.x.
Fleeing again. I was so tired of running. I pelted through a twisting, winding path, and as I ran I pumped another shell into the chamber of the shotgun. I was astounded that I'd even been able to wound Celtic. I knew my aim was terrible and by some stroke of luck—or misfortune, I wasn't sure which—he'd been just close enough that I'd not only managed to hit him, but I'd hit him in an unarmored area.
And now he was very, very angry. I didn't know whether he was in pursuit, though I felt it safest to assume he was. I had hoped—I had prayed—that once I found Scar again I could resume traveling with him until we found the way out of this place, but quite obviously I wasn't considered welcome company by his fellow predator. So now not only did I have to concern myself with the distinctly unfriendly aliens, but also with a particularly ferocious and hostile predator that clearly thought I was better off dead.
A stray, random thought stuck me as I ran. I wanted to be drunk. Gloriously drunk. Incoherently, blackout drunk. If I ever made it out of this hellhole, that was going to be my first priority.
A sharp, stabbing ache began in my scraped leg and it wasn't long before I was forced to slow my wild pace and hobble to a halt. I turned and stared for minutes down the path I had taken, but nothing appeared. Relieved, I let the shotgun rest on my shoulder as I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and breathing deep. As the pyramid reconfigured itself I merely opened my eyes to see what would change in the area around me. Two massive slabs of granite came together in front of the corridor I had just left and opposite them two others slid open.
Standing on the other side of them was Scar.
Caution pushed me away from the wall, bringing the shotgun up to bear as I did so. I tried to peer past the hunter's large bulk to see if Celtic was somewhere behind him, but as he took the few steps he needed to enter the chamber I saw he was alone. He'd begun his throaty chitter as soon as we'd seen each other. I didn't lower the shotgun. Celtic had tried to kill me. How was I to know that Scar wasn't here to finish the job?
Neither of us moved for the span of several seconds. I found that I felt far more confident regarding him over the double barrels of my weapon now that I knew I could harm his kind. When he abruptly became silent and took a step towards me I reacted by moving back, my finger tightening on the trigger.
"Don't," I said softly, pleadingly. I really, really did not want to shoot him, not because I was afraid of hurting him, but because I was afraid of what he'd do to me if I did. He paused only a moment before taking another step.
I swallowed hard. The shotgun shook in my grasp. I was beginning to doubt that I could shoot him—he had, after all, aided me in multiple ways since we'd crossed paths. As the thought flashed through my mind, another, more insidious voice rose up in answer.
Look what you did to Sebastian, it said.
"Don't—" My voice faltered, and I had to clear my throat before continuing, "Don't come any closer. Please."
Whether he understood me or not, I didn't know, but he stopped advancing. Instead he said in a man's voice that I recognized an instant later as Sebastian's, "Lex."
He held out both hands then, palms up, and simply stood there. It was a gesture of pacification, meant to placate me, meant to show he wished me no harm. My relief then was so strong that my legs almost gave way beneath it. I lowered the shotgun until the barrels rested on the ground. In turn, Scar let his arms fall to his sides. I fell limply back against the wall again, wiping at the nervous sweat that had beaded on my face. We'd ascertained the fact that we were still "friends", but now what?
I watched as Scar jerked something free from his waist. It was an alien finger—the same, I realized after seeing the dark green blood on the tip of the claw, as he had held before. I understood then that we were starting where we'd left off. As he neared me I tucked the wayward mass of my hair behind my ear and turned my face to the side. As he touched the tip of the claw to my cheek I sucked in a sharp breath at the pain and then bit my lip. I'd suffered worse in the hours past, to be certain. When he lifted his hand away, he gave a low rolling growl that I interpreted as approval. I raised my own finger to touch lightly my new mark. It hurt, yes, but was nothing compared to the other injuries I'd sustained over the past 24 hours.
"All right, then," I said, and was happy to find my voice was even. "What do we do now?"
Scar hadn't moved, except to reattach the finger to his belt. I edged around him, assuming we'd be heading back the way he'd come. His sudden snarl, however, twisted me around to face him again. He reached for me before I could react,and he caught my left arm with his hand, pulling me closer. I opened my mouth to protest, to curse, when he abruptly placed two fingers on the wound in my shoulder. His touch wasn't gentle and I made a muted sound of agony, would have wrenched away had I been able to.
"What the fuck was that for?" I snapped angrily when I could breathe again.
A deep grunt was my answer as again he probed my injury, albeit with a gentler touch this time. It still hurt, but I realized he hadn't meant to cause me pain originally, so I stood my ground and silently endured his curious examination. He circled around me, hand still wrapped securely around my upper arm, to see the puncture on my back. Again he prodded it delicately, but it hurt more there, and my breath left me in a slow hiss.
After a moment he turned me to face him, and indicated with a toss of his head the passage he had come from. He led the way, and cradling my shotgun in both arms, I followed after him.
.x.
I had known all along where Scar would be taking me. And so when we came shortly to an intersection between four corridors and I saw Celtic there, I wasn't really surprised. But I was scared.
It seemed my arrival had been anticipated. Celtic, crouched over what seemed to be some sort of medical kit, did nothing but glance up and snarl at me as I came to a standstill. While this wasn't the warmest of greetings, it was enough that I felt slightly more at ease. Scar grumbled something and Celtic growled back, and my savior companion then flipped open the computer like device that adorned his forearm, pressing buttons. My attention was drawn to Celtic, who had taken from a small, heated metal bowl a blue gel-like substance. With a metallic utensil he smeared the gel on the bullet holes I'd made in his upper torso. He immediately let loose a howl that shook the walls around us and I stumbled back several steps back in alarm. Eyes wide, I watched as he repeated the process until every trace of his neon blood had vanished and my ears rang from his roars of pain. Against my will, I felt slightly guilty.
That guilt faded, however, as Celtic rose very slowly to his feet and circled around the medical kit, heading directly for me. I cast an anxious glance at Scar, who stood nearby and was now silently observing. I got the distinct impression that I was about to be tested. Though incredibly tempted, I resisted the urge to raise the shotgun. When only a couple of inches separated Celtic and I, he stopped moving and I craned my neck to stare at the expressionless features of his mask head on. This close, I was acutely aware of the fact that I was incredibly out-powered. It was not a good feeling.
One massive, reptilian finger rose to touch my newly received warrior's mark on my cheek, and it wasn't a gentle touch. It was rough and meant to inflict pain. Though my eyes watered I didn't flinch. I kept staring up at him. When his hand descended on my injured shoulder and squeezed so hard my vision went red, I didn't cry out. I bit down—hard—on my lip and concentrated on keeping my breathing even. I was wondering what would happen if I fainted when abruptly he released me, gave a guttural growl, and touched the wound I had given him. I was confused, until he did what Scar had done once before—he thumped himself on the chest, grabbed my shoulder, and touched his injury again.
I had the vague impression he was telling me "nice shot".
He then bowed his head only slightly. A little awed, I watched as he moved away from me to stand before Scar. They conversed a moment in their strange language before Celtic gestured to me, made a noise that could only be interpreted as derisive, and began to leave, walking down the passage to the left and disappearing from sight. Expecting we would follow, I was surprised when Scar crouched down before the still open medical kit and scooped up some of the blue gel on the spoon like utensil. When he stood and walked towards me, however, I hastily back-pedaled. If it had hurt enough to rouse Celtic to that much noise, I really had no desire to discover just what it would do to me.
"I'm okay, really," I blathered, holding out one hand in an effort to impede his progress. "I took care of it myself … back there …"
He growled. Obviously this wasn't open to debate. With a resigned sigh I stopped moving and instead slipped my arm out of my two remaining shirts. He waited patiently as I ripped the gauze off, wincing the entire time. It was more difficult to remove it from my back but I managed, and when I was done I stared at the ominous blue mixture he held and nodded.
He went about it as carefully as he could, I'll give him that much, but the moment that substance touched my wound I was in complete and utter agony. I screamed and must have fallen, because when I suddenly became aware of anything other than the pain I was on my knees with Scar crouched before me. It was a struggle for me to catch my breath, but when I did I nodded at him once more and the torture began anew. His free hand on my other shoulder was all that kept me upright. I swayed unsteadily as he stood, returned to the medical kit, and returned a minute later with more of the blue stuff.
He applied it to my back this time and when he was done I was sprawled face first on the cold, hard ground. The treatment hurt almost more than the initial injury. Dazed, I pushed myself first to my hands and knees and then rose unsteadily to my feet. Where the gel had been applied a burning numbness had begun, spreading through the injury. While it was unpleasant it wasn't unbearable. Gingerly sliding my arm back into my sleeves, I wondered if I should expose my leg wound to the same medicine.
Scar was beginning to pack up the medical kit. I knelt beside him and shook my head, taking the spoon of blue goop from his hand. He watched, head cocked to the side, as I awkwardly tugged up my pant leg to expose my other wounds. I tore the gauze away quickly. The gel didn't hurt as much on my scrapes as it did on my puncture wound, but it was still enough that tears slipped from my eyes and I averted my head so they couldn't be seen. When the blue substance was all gone, Scar took the utensil from my hand and finished closing the medical kit up. I rolled the leg of my pants back down, picked up my shotgun, and stood.
Most of my body was now numb and I felt better than I had in hours. It was kind of like when you drink enough alcohol that you're in a pleasant state of oblivious bliss to the world around you and it reminded me of my earlier promise to myself. Scar had reattached the medical kit to where he carried it on his back. I wondered idly if his species had something akin to alcohol and if they ever got drunk to the point of oblivion after finding themselves fighting for their lives over and over and over again.
"Lex."
It was so disconcerting to hear the predator say my name with someone else's voice. I shook my head out of my slightly hysterical reverie and nodded my affirmation that yes, I was ready to go and face the horrible, monstrous things that wanted to kill me. I giggled at that thought before clamping one hand firmly over my mouth, appalled. What the hell was wrong with me?
Scar was watching me with his curious head tilt and my mouth twitched with the urge to laugh. Before he turned to lead the way down the path Celtic had gone, he reached out and brushed the mark he had given me lightly with the back of his knuckles, rumbling. I shouldered my shotgun and began to walk after him. I stumbled the first few steps, feeling unaccountably dizzy.
Realization made me halt for a moment. Whatever healing that gel stuff was doing, it also had a mild intoxicative effect on me. Had Scar known? I doubted he'd ever used it on a human before. And while staggering around down here slightly inebriated wasn't preferable, at least I was alive.
Scar, several feet ahead, had spun back around to determine why I was lingering. He barked a reprimand, and as he began to move again I suppressed the desire to salute him.
Yes, at least I was alive. Life was good. For the moment.
.x.