Author's Note: I have to admit I never thought I'd write a fanfic based on AvP. This story is based on Lex's life after the pyramid, starting with a reflection then the present. It was basically written during the hour breaks I had between classes during the week and few times at home when I was bored to death. I know it's not my best work, but even so, tell me what you think. Only constructive criticism allowed thanks.
And just one more quick thing, I had written this down in my school notebook (something I usually don't do—its usually directly onto the computer), so after typing it out, I didn't go through it again to check for pathetic mistakes….I'm lazy, I know. Forgive me.
It hasn't been the same. I don't think it ever will be. I know too much; I've seen too much. What happened can't be forgotten. I wish I could throw the memory away like it was a horrible book. I wish it had been something I remembered reading in a book.
Returning home should have brought me comfort. I should have been happy the moment my plane landed at Logan Airport—but I felt like I left everyone behind. As I rode a taxi back to my apartment, I had this terrible feeling that I didn't deserve to be in clean clothes, a warm environment, food and shelter waiting for me….I keep wondering why I was the only one lucky enough to deserve the right to live.
Luck; that's all it was. My whole life I've been living in luck's embrace. I've climbed hundreds of mountains and survived them all, even though some days I returned with an injury or two. It wasn't unnatural. I thought that's why I was chosen to go to Antarctica—because I was lucky, not to mention an "expert" in my field.
But if I was truly lucky, I wouldn't have failed. No one would've died. I wouldn't be thinking like this now. I wouldn't have spent a week and a half in a hospital as my wounds healed.
Upon returning, I did nothing but sit around my apartment for three whole days. Why was I there? I had nothing to go back to. Graeme Miller, the chemical engineer from Scotland, had his family he loved more than anything. He died. Sebastian had his dream of a great archeological find; he found it but couldn't enjoy it. He was lost too. Even Charles Weyland had something; he had a chance to see what the world would do when he returned to tell everyone he made history. Granted he was dying from a lung disease anyway, but he could've had more time.
I, on the other hand, had nothing. I had a sister, but we're not very close. She's the exact opposite of me—she hates being in anything but warmth and hates climbing. My parents were both dead. I really didn't have any friends, unless you call a few of the people you work with friends. I didn't have a boyfriend. I had nothing. And I was the only one to survive.
After a few days passed and my sore body was, for the most part, back to normal, I attempted to continue on with life. Thankfully I hadn't made any appointments that I had to keep, so my time was free. I just wanted to keep to myself a while longer.
Shopping seemed like a logical way to get back out into civilization and keep my mind occupied. Then again, I was one of those girls that had to be in the mood to hit stores for my own pleasure. And I certainly wasn't close to being in one.
The movies were the next best choice. I don't really like going alone, but I did. Although it's hard to constantly go; eventually I had seen everything that was playing, with the exception of a new action/adventure flick I had no desire to see for obvious reasons.
Spending time doing things for myself was great I guess. I don't really remember the last time I did so. But I went home to suffer in the mass of mental images. My cat was of little comfort. She would sit on my lap and keep me company, but nothing more. I tried to tell myself it was a dream—aliens didn't exist. But my newly acquired scar on my cheek and interesting retractable spear wouldn't let me forget.
It had been very much real.
The spear was given to me by who seemed to be the top dog of the alien hunters. I think he knew exactly what happened; either that or he realized that I had the same "blood" mark as his kind made when they killed what they hunted. Sebastian had explained to me that ancient hunters marked themselves with the blood of their prey. We saw one of these…predators…doing this after he killed one of the other strange, reptile-like aliens.
I don't know what got to me more: aliens that were slimy, vicious, and looked like they jumped out of the dinosaur age, aliens that acted as predators, built like humans to a point except a terribly ugly face with a crab-like mouth, or seeing everyone I went down to the pyramid with die. Being the only survivor doesn't sound like it should get to me the way it has been.
But it has.
Though I should be thankful Scar existed. I ended up naming the predator we saw mark himself "Scar" for obvious reasons. If it wasn't for him, I would've died when I found the dead ended tunnel. I used his spear to kill an attacking alien after he was knocked down. He blasted away the swarm coming towards us, set the bomb in that nest, kept me moving and wouldn't let me fall behind, and saved me from that big-assed queen alien when she survived the explosion, (which I'm still puzzled as to how since the entire whaling station collapsed into the grotto). I owed him my life.
Technically we were even—I saved him a few times too. I blasted the hell out of an alien that jumped him and stuck its tail through his shoulder. But I couldn't save him in the end. The queen stuck her tail through his chest—and that was it. When she finally fell into the icy water the way we planned by tying her chain to the separator tank as it tumbled down, Scar was thrown to the ground. I was at his side when he struggled for air…he looked at me with those sandy-colored eyes when he died.
Granted, we probably wouldn't have been allies if I didn't give him back his weapon, which everyone else considered a great piece of history and use it to make everyone filthy rich. But he didn't kill me even after he got it back. I think he might've found some respect for me because I killed an alien, and then killed Sebastian when we found him plastered to a wall in terrible pain.
Sebastian asked me to do it—there was an alien spawn lodged inside his body. That was the hardest thing I ever had to do…and it's the biggest image I have stuck in my brain. I know he would've died a second later and that I spared him the pain of feeling that little worm break through his rib cage. But I can't pride myself in the braveness I showed to shoot him in the head.
Scar must have taken a liking to me, though. He didn't speak, just used hand motions to help me figure out what he meant. But after we escaped the explosion, he took of his mask. I think it was partly to show friendship, but also to test me to see if I'd be scared of his face. When I showed him no reaction and let him mark my face with the acid-blood from an alien finger he had kept, I saw a softness in his eyes. Somehow, at that one moment, I saw beyond his appearance. If anyone deserved to live, it was him.
AN: Trust me, it does get better…second chapter ;)