"Try it."

Jar-hidda gave her a skeptical look, or at least it seemed skeptical. It was actually very hard to tell his facial expressions, there didn't seem to be much differentiation from 'intense scathing stare.' Maybe it was the yellow eyes? She probably would be better at reading his face, because he did have facial expressions, but he had gone to wearing his mask nearly one-hundred percent of the time.

He looked from her, down to the bowl in front of him, and with a single claw, poked the spoon set in the bowl.

"Go on try it, it's a broth it's made from meat, it's what spoons are for."

"Meat?"

"Amedha."

Jar-hidda shifted, sitting tall and looking at her with surprise, his brow ridges were raised, he didn't look so intense, and his mandibles were doing the 'surprised' click pattern as he rattled. Was he surprised that you could make an entire liquid soup from meat? Maybe the idea never had occurred to people of his species. Maybe they just ate meat raw and enjoyed it under a 'don't fix what isn't broken' mindset?

He cocked his head, giving a pleased rattle and took up the small spoon, which seemed even smaller in his hand, and scooped out a spoonful of broth and held it hovering above the bowl, bending over and inspecting it curiously.

"Put it in your mouth," she encouraged, and his yellow eyes flashed at her from beneath his brow. He lifted the spoon and his posture and brought it to his mandibles. A single tusk clicked against the metal and he inhaled the scent and made a grumbling noise, looking at her with suspicion. He opened his mandibles again, then closed him, tilting his head deciding how to approach the spoon. He had seen he eat with it before, he knew how it worked, she wasn't sure what his hesitation was about.

Did he not like the smell of the broth? It didn't seem like it.

Finally he opened his mandibles again and his inner jaw, but rather than bring the spoon to his mouth, he tilted his head and poured the broth into his mouth. Hannah blinked as he repositioned himself and looked at the spoon.

"This is foolish," he grumbled and put the spoon down, "why not drink from the bowl like this?" he asked and lifted the bowl to his mouth, downing the full bowl in one backwards tilt of his head, "much easier," he growled, setting the bowl down as his mandibles closed back over his mouth though quite a bit of the broth was now dripping from his jowls.

Hannah stared at him astonished for a moment, then answered, "because it's messy!" she said, jerking her hand at the dripping mess he was leaving on the island, "sometimes there are things in soup that you can't just swallow or you'll choke! Sometimes the bowls are too hot, or the soup is too hot! Smaller portions cool faster. We're not as tolerant to heat as you and my god you downed that like it was a shot glass!"

She was sure most of her ramble flew right over his head. He regarded her for a second and then clicked in amusement.

"Too hot," he rumbled, clicking in laughter simultaneously. He swiped his hand across the surface of the table, 'cleaning' it, then ran his knuckles against his mandibles, rubbing the wet knuckles against his loincloth. Hannah put a hand to her forehead and sighed heavily. He tilted his head and rattled then backed away from her as she shooed him away from the spot and cleaned it properly. He grunted and stalked out of the room figuring there was something better to do with his time.

She watched him go and sneered at his back. He was still, intentionally she now knew, turning his back to her. She got it, it wasn't hard to put together; he was telling her silently that he was unafraid of and did not respect her. She felt the urge to go show him, a small fleeting notion, knowing that any attempt to 'prove herself' was going to end up with her flat on her back and maybe awake by next Tuesday, if awake at all.

She finished cleaning up, did the dishes she had been neglecting and checked her watch. She froze. The watch was a little high-tech, one of the few things she had splurged on in the name of usefulness, it had a compass function, a meager GPS function that helped keep the watch accurate in different time zones, and a calendar function, which was telling her that Christmas was tomorrow.

Had Jar-hidda really been with her that long? In a way, it seemed longer, much longer, several weeks longer; and yet in a way, it felt like it had only been a few days. She frowned, putting her arm down and looking at the wall.

She hated Christmas.

She shrugged it off and moved out into her living room, looking at Jar-hidda who was looking at the books again. She tilted his head at her, then at the books again, selecting one off the shelf and opening it up, then extending it to her.

"Can't read huh?" she said and walked away, "I can teach you if you want," she took the book from his hand and turned it, standing next to him and pointing at the words as she spoke, "an introduction to the vehicle and its many working parts, including the engine, transmission-."

Jar-hidda put his hand over hers, fingers nearly covering the entire page.

"Stop," he grumbled and she looked at him, "I can't see it."

"Can't see it?" She furrowed her brow in confusion. He took the book from her, and pointed at her, "I see you," he pointed then at the fire, "I see it," he held up the book, "I don't see the book well," he opened it up and tapped his claw against the page, "I don't see it."

Hannah blinked and looked at him, then at herself, then at the fire, then at the book again. What was the difference, what did she and the fire have in common?

Heat!

"You see in infrared!" It made so much sense, he was very reptilian in nature, this whole time she was assuming he saw in the visible spectrum, when he was operating on the common visual spectrum of reptiles. Many of his actions which had seemed random made sense now.

"Infrared?" her voice repeated and she shook her head.

Bad Hannah, no big words, "heat, you see heat."

"Heat?"

"Heat," she said, pointing at herself, "heat," she said pointing at the fire, "heat," she touched his hand and he looked at it.

"Heat," he repeated in his voice, seemingly understanding, "heat, jar."

Hannah almost missed it, the extremely guttural word that followed her English one, like it had only been an emphasis to show he understood, but it wasn't. She furrowed her brow, picking out the word and realizing it was the first part of his name.

"Heat, jar," she repeated and the alien rattled.

"Hidda?" his language was very rough on her throat, that was for sure, it felt as much like gargling rocks as it sounded.

He shook his head, the dreads tapping lightly on his skin. He didn't know the word, and she wasn't about to play the guessing game.

"Later then," she said, taking the book, closing it and setting it on the shelf.

He turned abruptly towards the door and stared at it, rattling. It was a sound she recognized, the same cautious warning when they first met, the one he had used for the first few days while he was bedridden. She looked at the door, suddenly tense. What was outside? She remembered the puma and wolf tracks she had found. She stayed still and silent, waiting for her guest to do something. Suddenly, he was gone. Not entirely, there was a shimmer of air as he moved his hand back from his gauntlet, having activated some kind of cloaking device.

And here she thought he was just really, really, good at hiding.

Then she heard it: the sound of an engine.

"Go upstairs," she said reflexively and his ghostly form distorted the room beyond her vision. He went upstairs, but she didn't have time to be surprised by his obedience. She moved into the living room, going for her gun but freezing. That large black-green stain was still there, on the wood. She cursed under her breath and thought about what to do. She caught the bit of fur rug in her eye and relocated it from in front of the fire place to covering the blood stain.

By the time she was done, there was a knock on the door. The small amount of time she had to prepare was gone. She bit down hard and moved to the window, parting the curtains a bit and seeing the black truck over the snowdrift. No license plate.

She couldn't see who was knocking, but could see the suit they were wearing. She moved to the door as they impatiently knocked again. She took the time to put the chain on the door, then opened it, leaning against the wall, her hand on the stock of the rifle there.

"What do you want," she growled to the Weyland grunts. There were two of them, one was butch with the haircut to match, the other was some guy who was nothing to shake a stick at either, but with lighter hair, a little longer than his companion's.

"Miss Rousseau?" said Butch in an English accent. She glowered. They knew who she was, one didn't brave a treacherous mountain road without knowing who it was they were going to be meeting at the end of it.

"What do you want?" she repeated, tightening her grip on the gun.

"Weyland wishes to extend his apologies for what happened earlier this month. He's curious if there's some way that he can compensate you?"

That asshole, he knew what she wanted most.

"Can we come inside?" asked Butch before she could answer.

"No," she growled sharply, "and tell Weyland he knows what I want, and that's the only thing. Now get off my land."

"Miss Rousseau!" the cry was half-muffled by the wood of the door as it shut. She stood in front of it, holding onto the gun. She didn't hear anything from the other side of the door, no talking, even muffled, but also no sound of them leaving.

Then, searing pain. She collapsed to the ground, holding her gut, a single beam of light coming through a hole in the door. Her rifle clattered to the ground beside her, she because acutely aware of everything, But mostly of the blood pouring over her fingers.

It was the first time she had ever been shot.

Things moved a bit fast after that. The sound of the chain snapping and wood splintering occurred just after a malicious roar from upstairs. Blinding light poured in from the door after two shadows passed the entryway. She growled, adrenaline dulling the pain as she snagged the pant leg of one of the men. It wasn't Butch, the light-haired Guy stumbled and turned, pointing a gun at her head. She moved the barrel out of the way as it fired, burning her hand.

Her bloody hand had found the barrel of her rifle, and swung it like a club, striking the head of the guy hard enough to crack the stock. She found her footing and stood, keeping the gun pointed away from her by controlling Guy's wrist.

Butch's feet thundered upstairs, gun at the ready, turning left and then right, looking into the dark red room and slowly entering. There was a metallic sound that to anyone else would have spelt doom, but he was prepared for what he was facing, and moved out of the way. A growl emanated from behind him and he was backhanded, the backs of two blades slicing open his suit jacket and the skin of his back. He crashed against the wall, his gun clattering to the ground as he turned to face his enemy.

The large shimmering figure dissipated to reveal what he was here for. It had a canon, so Butch didn't go for his gun but instead put his fists up.

Downstairs another gunshot went off and Hannah screamed, finally twisting Guy's hand far enough that the gun was forced out of his grip. But then he punched her, a hard hook to her right cheekbone, almost enough to floor her again. It wasn't as hard as Jar-hidda's blows though.

Though she nearly had dropped, she had held tightly onto Guy's wrist, which threw him off balance. She followed with the move and brought him to his knees, then threw herself against him, wrestling him to the ground.

It was a bad move. While her body was trying its best to dull the pain, the motion of landing on top of Guy froze all her muscles as easily as if she had been tasered. It was a pause that Guy took full advantage of and reached for his gun, he struck it hard against the back of her head and pushed her off. She curled into a ball, clutching her stomach, but the moment she saw the gun pointed at her again she struck her leg out. A sickening crack resounded as her heel struck his knee, and he cried out, buckling to the ground. She landed on him, knee digging into his stomach, one hand on his wrist, the other around his throat. His free-hand grabbed her wrist and tried forcing her away from him, writing his body to throw her off, turning the gun in his hand so that it was pointing towards her.

Upstairs, shattered glass scattered across the floor, Smaug made his escape towards the underside of the bed as the other creatures moved out of the way of the hulking beast as he recovered and stood up from his fall. He roared again, looking at his beaten and bloodied foe, who still was ready to fight him. It was something Jar-hidda could respect in a human, but this one was going to lose.

The alien charged forward, ducking under the human's swing and throwing his shoulder into his chest. He could hear the human's air leave his lungs, then heard his back break against the wall. The body fell broken in half, but still alive, crying out in pain. Jar-hidda ended his suffering with a quick swipe of his blades.

He bent down, flipping the body over, dragging his blades along the spine before grabbing and wrenching it out. He arched his back, mandibles flaring as he roared in victory, holding the dripping trophy. He heard a gunshot from downstairs and in two bounds was out, leaping the length of the stairs, landing like a mountain. He looked over and saw Hannah on top of Guy. His bullet had grazed her side, but this seemed to cause more rage than pain.

The young woman roared, grip tightening on his wrist and she twisted her body, pressing his hand back to the ground and her hand back against his throat. He coughed and gargled, then she lifted and smacked his hand against the ground, repeatedly until he let go. She snatched up the weapon instantly and leaned back. He took a gasp of air and his eyes opened wide. She put a bullet directly between them.

She sat still over the unmoving body, gun still pressed against the skin. She slowly eased back, falling off of him, dropping the gun and holding her stomach. She looked over at Jar-hidda, who was standing there, watching. She wondered for how long he had been there, just watching and not helping, but then the pain started coming back.

Hot skin suddenly grabbed her. There was a sound of metal and her skin felt the cold breeze coming in through the door. Jar-hidda rattled as he inspected the wound on her stomach, then moved her to look at the one on her back. He was not being particularly gentle, and she tried to fight him off. She needed to go to the hospital. Unlike him she could. But Jar-hidda roared in her face.

"Stop!"

And she stopped moving. He removed his medical kit from his back and opened it up, keeping one of his hands tightly on her wrists to keep her from escaping. He looked at the wound again before reaching into the kit and pulling out what looked like a screwdriver of sorts. This he stuck down deep into the wound. Hannah cursed profusely and thrashed, and Jar-hidda settled for pressing her down by the center of her chest to hold her down. The stem of the device went deep down into the wound, and then retracted out, the lead bullet attached to the end magnetically. But how? Lead wasn't magnetic?

She didn't have much mind to try to rationalize or reason it out through the pain, which continued as he took another device out, stuck it into the wound, and activated it. Burning cold spread across her abdomen, and she yelled and cried, and then he pulled it out and put it back in the case. He then took his stapler, and stapled the small wound closed. He did nothing with the one on her back.

Easing up away from her, he stood over, looking down at her gasping on the ground. He rattled again as he eyes eased open to look at him.

"Don't… ever… do that… again," she growled.

He snorted and looked towards the door, then to her again. He growled low and hard, "you will… show me," and then he stalked off to the stairs. She sat up, pulling the front of her shirt closed, now fully knowing that he didn't care what she looked like underneath.

So it was orders now. Well if that didn't tell her exactly where she was on the pecking order. In any case, she didn't need clarification.

She was thinking the same thing.