Rivers Run Deep

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters related to Predator El, other unrelated human characters, and the character names of the predators Imade up, the concept of predator do not belong to me.



Authors Notes: This is a work of Fan fiction. please read on and enjoy.



WARNING: The following work of fiction contains, extream violence, course language (at times), sexual sudgestions, nudety, and explicit sex. If you are
under 18 (or whatever age is appropriate for your location), HIT YOUR
BACK BROWSER BUTTON NOW. If you find explicit sex offensive, please
don't offend yourself by reading further.



Author: Charlotte (jemstone5)

Email: jemstone5

Feedback: Please, yes lots.

Forward to others: would be flattered if you did.

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Rivers Run Deep



Chapter 16



His arms were huge and strong. Strong enough that he’d broken several of her ribs in their fight, but when he held her, it was like she was made of the finest glass, and the slightest pressure would shatter her. His breath was quick as he too fought with strangled cries that threatened to explode the windows if he let them loose. His tears tapped lightly on her damp cheeks, mixing with her own before falling away. Perhaps that’s why there were so many glasses, a beverage to replenish what their grief took away.


She could feel her hips nestled comfortably in his cross legged lap. He rubbed her arms through the blankets, giving her what comfort he could, as she in turn did the same, as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and torso, holding him as close to her, as he was holding her. After a while, she wasn’t sure how long, their tears stopped, and he turned to look at her green eyes.


Very few females of his kind had green eyes. They were considered a treasure among the males. His Uni perhaps had the greenest he’d ever seen in a Yautja female. This ooman’s eyes were just as green.


The light of life was there once more, though sadness reflected in their depths. He brought his huge hand to her brow, smoothing her hair back, and purring in question of her state of mind. She understood his question, and nodded yes, meaning she was getting better, and asked with a gentle touch to his cheek the same question.


His amber eyes were also sad, the flesh around them was pink. Common to his kind as their tears were not accustomed to falling so frequently of late. He purred, a sorrowful warble from his throat accompanying it, but he too nodded yes, that he would be alright.


She tried to move, to allow him the dignity of not holding some crazed alien female in his lap, but as she did, both her legs pained her, her left more so than her right. She gasped out loud, and he stilled her with a hand to her chest through the blanket. She began to wonder exactly how badly hurt she was. Beneath the covers she snaked her hand down to her thy, feeling the layers of wrap around her skin. It was stiff, and she knew it was swollen. She reached her right, and found the bandage wrap around her leg, just above her knee. “Crap,” she sighed. Wounds like this would take forever to heal, and there was no guarantee that she’d be able to perform as she once had.


She felt his hand cross hers beneath the blankets, inspecting through touch the state her legs were in. She put her hand over his, and gently squeezed, and he slowly withdrew from the covers. He turned back to her, as she leaned her head against his broad chest. “I’ve no idea who you are,” she said gently. “I know you’re sad, like me. But I don’t know why.” She watched as he outer tusks moved together, a gesture she could only interpret as ‘Oh well’. “I wonder what happened to you, to make you so sad.” Then she remembered. She had her journal under her mattress. A hard cover book that Ralph had given her, which she could use to write what ever she felt, without fear of being judged. She never used it.


She easily pulled it free, flipping it open she tore out several pages. She took a black medium tipped marker, and began to draw her stick figures on the page. She didn’t have any pictures of her family. She didn’t have anything, only her brother’s motor bike. She wished that she had grand parents or aunts and uncles. They could have at least sent pictures to help her remember. But, her mother’s parents died when El was very young, and her mother never spoke about her brother. Her father was an only child, and his mother had abandoned him when he was young, and his father went to jail for murder when he was 17 years old. Some family.


She drew one figure first, and then pointed to herself. “Me,” she said, showing him the figure. Even with his natural heat vision, he could see the figure she drew, the universal female with a skirt. He nodded. She drew another stick figure, a male. “Brother, Michel,” she said, and drew two more figures, larger than the first two. “Mother, Julie, Father, Alec.” He nodded, realizing that the male that he’d killed in the house that night, was her brother, not an enraged suitor. She then drew two smaller stick figures, inside the skirt of the mother figure, representing her two unborn siblings, and a house behind the family she drew. She couldn’t help the tear that rolled down her cheek, as she turned to him again. He nodded again, that he understood her story. He had been there after all.


She reached into her nightstand drawer, and pulled out a lighter, kept there for emergencies, and a can that would normally hold a candle. She tore out the small stick figure of herself, then set the page on fire, dropping it in the can, letting the flame turn it to ash. More tears rolled down her face, as she held up the lone stick figure, and turned to him, her voice uneven as she struggled to keep from crying again. “They were killed,” she said, “and the Sheriff believes my brother was involved in drug dealing. If you knew my brother, you’d know that was impossible.” She knew he didn’t understand her words, but as his hand took the marker from her, he set to work on telling her his story.


He drew the same kind of figures, though not as steady with a marker as he would have been with the laser pen he usually used. He drew the male figure first, mimicking the one she drew, then pressed his hand to his chest as he looked at her. She nodded. Of course it would be him. He then drew a stick figure of a female, exaggerating the length of the skirt, common among the Yautja females to wear, just allowing their feet to show. He then drew a very small stick figure inside the female, and turned to her, his breath soft gasps as he tried to tell her who the figure represented.


She knew, his wife and their child. She nodded, and turned back to the paper. He tore the sheet apart, so that the two figures were separate. He then took the can that she had, and poured the ash over the image of Uni and their child. In the early years of their evolution, his kind had at one time buried their dead in the ground, or burned them. The most common now was to burn the bodies, and crush what was left of the bones, leaving a fine ash. Those ashes would then be jettisoned into space, while the rings and trophies of the dead were sent home to the deceased’s family. Though with hunters that never returned, it was usually just the trophies that remained, and the glorious stories of their hunts. He turned at last to the female, tears, like hers, streaming freely down his face. She nodded, and held him closer to her, letting the grief the felt take over.


He lost his family, and she had lost hers. Though he wondered how she would react, if she ever learned that he was the one who caused the fire, that her brother was the one who killed her parents, while in a blind and grief stricken rage, he killed her brother, and destroyed her home. He prayed she would never find out. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what he would be like, if he didn’t have her to lean on right now. As the bedroom door opened, he let out a sorrowful groan, headless of the old man as he set a tray of fresh beverages down, and gathered the others.


“I’m sorry,” she cried, as he rocked her in his arms. “I’m sorry.” Two very simple words, yet far too insignificant to convey what she wanted to say. Pain, right now, was what they shared, and right now, it was what kept them alive, and together. Absently she wondered if, when his grieving was done, if he would try to kill her. Whatever his decision, she would hold him, till their end.