So sorry about how long this took to finish. The last two weeks have been preparing for a festival which is going on through May. I will try to be more prompt on the next chapters.

Hannah parked outside Ellen's house, looking at it. She didn't move from her truck. Her mind was on so many things; Alexa's story, the wrapped up bundle hidden under the generator in her truck, and the resolution that she needed to help Jar-hidda escape this planet; an alien who was responsible for her mother's death.

No, not he personally, but his race, a group of that race, but could she do it? Separate him away from them as a whole? Could she convince herself that he was an individual, not that group? Could she disassociate him from the greatest tragedy of her life? Could she continue to help and take care of him, a hunter of her race, whose human trophies she had seen in his ship. It was becoming harder and harder to justify her aid and now….

Now.

Now she bent onto her steering wheel, nestling her head into her folded arms, and for the first time in a long while, she cried.

She jumped suddenly when her door opened and she gave a wild look to the scruffy face of a dark-haired young man wearing only jeans and a black turtle-neck sweater despite the heavy flakes of snow that were starting to fall.

"Are you hurt?" John asked.

"No," Hannah breathed, trying to sound like nothing was wrong.

John looked her over then extended a hand to help her out, "come on inside, my mother has dinner ready."

Hannah undid her seatbelt and slipped out of the car, wincing as she took his offered hand. He quickly let go and put a hand on her shoulder, leading her towards the house. Ellen was standing in the doorway, a red turtle-neck, grey sweats and slippers.

"Come in dear come in," she said, ushering her inside, taking her away from John who shut the door.

"I'll be getting dad in a little bit," he informed the woman, walking with the two of them to the kitchen. John noticed Hannah favoring her arm after Ellen removed her jacket and moved towards her, "is your arm okay?"

Hannah hissed, pulling back the sleeve of her sweater, making sure to also pull up the wire mesh, and seeing blood seeping through the bandages, "oh…," she unwrapped the ace wrap, "Jesus Christ! Mom, get the first aid!"

Hannah heard Ellen retreating down the hall and looked up from the bloody mangled mess that was her arm to John.

"What the hell did that to you?"

"Cougar."

"Recently? We were just with you!"

"No, a couple days ago."

Ellen was back with the first aid kit, laying eyes on the wound for the first time.

"Oh my goodness," the older woman gasped, covering her mouth, "what did this to you? A dog?"

"A cougar," John answered as he got to work cleaning the wound with alcohol, which hurt like a bitch, but not as much as being stabbed with the health shards. The man then started tightly re-wrapping her arm, "I don't know why you didn't go to the doctor."

"I was busy," she said without emotion.

Both John and Ellen gave her a skeptical look. Hannah averted her eyes and looked at the bandage.

"Are you in trouble, Hannah?" Ellen's voice said quietly. Both her son and Hannah looked at the older woman with questioning eyes, and the woman added even quieter, "do you need somewhere to hide?"

Hannah blinked, lips parting slightly but not finding anything to say. She couldn't believe Ellen would just offer something like that to someone she barely knew.

"I— no, it's not like that," she said, looking down as John released her arm. It was cleanly bandaged and she cradled it against her.

"I just…," what could she say? She had an alien living in her house? Weyland wanted to have it more than any human life was worth?

"I found out what happened to my mother, how she died," Ellen blinked and after a moment a hand rested on her shoulder, "I just don't think I can handle being in the cabin for a couple days…, too many memories."

"Oh, dear," Ellen bent down and embraced Hannah. The younger woman blinked at the genuine warmth of it and felt very uncomfortable.

"Stay as long as you need."

Once released, Hannah stood and was escorted by John around the house for a small tour of where the essentials were; bathroom, back door, washroom. He showed her the living room as well, and she stopped to look at the pictures on the fire place. There was an old picture in dull, faded colors in the left-hand corner of a happy couple by a railing. The backdrop was a large grey city and some white pigeons. It reminded her that Ellen and Mike were nearing their sixties, if not already in them.

The picture had been taken when they looked like they were in their twenties, sometime in the nineties. It made Hannah feel young.

"Yeah, hard to believe they were ever our age," John commented.

Hannah looked at him, then at the picture again, "yeah. I think my mom would be about their age now, maybe younger."

John made a noise in his throat, something between affirmation and sympathy, "what was your mom like?"

"Busy," Hannah answered promptly, "she was never one to sit still. Her idea of relaxation was strenuous exercise. She cleaned guns in her sleep."

"That's kind of how I imagine you are."

Hannah looked over at John, that cold hard look in her eye that was skeptical of all this hospitality and generosity. It obviously unnerved him, because he cleared his throat and turned to continue, "mom says you'll be taking the guest bedroom, which is usually my room when I come to visit, so I apologize for the mess."

"How's your business?"

John blinked, hand on the doorknob to his room, "oh, I didn't think you knew. It's going well. Very well actually, I'm supposed to be heading back down by the end of the month to talk to a representative from the Borgia Industries on some of my inventions, weather permitting."

"Good," Hannah said, looking into the small room as the door swung open. She looked in at the single bed with wool blankets that looked like they belonged in a Native American antique shop or museum. There was a single nightstand with one small drawer and a simple lamp on top. There was a window above the bed, and beyond the glass snow was lightly falling.

"I better go get my dad before this storm gets worse," John said and patted Hannah's shoulder, squeezing gently before slipping away, "make yourself comfortable and relax a bit," he offered a smile to her as she turned to look at him, then he turned and walked away. Despite herself, she felt a little anger at him showing his back to her.

Hannah sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. She couldn't help but wonder who these people seriously were. Ellen offers a place to hide without knowing any details, John patches up her arm with the expertise of a paramedic, and Mike… Mike's always been there for her. She realized that she knew these people better than she thought. For the past two decades they had been her only human contact in her life. They were literally the only friends she had.

And she was hiding things from them.

She inhaled deeply, rubbing her hands against her face, thoughts travelling back to that bruise-colored alien at her home. There was no dancing around it, he was a dangerous creature with dangerous technology, and for that reason she needed to help him get off the planet. Maybe she could make him promise never to return but, would she really believe him if he agreed?

She had much to think about, but before she knew it, there was a light knock on the door, startling her out of her thoughts. John gave her an apologetic smile, "dinner's ready."

Hannah followed John to the kitchen where Mike was already at the table. The sympathetic smile he gave her told her that he had been clued in on why she was there. An extra chair had been procured from somewhere and she was seated at the small square table next to the older man, with John on her left.

"Hey Hannah," the older man said, "I covered your stuff with one of our tarps, it was getting snowed on and that generator's already rusty as it is."

Hannah looked at the old man, his genuine smile disarming.

"Thanks Mike."

Mike smiled and reached over, taking and squeezing her hand gently. Ellen then set down a cloth in the center of the table, then on top of it a pan full of shepherd's pie.

"Smells delicious hun," Mike said reaching up and tugging on his wife's shoulder, giving her a peck on the cheek. She smiled and turned, setting her kitchen in order, setting down a basket of rolls and a stick of butter, before sitting down next to her husband. Mike's soft eyes gave a sweep to the table before he clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

Hannah looked at the three of them as the other two followed his example. She didn't bow her head with them, but she didn't go for the food either.

"Dear Lord," Mike began solemnly, "we thank thee for this day, our health and our livelihood. For safe travels and good company. For a roof over our heads in the storm, and warm hearts in the winter. Dear Lord, we ask that you bless Hannah in her time of hardship, and comfort her with your love and lead her through to happier times. We are lucky to have her in our lives. We say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

The final word was repeated by the other two at the table, and like that the heaviness that had settled was lifted and the room brightened and Mike scrambled for the large plastic spatula declaring, "me first!"

The family left her little to no time to brood. The table was littered with questions about things she had been up to lately, which she answered as best she could with half-truths, knowing that the very observant mother and son would likely catch her in a plain-faced lie. She was working on some mechanical project; refurbishing a vehicle she had found. Hunting up on the mountain was good, which had attracted the cougar. Weyland was bothering her about a crashed space object in her backyard and seemed willing to do anything to get to it.

John had his expected meeting with Borgia Industries for his newest invention: a multi-spectrum visual unit, capable of many spectrums from ultraviolet to infrared and night-vision, that he hoped would be useful to the military in situations of low visibility. He had also been helping Ellen clean around the house, and was glad to be doing a bit of manual labor, sure that all the fine-tuning and tinkering with screwdrivers the size of needles was giving him tendonitis.

Ellen was happy that John was home and not driving in this weather. It made Hannah think to Alexa and the others, hoping they had found a place to stay rather than driving in their dinky little rental through snow that would eat them alive.

She was drawn from her thoughts when Mike cleared his throat.

"I have an announcement to make to you all at the table," he said, jokingly tapping his metal spoon against his plastic cup, "in small part to Hannah's latest five-hundred dollar visits to our store and nearly ten years of saving up money," Mike gave her a wink, "we finally have enough to start up that elk ranch."

"Oh!" Ellen clapped joyfully and John laughed in surprise. Hannah felt uncomfortable.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to be getting the paperwork for licenses and all that filled out, and fix that fence around our yard, order in a large barn and by this summer, we'll be getting one-hundred head of elk."

Ellen was up in an instant, hustling to a cabinet and taking out champagne glasses. She replaced the plastic cups with the narrow flutes and filled each with the bubbly liquid.

"Should have had this for the announcement," Mike joked but took his glass in hand, "to the American dream!" he toasted and Mike and Ellen joined in to the cheer, everyone taking a drink of the champagne.

"To family!" toasted Ellen and Mike and John joined, then drank.

"To the future!" toasted John and the four took another drink to the toast.

Hannah thought for just a second and toasted, "to hunting."

Mike laughed out loud, nodding and raising his glass, "yes, yes, to good hunting," and the four finished off the last of the champagne in their glasses. Ellen continued to pour in the spirit of celebration, and was the first of the four to get visibly drunk. Mike laughed and escorted the older woman to bed as John and Hannah cleaned up dinner. The set up a quick system where Hannah rinsed off the plates and John stacked them in the dishwasher. Leftovers went to the fridge, and the lights in the kitchen went out.

John walked with Hannah to the room so that he could get a blanket and a pillow, even though Mike passed them in the hallway saying he would get the fireplace going for his son. Hannah kept back from the room as John entered and took one of the Native-American looking blankets and one of the pillows. Once back out he smiled at her.

"I hope you sleep well," he said quietly, then exited down the hall. Hannah watched him disappear around the corner to the living room, where an orange glow radiated. She turned to the room and shut herself in the dark. It was cold in this room, so very cold. She took off her windbreaker and her clothes, leaving on the wire netting as she slipped under the itchy wool blankets. The pillow went flat the moment her head touched it, and she struggled to fluff the feathers to be more supportive. The bed felt like a military cot, and she tried in vain to find a comfortable position.

With a sigh she ended on her back, looking at the ceiling. This was a nice family, unlike any she had ever been around in her youth. She wondered momentarily, if her mother had ever settled down, if she would have ended up like this.

Hannah doubted this. She turned over on the bed and reached for the windbreaker, rifling through the pockets until she felt cold metal, and put the cheetah on the small nightstand beside her. She looked at the weapon coldly, wondering if her mother would be upset that she was going to help a creature like the ones who had taken her life.

Hannah set her jaw and settled back into the bed, pulling the wool blanket up to her neck. It was only through sheer mental and emotional exhaustion, combined with the alcohol that she managed to fall asleep. But it was not restful like John hoped.

Once again, she dreamt of death at Jar-hidda's hands.