A/N: In my world Lara and Sam are a thing, and I will not be dissuaded. This is my version of a missing scene on the beach between two cut scenes.

OneShot; Lara/Sam.

I don't realize that Lara's back until she's slipping the bow off her rounded shoulders. Breathing her name I step forward, aching to hug her, but her bruised dirty face is a mask I can't quite decode.

"When we heard the explosion, we thought …" Whitman begins behind me, and then pauses, unusually delicate.

Lara drops down onto the ground favoring her left side, seemingly exhausted, her head low. A sinking feeling begins to build in the pit of my stomach.

"Alex?" I mean it as a question, but it comes out closer to a certainty.

When Lara looks up at me I can barely bear the heartache written all over her face. "He was still on the ship," she says in an almost-monotone, and I simply can't take the distance between us anymore. Crossing to her side I sink down next to her and put my arm around her bowed shoulders, wishing I could take her away from all of this, wishing I could draw her into me and protect her as much as she's been trying to protect me.

"Seems anyone caught with you has a pretty low survival rate," Reyes snarls from across the fire, and I can actually feel the barb land as Lara's shoulders jerk under my arm.

"Reyes!" Jonah reprimands.

"Better keep your distance, then," Lara responds gamely, but without any spark. I can feel her shiver slightly, and I move closer, pulling her into my body.

With a slightly reproaching look at Reyes, Jonah continues. "Let's just eat, okay? Those bastards went quiet, but it doesn't mean they're going to stay that way. If I'm going to die in this place, I'm not going to do it hungry."

The roasted fish is bland, but we're all so hungry that we devour it as if it's gourmet cuisine. All of us except Lara. She picks delicately at a piece and ends up handing most of it over to Whitman when he - typically - complains that he's had less than everyone else.

"Lara…" I keep my voice low. I don't want to draw Reyes' attention back to her. "You have to eat. You don't look well."

"Yeah, I've really let myself go," she says with an almost-smile which disappears nearly instantly. Her eyebrows hitch, giving her lovely face a sad and forlorn air, before she sighs. "I'm too tired to eat, Sam. I feel like I've been running non-stop for days."

"You have been," I only half-joke, shifting closer again so that I can drape an arm around her shoulder.

Across from us Reyes slumps down, her back to us as she prepares to get some sleep. Jonah has already drifted off, curled up on his blanket like a gigantic child, and Whitman has wandered off to take the first watch.

Lara's thigh is pressed against mine and I note, absurdly, how completely and utterly her pants have been ruined. How battered skin is showing through in so many patches, how ripped the material is, how many bloody stains there are. I can't help but run my fingers over the worst of it, and again I can feel Lara's shoulders twitch under my arm.

"Sorry," I apologize for any pain I may have caused with my touch. "You're going to have to burn these when we get off this island."

"If. If we get off this island." She turns her head and is suddenly looking into my eyes, so close and yet so distant. "Are we going to make it, Sam?"

I'm not sure, have not been sure for a while, but in this moment I can be the strong one. "Of course we're going to make it, Lara. Of course. We'll find a way." You'll find a way, I really want to say – after all, hasn't she been the one finding a way all along? - but she already thinks it's her obligation to save everyone, and I can't add to that weight.

"These storms…" she begins, her brow furrowed, and her voice is so soft and tired that I can't take it anymore.

"Lara," I interrupt, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We can talk about this tomorrow morning. You have to rest. Please."

Her jaw bunches before she musters up a small smile. "Yeah. Tomorrow." Her hand reaches for mine and wraps around it, resting both lightly on her thigh. "How far did you get with Robinson Crusoe?"

"I had to stop after a couple of pages. It was a bit too close to home." I stare at her torn up, bruised, melancholy, oh so lovely profile until my heart can't take it anymore, and then look down at our clasped hands. Twisting mine around I gently work my thumb over her gashed knuckles. "Does it hurt?"

"It's not too bad," and then, as she catches my sideways look she amends, "yeah. It hurts."

My eyes travel from her knuckles back to her leg, to the bruises and scratches and darkness of blood, and then up to her right arm, where a tatty possibly-once-white rag is tied roughly just under her bicep. "Lara, have you treated any of these?"

"I did what I could." She shrugs. "I didn't have much time."

"You have to look after yourself…" I begin, all exasperation and chiding, before I catch myself. She doesn't need this. She needs care. Pushing myself up off the ground I root around for the basic first-aid kit we took off the boat. Lara watches me with those expressive brown eyes, so quiet and motionless that it's a little unnerving. Of course this makes me chatter like a bird, about this and that and nothing in particular, but I am glad when it brings a little smile to her face. Sitting down by her side I open the kit and find nothing more inspiring than a couple of Band-Aids and bandages, gauze, cotton wool, and some antiseptic liquid. I begin to clean her hands as gently as I can, pressing the soaked cotton to her split flesh. It must sting like crazy, but she sits still, staring into the flames of the fire as I tend to her. When I'm done with her hands I look over her legs, trying to ascertain the damage, but once again her hand covers mine and squeezes it briefly.

"If I have to take off my pants they'll disintegrate completely," she says drily, "and I don't fancy running around in my knickers in front of Whitman. Mind taking a look at my arm instead?"

I have to chuckle at the image that crosses my mind. "Okay. Fair enough." Shifting a little I reach up and undo the bandage around her arm, hissing a little at the damage that greets me. "What did this, Lara?"

"A bullet," she answers abstractedly, and then looks over her shoulder at me. "Sam, remember what we talked about on the Endurance? Just before all of this?"

"I'm the most favoured target for a bunch of madmen, Lara, not an amnesiac," I try for flippancy. It hurts less than the truth. It most certainly hurts less than the weight of her stunning eyes as they take me in so seriously. She watches me as I soak the cotton in the antiseptic liquid, watches me as I press it to the horrid gouge in her flesh, watches as I wince on her behalf. Finally I glance over to make sure Reyes is definitely sleeping before I give in. "Yes, Lara. Of course I remember."

When Lara closes her eyes for a moment her eyelashes fan out in dark crescents. "I didn't mean to make you wait for an answer, Sam." She takes a breath and drops her head. "You assume you have all the time in the world, and then… you don't."

"Hey," I put my left hand on her shoulder and then run it gently down her back, mindful not to press too hard. "Lara. Hey. We have time."

"And what if we don't?" She lifts her head and fixes her gaze on me. "Sam, when they had you tied to that stake and Mathias set it on fire… I couldn't bear it if that was how I left it between us, Sam."

My heart is lurching in my chest, climbing up my throat, hammering in my ears. I daren't look into her eyes or say anything – the last time we had this conversation I was the instigator, and I made her run a mile by pushing. I don't want her to run again. Instead I move the cotton a little, wincing as she hisses under her breath, and try to make sense of the mess on her arm.

"I love you."

I am amazed that I manage to keep my hand steady, that I don't jab the cotton ball right through her shoulder. "I know you love me, Lara."

"No." Her hand is suddenly clamped over mine, pinning it to her ruined arm, and it must hurt like crazy but her gaze is unflinching. "I love you, Sam. I love you. I would swim every river and cross every waterfall and scale every fucking cliff on this island if it meant keeping you safe. I love you."

My breath catches in my throat and I swallow against the emotion rising in my chest. "Lara…" I begin, and falter. I've always been the one to talk, and she's always been the one to do. Now, I don't have the words. I spent them all on her what feels like years ago, when she asked for more time. So instead, I lean forward and plant a chaste kiss on her mouth. My senses overload: The warmth of her skin under my fingers; the faint taste of copper between my lips; the sound of her breath hitching. She draws in a breath as I pull back, and then her hand moves up to cup the back of my neck and pull me closer again. Her lips are dry and cracked, the bottom one split to the left where one of Mathias's goons put in a boot, and it's the softest kiss I've ever had.

I move my hand from her upper arm and run it over the back of her neck, shift around from my half-kneeling position, try to get closer as her mouth consumes mine with something akin to devotion. She twists around without ever letting me go, shifting her body, moving under my hands. We end up on our knees, pressed together, my arms wrapped around her shoulders, her hands cupping my face, and Lara Croft is kissing me as if the world is about to end. Maybe it is, but what a way to go.

Finally we have to draw back – not even the end of the world stands back for lack of oxygen – and Lara puts her forehead to mine, smiling into my eyes. Not the small tired lopsided grins we've gotten here, but a proper smile. "Wow," she breathes.

"Uh huh. Wow," I echo, squeezing her shoulders, and the thing I want to do most is dive right back into her, but at this distance I can see the lines of exhaustion around her eyes. Lifting a hand I brush it over her brow, noting how her eyes flutter shut. "Lara…" and then I do lean in for another small kiss – I'm only human, after all, and I finally have what I've always wanted – before I sit back on my heels. "Lara, you need to rest. Let me wrap your arm, and then we can lie down."

"Okay" she sighs, unusually compliant, before she steals her own small kiss and sits back down. I wrap her arm with a clean bandage, stopping every now and then to press my lips to her shoulder, enjoying the way her mouth curves into an indulgent smile every time I do it.

"You're going to get rabies," she murmurs.

I laugh a little and finish tucking the end of the bandage away, then let my eyes run over her again. "I noticed you favoring your left side a little. Can I take a quick look?"

Something flashes over her face, a quick expression I can't place. "Um… you might not want to do that." She bites her lip, wincing as she aggravates the split.

"Why not? Lara, let me see." I clamber over to her other side and pull up her shirt, gasping as I uncover a horrid-looking injury. It's a mess of blood and open flesh with what appears to be a burn mark right over it. Grimacing, I run my fingers around the edge, noting the heat that radiates from the center. "Oh, Lara. What did you do?"

"I fell on a piece of rebar. Then I tore it open falling a couple of times. Then I cauterized it with an arrow and a lighter. Then I took a swim in a river of corpses." She shrugs. "I didn't have a lot of options."

"Neither do I. I don't know what to do about this apart from cleaning it a little, Lara." I'm worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, and I can see her watching my mouth with an indulgent little smile.

"That's fine, Sam. Let's just try some antiseptic."

I get the idea that she's just humoring me, but I go along with it, wetting the cotton ball and pressing it to the disaster on her side, nearly grinding my teeth to stubs as she tries – and fails – to smother a little whimper. We go on like this for what seems to be forever, and when I'm out of antiseptic my eyes are wet. Taking care to be extra gentle I press some gauze to her side and try to bandage her up as much as possible with what I have left, then pull her shirt down.

"There. Maybe that'll help a little."

"I'm sure it will," she says softly, reaching for my hand. "Thank you, Sam. Sit down with me."

I move back to her other side and manoeuver her backwards as smoothly as possible until she's lying down. I want to pillow her, want to keep her off the hard ground and safe, but there doesn't seem to be any way to move that won't hurt her, so instead I curl up tightly against her and put my head on her shoulder. Her hand moves against my back and then wraps over my side, pulling me in close. I can feel her breath puffing against the top of my head.

"Sam?"

"Yes, Lara?"

"We're going to make it."

I lift my head, crane my neck, plant a kiss on that serious mouth. "We're going to make it, Lara."