a dishonorable thought to cross any of their minds. It must have been someone far younger, younger perhaps than even him. The next coming-of-age Yautja hunters? But specifics weren't important now. It had escaped. That should have been all the answer he needed, yet against better judgment Scar felt as if he had to ask the unnecessary question: "My ship? My brothers?"

The female turned from the patient and headed for the door, sifting through the mist with a slight twist of the hips…a blatant twist. Her job here was done, though she'd done far more than necessary. She had learned much about this young hunter – and came to terms that he was the perfect candidate. The Yautja medic paused at the door, looking over a shoulder with a slow rotation of the neck. "All dead…" Scar glared as she finally left him before slamming a fist unto the side of the table with a guttural cry of grief and rage. For that moment the Yautja forgot about the pain – forgot about the ooman back on Earth that kept his thoughts captivated. Somewhere he had failed himself and the Yautja name. Somewhere he had allowed the creature to overtake him and Scar hated himself greatly for that and even more so for not being able to remember it. The young blood had birthed a monstrosity, and cost his nation one of the great hunters. The entirety of his ship was dead: and it was all his fault. How could he restore his honor after making such a devastating error?

Right now all he knew was confusion and shame: but did everything in his power to fight the lonely urge that pictured her face comforting him. He couldn't have the right to desire comfort – he deserved to suffer…even if the memory of her yearned for otherwise.