What the hell was she doing? That was the thought on her mind the whole day. Jar-hidda's ship had melted so much of the snow that she was up to her ankles in water by the time the alien came out of his ship to help dig them out. She had been afraid for a while that he was planning on having the two of them just stay on the ship until the snow was gone. If it weren't for the fact that he needed things maybe he would have.

But he had dug them out, and she was here now, in Troy, driving around in half of a daze, gathering random mechanical and electronic devices that may be of use to the hunter. The hunter of her own species. Why was she still helping him? Why was she out here running his errands so that he could fix his ship and then what, hunt more humans?

More than once she pulled over to rethink her life, so as not to cause an accident being as distracted as she was. She had screamed at herself, yelled, pounded the steering wheel, but in the end started up the truck and kept making stops. She just wanted him gone, out of her life, the only thing was, could she live with shunting him away to be someone else's problem. Someone else's killer?

Did she hate humanity enough to do that?

She had a truck bed full of random crap, and she pulled up to a gas-station, only realizing she had come to Mike's little store, maybe out of muscle memory. She sat in her truck for a couple minutes, staring out the windshield and through the window where she could see Mike manning the register and reading a magazine. She debated going inside for a long while, before giving up and slipping out of her truck.

The bell rang overhead as she stepped inside and Mike looked up with a smile that faded instantly.

"Jesus Christ Hannah you look like you've been through hell!"

"No," she said, exhausted, "just an avalanche."

"My god, I heard about the avalanche on the mountain, didn't figure you'd be high enough to be in it! Are you alright? Need a doctor?"

"I'm alright, Mike," she insisted half-hearted as she grabbed a digital thermometer, not sure what use it would be to Jar-hidda but it was something, "and I was visiting my mom's cave when it happened, so it… kinda literally just passed over me."

"Lucky," breathed the old man, setting down his magazine, "bet she was watching out for you there. Did it reach your house?"

"No, it settled about a mile above my house," she said.

"Lucky," Mike said again, leaning against the counter, watching Hannah with more than a little concern in his eye. He was quiet as she wandered around, picking up little things here and there before making her way to the counter.

"Getting wood and gas again this time?" he asked as he slowly began checking her out.

"Yeah," Hannah leaned heavily against the counter, keeping her head down. She didn't want Mike to see the look in her eyes. She thought for a moment then asked, "hey Mike, you still got that old generator at your house?"

Mike looked up at her with surprise, then thought for just a second, "yeah, it's still there."

"Do you want to sell it?"

Mike blinked and looked at Hannah for a moment in consideration, "yeah, hundred bucks says it's yours."

"I'll take it," she said, pulling out her card, "just add it to my charge, or do you need cash?"

"I'll just ring you up here, and I'll give Ellen a call to bring it up."

Hannah couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of little old Ellen lifting the generator into a truck all by herself. Apparently that was the sentiment of the woman herself when Mike called her up, and continued to say, "just bring it up, get John to help you."

Once he hung up, Hannah hung out in the store for a while, pretending to watch the small TV, wondering if anything relevant to her would crop up on the news. It didn't take very long for Mike's truck to pull up next to Hannah's and an elderly woman with white hair stepped out of the passenger side of the car, and a young man with dark brown hair stepped out of the driver's seat. As Hannah was stepping out to help, Ellen happily greeted her, hugging her, checking her face.

"Hannah dear, it's been so long, I never see you, you're looking thin you— haven't been sleeping."

Damn Ellen and her keen observational skills.

"It's been a stressful past couple of days."

"She got caught in that avalanche," Mike said from the counter.

"Oh dear, is that where you hurt your head?"

Dammit!

"No I uh…."

"Jeez mom, leave the poor lady alone."

Hannah looked up at the young man, who had managed the generator off of the one truck and into hers, now up in her bed tying it down.

"Fixing your truck up, Hannah?"

"Just stocking up in case I get snowed in again," Hannah said to John. John was a handsome man, a bit scruffy, but she liked that. Took a lot after his mother, though, as genetics always seemed to dictate; had her eyes and nose.

"I can help with that John," Hannah called, trying to maneuver around Ellen.

"I've got it Hannah, your arm's hurt," dammit.

"He can do it hun, let me talk to you. Now I told you living alone on that mountain was dangerous, what if you had been buried? No one would have known to come looking for you? You should move down here, get a real home with working electricity and running water-."

"And date John?" sighed Hannah.

"Yes, exactly that, he's a man who can take care of you, a good man, you don't have to live alone in that cabin, give him a chance."

"How old is John?" Hannah said briskly, looking at the old woman.

"… Thirty-two," she answered hesitantly.

"And what's my rule?" this was a discussion they had had before, multiple times.

"… No more than seven years, but that's silly dear, he's close enough, you're both mature adults who can handle yourselves-."

"Ellen, I don't like thinking that I'm dating someone who was born while I was in school one day. I'm sorry."

The elderly woman sighed, "alright," certainly this was not the last time this would be brought up, "and remember dear, you're always welcome to our home, for Christmas, New Years, Tax Day-."

"Christ Ellen," Mike looked over at his wife, who cut herself short and gave an innocent look to the older man. It was clear that Ellen would have wanted a daughter, maybe not instead of a son, but a daughter to go along with.

"I know Ellen, I've just been very… very busy."

"Living up in the mountains foaging for food?"

"Mom, enough, leave her alone," John walked up, dusting the rust off his hands and smiling at Hannah.

"She needs the wood too son," said Mike, returning to his magazine.

"I can get the wood, thank you," she gave a little nod to John, then a small hug to Ellen," it was nice to see you again," sort of, "I've got to get this done and get back up the mountain."

"Alright dear," Ellen sighed, defeated, giving her another hug, "wow, you're really warm. Don't be a stranger."

She extended her hand to John, but quickly switched to offering him her uninjured one. He gave a small laughed and shook her off-hand with his off-hand. She got right to piling the wood into her truck as the two of them drove away.

She watched them leave with a backwards glance, then kept stacking wood. She backed the truck up to the station and began filling the empty gas cans, setting them in the small spaces of the bed left available. The whole process took maybe fifteen minutes. And then:

"Hello, are you Miss Rousseau?" came a heavily accented voice behind her. Her muscles tensed and her knuckles turned white against the tailgate she was about to shut. She gave a fierce glance over her shoulder, but it wasn't what she thought it was. The man she was looking at, maybe her age, thin-faced but very tall. He wasn't dressed like a Weyland grunt, hell, he wasn't dressed appropriately for Montana's weather wearing just a red turtle-neck sweater, his jeans and boots definitely not meant for hiking.

He had a bit of nerdiness about him, but it might have just been his face, and his accent was difficult for her to place, Irish or Scottish if she had to guess. If he was with Weyland, he was not one of the usual flunkies.

"What do you want," she said icily, slamming the tailgate shut.

"Ah!" that small breath was far too excited and she got paranoid again, "it's a pleasure to meet you, my name's Jacob Miller," he extended his hand, but it was left alone out in the cold. He clenched his fingers into his palm and retracted the friendly greeting, but not the optimism, "you're very hard to find you know," he said and looked down, searching his pockets.

"Should be a clue," she glowered, repeating her question, "what do you want?"

"Ah, I was sent by, uh, Miss Woods to come find you," Hannah didn't recognize the name, shifting weight to one foot and folding her arms, "I had a letter I may have left it in the car," he glanced back and Hannah looked beyond him. There was a little grey Subaru parked a bit away from the gas station, where she saw another man sitting in the passenger seat. It was obviously a rental car, and these two best pray that there wouldn't be any snow; even a light dusting would keep them in this town for days with that fragile thing.

"But I promise you I was sent by her to find you," Hannah turned, waking alongside her truck to her door, "no wait! She says that she's ready to talk, that she thinks it's safe now," Hannah's hand paused on the cold metal handle. She hesitated a moment before glancing at him with hard eyes.

"After the incident in two-thousand four, Weyland harassed and threatened her. She had to leave country, go into hiding, but they followed her. You see it's taken her this long to get them off her heels."

Hannah was frozen. She recalled now, the woman being escorted down the hall, strange scar on her face, looking remorseful as Hannah begged her to tell her what had happened. Alexa Woods, the only survivor from that expedition twenty-five years ago.

"Is there some place private we can talk?" Jacob's voice came through the haze of her mind and she turned to star at him dumbly.

"No," the answer came out, airy.

Jacob thinned his lips, "alright, come with me," he said and moved back towards the car. Hannah watched him walk away, hand still poised to open her door. He stopped and looked back at her. Her fingers slipped from the door.

She moved to the car, and he opened the door for her to get into the back seat. She hesitated at the presence of the other man, "that's my brother Scott. He doesn't bite."

"Much."

"Where are we going?" she asked, sliding in and doing up her seat-belt.

"Ms. Woods and Mr. Verheiden have a hotel room under Verheiden's name, we were hoping you would have a place we could talk at, but I guess we'll have to do it there."

Hannah didn't like the addition of another name to this game. But if it was going to give her the answers she had wanted for the past twenty-five years, she'd risk it.