Disclaimer--I do not own anything pertaining Alien, Predator, or anything else but the plot. I am not making any money off of this.

My first AVP fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it.

"Are we there yet?" Sam asked, his normally soft-spoken voice yelling over the music.

Nix looked back at her son, frowning. "You asked that five minutes ago, and we're still no closer than we were before. It will be a few hours. Please don't ask again." She turned back to face forward in the passenger seat, cocking an eyebrow at her husband Cal as she did. He stuck his tongue out at her, his baby blues merry.

The vacation was long in coming, something that both of them had been needing for a few years. Calvin was one of the managers of a call center. With his good looks and charming personality, he could sell garbage to a garbage dump. Nix often wondered how in the hell she had managed to find a man such as him. She was what many considered to be an exotic beauty, with light auburn hair that fell stark-straight just past her shoulders and warm, dark amber eyes. She had dark freckles all over her tanned body, more so on her face than anywhere else, high cheekbones, full lips, and a pointed chin. She had once been a slender woman, but since Sam's birth, her body had softened and curved. Even after seven years, she hadn't been able to lose all the weight.

Then again, she had only just begun working again. Nix was a tracker and bounty hunter, though she despised the term bounty hunter. She preferred the lesser known term for a female bounty hunter that her father had used; a 'Domino'. Give her a month or two, and she would be harder than adamantium, and just as strong. Of course, Cal had no idea of her real profession.

Exotic beauty or not, Nix never saw herself that way, and never would. Cal was perfect. He put up with her temper, which was admittedly horrible, he did so many thoughtful, romantic things for no reason at all, and he was a wonderful husband and father.

She heard Sam sigh audibly in the back seat. She smiled softly to herself. Sam. Her little ray of impatient sunshine. He had inherited his fathers looks, but her skin. He, like her, was naturally deeply tanned with a smattering of freckles all over his face. All mothers thought their children were geniuses, and she was no different. Except, his teacher backed her belief thoroughly. Sam had a gift for strategy. At six years old, he was beating his father at chess and applying a sense of logic to everything that he came in contact with. Her little Vulcan. But his intellect did not stop him from being a child, something that Nix was grateful for. When he got older, Nix would train him as her father had trained her, and she could tell he would be even better than her. She planned to tell Cal what she was by then, she was just unsure how to do it.

"I'm hungry." Sam stated plaintively. Nix reached down to the plastic bag between the front seats and pulled out a bag of chips and a half-sandwich they brought from the store for just such an occasion. She passed the food back to him and Sam frowned at it before taking it.

"Can we get a burger instead, please?" he asked, looking distastefully at the ham sandwich. Nix shook her head.

"That sandwich is good enough until we get there, Samuel."

Cal was smirking. "Oh, come on, mom, can't we get a burger in the next town?" he coaxed. Nix glared at him.

"You're not helping."

"Mom, even dad wants a burger! Please?" Sam continued, courage buoyed after hearing his father's words.

"Please mommy?" Cal added, sticking his bottom lip out. Nix bit her own bottom lip, trying to keep from smiling.

"It's no fair when you tag-team against me." She said, mock hurt in her tone. She folded her arms over her chest, playing the part of the emotionally wounded.

"So's that a yes?" Cal asked, pleased. Nix looked out her window and didn't answer for a moment.

"Kay then." She said nonchalantly. Sam whooped in the back seat. Nix smiled.

'I love them. I don't know what I'd do without them. My whole life…' she thought to herself, finger trailing lightly over the diamond solitaire that had been Cal's Grandmother's wedding ring.

Thirty miles later they pulled out of a drive thru, Nix digging through the paper bag to deal out what they each ordered. She handed Sam his kiddie meal and turned to face forward again, getting ready to hand Cal his.

That was when the world came to a screeching, jarring halt, and went dark with the sound of a resonant, pained scream.

Four Years Later….

Mathew Fairs eyed the file in his hands before glancing up at the woman that was sitting still as a statue in the chair across from him.

Nixlyne Eleanor Grant. Widow as of four years ago. The file included the details of the fatal wreck that had not only killed the racing teenagers in the other car, but her husband, son, and nearly her. According to the records, she had been in the hospital for six months recovering, three of those months were spent in a coma on life support. She had suffered numerous head injuries, her right arm had been broken in three places, and that was just the beginning of the long list.

The woman sitting across from him had been silent most of the interview. Her jaw had been set in a grim expression. When she had first come in, Mathew couldn't help but stare. Her red hair had been shaved in a buzz cut so close that he could see the dark freckles on her scalp. A long, diagonal scar ran over her left eye, the eye that she was lucky to still have, he had read. The damage done to it was minimal and somewhat easily fixed. She did nothing to enhance her looks, in fact, it seemed to him that the shaved head was a way to deliberately make herself unattractive to the male eye. Unfortunately, it did nothing but put her fiercely beautiful face in full view. Fairs couldn't help but think it a shameful waste.

When she had noticed him staring, she had glared.

Mathew cleared his throat and set the file down.

"Ms. Grant—"

"Nix." She corrected, as she had every time he had called her by her surname. Mathew ignored the forceful note she had employed.

"Nix, do you understand what kind of job this is?" he asked. The corner of her mouth quirked upward, but there was no amusement.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here, sir." She said softly. Mathew sighed and sat back in his chair.

"You realize then, that this job is extremely risky. It might involve fighting, gun training and use, endurance…among other things. The xenamorphs creatures are highly dangerous. You understand that your life will be in danger? That you could possibly die?" he felt for some reason that he needed to discourage her. He had read through her file, observed her, and come to the conclusion that being alone had not suited her well. He could see major differences between the picture of the smiling woman in the file, and the hard, grave woman that sat in front of him. The picture was softer, feminine. She had rounded curves and the muscles under her skin weren't defined. In the course of four years, her body had hardened until definition was quite visible, but not disgustingly so. The soft quality she had had was gone as if it had never been there.

She was angry. She took her aggression and used it. Her rap sheet and her work history showed it plainly, as did the pictures of those she had been employed to bring in. Broken noses, arms, ribs, black eyes, one case of bullet wounds...but she was the best. He didn't know whether she fought, lifted weights, or employed a punching bag aside from her work, but he could see said anger in every line. Despite everything, her resume and talents were impressive, just what they were looking for at Weyland-Yutani.

"Mr. Fairs, I've been dead for four years. My body just hasn't realized it yet, and it's death is far from frightening to me." She said pointedly. Her hand went to stroke something on a silver chain. Two small, cylindrical, silver phials. He noticed the top of them were engraved, though he couldn't read what they said.

"I want to do this." She said softly, her amber eyes glazed in thought. Mathew nodded once.

"Very well, Ms—Nix. Be on the grounds at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning. Uniforms will be provided for you, as well as anything else you may need."

Nix stood and left the room without any indication she had heard him. With a reserved sigh, Mathew Fairs closed the file and set it on top of the stack of seven others he had chosen.

The day was overcast, but it did not take away from the sweltering humidity of the summer mid-morning. The black chopper lifted and took off into the sky, leaving Nix and seven others standing in the recently-made clearing of the forest.

Four of the men were Marines, from the look of them. Crew cuts, muscled, strong-jawed, and cool. Lewitts, McMullan, Chandler, and Ramone. No first names for them. It seemed the moment they joined up with the armed forces, their surnames took the place of the names their parents gave them. A thin man with a balding head and a few pimples scattered over his long face stood a little more off to the side away from the group. He wore a Hawaiian shirt that made her want to vomit from the color overload. He was supposedly a doctor. Doctor Dan. He was the opposite of the Marines. Instead of no first name he had no last name. The other two were something entirely different; Death-dealers posing as civilians. Nix fit mostly in the same category. Unlike them, however, she was not paid to take lives, she was paid to track them down and pass information or sometimes bring them in. A bounty hunter and tracker of sorts. However, most of the people she was sent to track were killed by Death-dealers like them. It was something that had bothered Nix at first, but eventually, she put it from her mind. Her father had been a tracker. He taught her the trade from a young age, including how to fight. Nix had kept that a secret when she married Calvin. It was the only secret she kept from him.

Since the death of her family, she had trained and worked harder than ever before, trying to fill the gaping hole inside her that threatened to swallow her. Because of this, she was known as the best. Weyland-Yutani needed a Tracker and sent the info along the wire. Nix had been there the next day with her resume.

The Doctor cleared his throat.

"Well, shall we? We need to set up camp here before we begin."

Nix scowled at him.

"You want to make camp in the middle of a clearing where any and all things can see us? That leaves us too open. We passed a rock face approximately a mile away, and I saw a cave. I suggest we go there and check it out. If it's closed off in the back, we make camp there. It will be easy to defend ourselves if we only have to focus on one side. If we're surrounded by something, we're dead." She stated emphatically. The doctor smiled at her as if she was an ignorant child and went to speak, but was interrupted by Lewitts.

"She's right, Doc. There's only eight of us, and no matter how good we are, better have fallen in even greater numbers than ours, before this. A cave will be easier to defend if we don't have to watch our backs constantly." The Marine agree, nodding towards Nix.

"The only problem I see with that," one of the Death-dealers interrupted, Fagan Thomas, she remembered, "Is that we'll be cornered. We won't be able to get away if we're attacked and suffering casualties. I suppose that's what you call a Catch 22." He finished thoughtfully.

Lewitts nodded. "That's true, but it's still a little safer. Also, we need to make sure that no matter where we go, we are together. We cannot afford to separate. Safety in numbers. Watch each other's backs, keep your eyes and ears pealed. If one of us dies, know that that's just one death closer to yours." Lewitts declared, resting his automatic against his shoulder.

The Doctor gave up with a nod of his head and before long, they were headed on their way, Nix at the front. The forest was thick. Nix grasped the new machete she had been issued. She wore belt with three gun holsters, two at her hips, and one at her back safely tucked away. Among guns were assorted blades of different shapes, as well as several other straps that held sheathed blades on her arms and legs. She had never much liked guns, but she couldn't deny that they were useful.

She had been skeptical at first when she saw pictures of what they would be looking for and defending themselves against. Long, ebony creatures of great stealth, intelligence and violence, referred to as Xenemorphs, bugs, or serpents. Their blood was acidic, their tails and claws sharp. What scared her more than the Xenemorphs themselves were the face-huggers that transferred the spawn of the aliens into a host body. There had been a picture of those as well, along with the information of them.

Even worse than the Xenemorphs and face-huggers were their Hunters. The Predator, is what they were referred too. They had been coming to earth for a very long time, hunting the Xenemorph and humans alike. In this heat, the predators were expected for a hunt, and their little group was stuck in the middle of it, with the hope that somehow they would be able to capture one of each without getting killed. Nix was skeptical to say the least about that. It was probably why she had been interested in the first place. Their informant told them that as far as they knew, they were not above killing an armed woman that could fight and defend themselves, but they would not touch a weaker or pregnant female. They also left those that were sick alone, unless they were incited. Nor did they kill children.

Nix thought that interesting. Whatever these Predators were, they seemed to be honorable, if not a little bit. That still did not mean she was excited to meet one face to face.

'If you find some of their technology, bring it back. If you can bring one of them in, do so. If you can bring both species in, you get a raise that will take care of you, your children, and their children for the rest of their lives.' The informant had told them, his neat hair and sharp suit barely ruffled by the wind of the chopper. Nix had just barely heard him.

She fingered the phials around her neck absentmindedly as she walked, listening to the sounds their feet made on the ground. So much for stealth. Anything could hear our little band.

Something, in fact, already had.

They watched from the tree tops, unmoving as the group moved beneath them. The Oomans didn't speak, in fact, they seemed to be in their own little worlds. There were eight in all, all but one armed. There was one female in the entire group, tall and muscled. Blade thought it strange that her hair was shorn to her scalp. From his knowledge, only Ooman males did that. And he'd never seen a human with so many dark spots on their skin. If she gained a few more, her skin would look something close to his, despite the fact that her spots were much smaller.

The two behind her were military, as were the two in the very end. They looked almost the same except for the color of their hair. The other two, one a well-muscled man with red hair, and the other with black hair and pale skin, were armed to the teeth. He could see several explosives and weapons hidden from human sight on their person. The last man was thin and weak-looking, without weapons. Hulij-bpe Ooman. He did not take much time scrutinizing that one.

Blade looked at the two unblooded. They were eager to begin the hunt. The second one, whom he had dubbed Ch'hkt-a, was practically shaking the tree in his excitement.

Blade rumbled quietly at the youth, who immediately went still. Slowly, in case one of the Oomans looked back, he pointed at the eyes in his mask, and then gestured to the Pyode Amedha. Watch them. The unblooded signed they understanding, and together, they moved to the ground below and silently followed them, cloaked.

So it begins…

Translations:

Ooman-Slang for human

Hulij-bpe- Crazy

Ch'hkt-a- Hyper active

Pyode Amedha- soft meat

Chapter Playlist:

Trust—Megadeth

Razorblade—Blue October

A Quiet Mind—Blue October