AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't own Tomb Raider, its characters, or any other intellectual property belonging to Crystal Dynamics or Square Enix. Nor do I own any of the other assorted bits of pop culture referenced here. Lara Croft belongs to no man – well, unless you count Toby Gard.

The following is rated M for strong profanity, violence, and occasional moments of black humor.

I've had recurring nightmares that I was loved for who I am,

And missed the opportunity to be a better man.

- Muse, "Hoodoo"

CHAPTER 1: SUPPORTING ACTOR

Ever since I was a kid, I've loved movies. Back then I always wanted to be in pictures, but not just any old movies would suffice for 8-year-old Alex Weiss, no sir. I wanted to be in action movies. I wanted to be the next Indiana Jones – you know, traveling the world, finding cool artifacts, improvising my way out of trouble, saving the world, getting the girl, that whole song-and-dance routine. Maybe even with my own kickass theme music if I was lucky, though in a pinch I'd settle for the last two minutes of "Knights of Cydonia."

This could probably go without saying, but I never became that guy and I think it's safe to assume that I never will. I am instead an electronics geek – I prefer the terms "expert" or "guru," but let's just call a spade a spade here. I saved up for my college books with a summer job at the Genius Bar and paid for a lot of other stuff with some admittedly legally questionable activities involving gambling sites that I won't discuss any further without my attorney present.

The best-case scenario for a guy like me is probably Jeff Goldblum in Independence Day, and the coolest thing he does in that movie is sit at his computer uploading a virus to the alien mothership. Whoop-dee-damn-doo. Meanwhile Will Smith is flying around blowing shit up, punching aliens in the face, and making wisecracks. The guy from Spaceballs plays a President who doubles as a fighter pilot and delivers one of the most rousing speeches in action movie history. Man, even Randy fucking Quaid gets cooler stuff to do in that movie. He probably does the coolest thing out of anyone in that movie, actually. At least he got to go out with style.

Anyway, a few years ago I took a more honest job as the resident technician aboard a ship called the Endurance. Or at least that's what I did until the ship wrecked in a storm off the coast of a Japanese island called Yamatai.

How do you like that? I buried the lede. See, this is why I'm not a journalist.

Well, not in front of the camera, that is. Before the wreck I was also part of a film crew for a documentary hosted by the most narcissistic prick in the world. Dr. James Whitman is the kind of guy who won't hesitate to recite his resume from memory should you ever dare to disagree with his expertise. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that he has not one but two doctorate degrees and 30 years of archaeological experience, I'd never have to work again. (Never mind that he's got someone else doing all his research for him – but I'll get to her later.) The other day he threw a hissy fit over having to gut a fish on camera, as if such a task is so barbaric and beneath him. Hey, stuff like that grosses me out too, but at least I sucked it up and dissected that frog in biology class – and that was in seventh grade. How Jonah got through that shoot without throwing Whitman off the ship, I'll never know. The doc didn't even need to be in that bit, but God forbid someone else gets the spotlight for more than two minutes.

The good news is that the rest of the Endurance crew members have actually been pretty cool. I'll even go so far as to say that the top three most badass people I've ever met were on that ship. The bad news is that two of those three are dead now.

Angus Grimaldi, or "Grim" to his friends, was in his mid-60s, but I bet he still could have kicked my ass without breaking a sweat. He was never the type who'd back down from a fight, even in his golden years, but he was also a friendlier guy than his gruff Scottish demeanor would have you expect. He had a flair for storytelling too; if Sam and her camera survive all this, ask her to show you the bit with Grim's story about headbutting the Loch Ness Monster – who else would even try that? I bet he was an unstoppable beast in his prime. He died fighting off a bunch of the psycho cultists that populate this island (they're called the Solarii – I think the name comes from their worship of Himiko, the Japanese Sun Queen), and knowing Grim I'm sure he was glad he went down swinging.

The second member of this triumphant triumvirate was our captain, Conrad Roth. He was exactly the kind of guy I'd always wanted to be. He was a former soldier turned professional treasure hunter. He traveled the world and the seven seas, and if the law ever said he couldn't do something he needed to do, he said "fuck it" and did it anyway. He was a charismatic leader, firm but fair, and despite my limited nautical experience I bet you'd be hard-pressed to find another ship run as tightly as his (Grim could have vouched for me on that; those guys went way back). Right now it's late at night, pitch black outside, and I'm helping build his funeral pyre in a small clearing in the forest. He survived a helicopter crash, then took an axe to the back, then turned around and shot the bastard who threw it – and some of that guy's friends for good measure – with the axe still lodged in his fucking back. He died soon after that, but holy shit… what a way to go.

And then there's Lara.

If you asked me to write down all my thoughts about her, I'd probably fill a volume big enough to make War and Peace look like The Cat in the Hat. But here's the gist of it: She's fucking amazing.

First off, she's absolutely brilliant – she's done enough of Whitman's research on his behalf to take him to school in his own field, doctorate degrees be damned. She's as passionate about history and archaeology as the good doctor is about looking good on television. The way her eyes light up whenever she finds something cool and her voice lifts when she figures something out – man, I wish I could get that excited over anything.

Second, she may look like a nubile and vulnerable ingénue, but she's tough as nails. I knew she was the outdoorsy type and had a lot of hunting and survival skills, but until we were shipwrecked I had no idea what she was really capable of. Just a few hours ago the Solarii had Jonah and Reyes and I trapped in a cage dangling in a cave, and then all the floors collapsed into a pit of fire and brimstone. Lara climbed across the cage and shot some gas leaks, which caused explosions powerful enough to push the cage to the other side of the pit and drop on solid ground just long enough for all of us to get out. It was the kind of thing I used to think only happened in movies or video games.

The "too long, didn't pay attention" version: If she doesn't make it off this island in one piece, nobody will. Ever.

And third… well… she's extremely easy on the eyes. And the ears, for that matter. I have a thing for posh English accents like hers. She could read me the phone book and I'd think it sounded like Shakespeare. That or I'd be too distracted by her athletic frame, one that somehow still has curves in all the right places, or her perpetually ponytailed brown hair swishing to and fro with every tilt of her head, or her flawless face with those deep brown eyes.

She's basically a miracle of genetics. I don't think she even gets acne.

I look over at Lara as I collect more firewood. She's standing by herself over near a bush clutching a tree branch in one hand and rubbing her eye with the other. She's been holding that same branch looking lost in thought for the last ten minutes or so. I'm not sure exactly how long she's been over there. I kind of have more important things to worry about than looking at my watch.

I know she'll feel better again eventually. But I can't help feeling like anything I can do to accelerate that process would be worth it. I should go over and talk to her.

Wait, no I shouldn't. She needs some more time to herself. The last thing I'd want to do is accidentally make her feel worse. Even Sam is leaving her alone, and she knows Lara a hell of a lot better than I do. At least she would know what to say.

What the hell am I supposed to do? I've never seen Lara hurting like this. I never want to see it again. I wish I could snap my fingers and make it stop. I can't. But I can talk to her. Can't I?

God damn it, Alex.

What?

Listen to yourself. She just watched her godfather die, and all you can think about is spending some quality time with your crush. Fuck you, Alex. Fuck you, you unbelievably selfish and insensitive little bastard. You don't deserve her.

I know.

You never had a chance in hell with her anyway.

I know. So I'll just take that branch and leave her be.

"Hey," I say. "Um… you want me to get that for you?"

"Hmm?" She follows my pointed index finger to the branch in her hand. "Oh! I… I actually forgot I still had this. Here." She hands me the branch.

"All right." There. See? That wasn't so bad. Now she knows she can have all the time she needs. She doesn't have to help right now if she's not feeling up to it.

I start to walk away. But then something occurs to me and I stop. Maybe there is one other thing I could tell her.

"Hey, Lara?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know when I'll get another chance to say this, so, um… thanks."

"For what?"

"You know, for saving our necks just now. And everything else you've been doing," I quickly add, though the way I say it makes it sound like an afterthought to my ears, "but especially that. If it weren't for you I'd have been deep-fried in that lake of fire back there."

And Reyes and Jonah too, but you just have to make it all about you, don't you Alex? Looks like the doc's been rubbing off on you.

"If it weren't for me, none of us would even be here," she counters. "And all of us would still be alive."

Yikes. Well, I can't let this conversation end on that. Choose your next words carefully, boy.

"It's not your fault."

"Reyes certainly seems to think so."

I glance over at Reyes as she bitterly tosses another branch onto the ever-growing makeshift funeral pyre. She'd apologized for what she said upon finding Roth lying dead beside Lara, but there was something off in her tone when she did it. It was a somewhat begrudging tone, the kind people use when they're only saying sorry because they feel obligated to, not because they want to. Aside from possibly Whitman in full diva-tantrum mode, no one aboard the Endurance is tougher on Lara than Reyes. She and Roth had always been close, though I must admit I hadn't paid much attention to their relationship, which is probably why I was surprised when they turned out to be former lovers. I wonder if she thinks Roth was playing favorites with Lara. For now, though, these are thoughts that are best left unsaid.

"She's just upset right now," I assure Lara.

No shit, Sherlock. We all are.

"But she's right," Lara says. "Sailing into the Dragon's Triangle was my idea. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and Grim and Roth would still be with us."

She'd certainly be less of a mess. For the first time I notice how much damage she's been taking – the bruising from where the Solarii had beaten her; the dried blood, scratches, and scrapes from fighting people and climbing cliffs and being in crashing helicopters; the accumulated grime from faceplanting into every mud puddle on Yamatai; and the ash on her clothes from rushing through burning buildings. I also spot the thin clear streaks extending from her eyes, cutting through the thin layer of dirt that's smeared on her face. Those look pretty fresh.

You want to know the hardest thing about listening to Reyes being so tough on Lara? There isn't anything Reyes could say to her that she doesn't already believe. So what exactly does that accomplish aside from twisting the knife?

"You couldn't have known things would be this bad," I tell her. "If we get off this island, it'll be because of everything you've done for us."

"You know," she says, "at least after my parents… disappeared—" she doesn't like talking about what happened to them, and I still don't know the details, but she insistently refuses to use that other D-word when it comes to her parents – "I still had Roth. He looked after me like I was his own child, taught me everything I know. And now he's gone, just like that." She punctuates her words with a finger snap. "He died protecting me, Alex. So did Grim. Did you know that?"

"Not about Grim."

"That's how it happened," she says. "We were on a tower in the shanty town, a long way up, and Mathias's men took him hostage. They told me to drop my bow, but Grim didn't want them taking me too, so he fought back and…"

She looks away and closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose, and takes a deep breath to compose herself. It almost works, but I still notice a drop or two sneak through.

"And he fell," she continues. "So now, two of us have died protecting the stupid girl who got us all into this mess in the first place. And if we can't get back out they'll have died for nothing." She looks back at me and I can hear her voice cracking a little as she asks, "Am I really worth all that?"

There's a short awkward silence after that. I know what I want my answer to be, or rather I think I do, but that question still manages to sucker-punch me. I hope she doesn't mean what I think she means.

"Well," I mumble, "I, uh—"

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. "You don't have to answer that. It's not fair to ask anyone something like that."

God damn it, this conversation has been a disaster. Whether I say anything or not, I give her chance after chance to beat herself up. I knew this was a bad idea. But I can't just let her have the last word here. Not when she seems to wish that axe went in her back instead.

"Well, um… Grim and Roth certainly thought so," I finally answer. "As long as you stay alive, you can still prove them right."

She doesn't say anything, but judging from the look on her face I think she wants to know how.

"Just… you know… um…"

Come on, spit it out already.

"Keep… uh… keep being awesome."

Her mouth forms a thin smile and she snickers a little. "Thanks, Alex. You too."

And that's that. I give her a little nod, then turn around and head to the pyre to deposit the branch.

You know, I've always been so proud of my eloquence. "Keep being awesome"? Is that seriously the best I could do? Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ, no wonder I'm still single. I bet if she dyes her hair blonde all I'd be able to tell her is how she looks so different.

But that last question keeps haunting me. She probably didn't even mean for me to take it this way, but now I hear that question in my mind and I twist it into an even more difficult question: What would have happened had I been in Roth's place? Or Grim's? Would I have made the same choices they did? Would I even have the intestinal fortitude to consider doing what they did?

Ah, who the hell am I kidding? Lara would have been captured or killed, and the rest of us would have followed suit soon after. I wouldn't even have the guts to climb that radio tower that she used to send that distress signal (God, that feels like eons ago now). I've always had a bit of a phobia when it comes to heights; I guess that's why I ended up working on a ship instead of a plane. I also have a much bigger phobia of my childhood bullies turning out to be my quarter-life crisis.

Within a couple minutes of our chat she starts adding wood to the pyre and accepts a hug from Sam. She even offers to help place Roth's body atop it. But she would have done all that eventually. When we're ready to leave she stays behind to watch the pyre burn out, and all the while she doesn't look like she feels any better.

So what exactly did that accomplish?

AUTHOR'S NOTE

One chapter down, and then at least four more planned after that! To think, I was originally going to make this thing a one-shot.

Fun Fact #1: You have no idea how hard it was to resist a reference to South Park's "tree-fitty" joke for the bit about Grim's Loch Ness Monster story.

Fun Fact #2: The first published edition of War and Peace was 1,225 pages long. The Cat in the Hat is 61 pages long. Now get out your calculators – how long would a book have to be to "make War and Peace look like The Cat in the Hat"? Approximately 24,600 pages. If you were to write one page per day, that book would take you just over 67 years to write.

Fun Fact #3: "Burying the lede" is a journalistic term. Basically it means you took too long to give the most important or interesting details in your article.