Disclaimer: This is fan fiction. As such, I can only claim ownership of the plot. Lara Croft / Tomb Raider are © Crystal Dynamics/Eidos/Square Enix; Chris Redfield / Resident Evil © CAPCOM.

Thanks in advance for reading! ;]

A/N.: Illustrations of this will follow shortly at: raccooncitizen . deviantart . com

Gin and Tonic
by raccooncitizen

"Another gin and tonic."

Lara Croft rarely drank anything that didn't come out of her personal wine cellar. And when she did, she usually restricted herself to one glass of champagne. That day, however, she was neither anywhere near her estate, nor would even the best Dom Perignon have been able to save the day.

She was sitting at the bar of a fancy club venue on the rooftop of one of New York's high-end modern skyscrapers – engulfed in a mix of loud music, voices, sticky air and billows of haze occasionally streaming in from the dance floor.

The barkeeper clicked his tongue, nodding at Lara's order to the rhythm of the beat and looked over to the man next to her, who shook his head in negative response.

Lara's company was a fairly handsome man, probably in his late twenties: well-built, dark-haired, dark-eyed, angular-faced. There was a certain something about him that reminded him of Larson Conway, Natla's inane yet charming sidekick – bless him. She wasn't sure if it was the shape of his eyes or simply the clumsy way, in which he pretended not to ogle at her whenever she raised her glass to take a sip. Truth be told, she didn't care. When the man – Trevor – proposed to skip the rest of the blasé inauguration ceremony of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium and go for a drink instead, she didn't even think twice. A quick change of scenery was all she needed – especially, when it was only an elevator ride away.

"They make the best Sex on the Beach here, you know?", Trevor said, pointing at his drink. "Are you daring enough to give it a try? You look the adventurous type to me."

Oh, the double meaning. Lara was amused, wondering on how many occasions he had used that line to break the ice before. As if on cue, the barkeeper finished Lara's drink and put it on the bar top. "My gin wouldn't appreciate it today, I'm afraid.", she shrugged jokingly. They clicked glasses.

"Well, all right, then!", Trevor winked. "Tell me about yourself. Let me guess – public relations?"

She shook her head with a smile, glad he had no idea who he was talking to. "I'm just a historian, nothing exciting. Unlike you, I'm sure!" How long have you been with the Forces?"

She didn't really care for his story, but by getting him to talk about himself she'd be able to give her own nagging thoughts a rest and enjoy the vibe of the club before she would decide to excuse herself... and then, leave.

Lara had spent the previous four weeks playing tour guide for the BSAA squad in the Colombian rainforest – assisting them in their search for a disused mine that had been converted into a laboratory and breeding facility for bio-organic weapons. Normally, she would not have bothered and left the task to the locals but the request reached her directly from the British Ministry of Culture and Heritage and allured her with not only a full funding of the expedition but the prospect of discovering the entrance to an Incan subterranean palace that was rumored to be located nearby.

Four weeks in the jungle, among a unit of six servicemen – five fighting machines, really – led by one tank: Chris Redfield. Ex Air-Force and Special Forces and now captain of a counter-bioterrorism division of the US Government – a formidable marksman, a born strategist and leader, and the cause for at least three grey hairs on Lara's head.

Finding the mine had been an easy and pleasant task – her long years of survival expertise had proven themselves more than handy to lead the hard-boiled men to their destination not only unscathed but also quickly and in a fairly fresh condition. Curse her curiosity, it was her own fault to volunteer to assist them on their mission to purge the pit: once successfully completed, the captain had insisted on repaying her by escorting her to her own destination. Lara appreciated the thought, however, the men slowed her down and quickly became a liability that she couldn't afford. Expressing her wish to carry on alone and explaining this to Redfield proved futile; separating herself from the unit during a night break turned out to be a disaster: they tracked her down thanks to the GPS chip in a compass she had borrowed – supposedly assuming the worst-case scenario. Mindlessly storming the cave, one of the men triggered an ancient safety mechanism that not only made the whole ceiling come down at once but also sealed off an elaborately decorated entrance Lara had just opened right before she could get in. Needless to say, she was not in the least amused about the situation: the door was blocked and buried underneath tons of stones – and Redfield was giving her an extra hard time being undiscerning and nitpicking over the risks of working in these ruins in a way that would have put even the most devoted British Health and Safety executive to shame. Even though deep down, she knew he was right – the extent of the wreckage warranted at least a week of cleaning-up – she couldn't accept the way, in which he interfered with her way of working by automatically assuming control.

And now, less than a week later, he was standing on the podium along with four other captains. Strong frames, authoritative faces, white shirts, black ties and suits, and an innumerable quantity of medals and ribbons outshining the name plates and competing one against another – the Forces Operatives stood united in an almost phalanx-like formation, providing the most press-effective backdrop for the newly sworn-in ambassador. To Lara, for some reason, the gala attire made Chris look even deadlier than in his tactical gear – to the extent that she simply couldn't avert her eyes from him. That is, until he stepped forward to receive another award and glanced over at her briefly.

That man's ability to still make her feel exposed and vulnerable even at this ceremony – after all nothing but just another posh socializing event – alerted and intrigued Lara. Unlike the rest of his unit, Chris wouldn't budge surrendering to her charms. On or off duty. In fact, Lara wasn't sure if he was capable of doing "off-guard" at all.

She watched him step down the podium to resume his seat, some thirty feet away from her table, next to that blonde woman, who was introduced to her earlier on as Jill Valentine, a decommissioned BSAA operative. Judging by her body language, she seemed quite close to and quite taken by Chris and hardly ever seemed to leave his side. Clinginess was a trait that Lara was lucky to never have developed, so she genuinely pitied those – in her eyes – less fortunate souls seeking constant support and appreciation. But this was different. No matter how hard Lara tried, she couldn't stop her attention from monitoring Jill's every move, looking out for a sign or a reaction that might have revealed her relation to Chris through the filters of the strict military etiquette.

And then – a little smile, directed at Valentine, coming from the man in question, as he sat down. Jill returned it openly and leaned in to whisper something into his ear – probably some affectionate nonsense – and surprised Lara by turning to pierce her with a deadly look, as though apparently sensing the threat of a potential competitor in her.

There was no fooling herself: Lara was infatuated. It scared her. She could well man-handle business and sparring partners and go grab anything she wanted, whenever she wanted, with flying colours. But when it came to something that involved voluntarily raising her personal stakes and throwing her royally well-treasured emotions out into the open, things looked completely different. If she didn't think she could stand a decent chance to succeed, she would back off and move on – after all, she convinced herself, her colourful life was rich enough to keep her busy otherwise, anyway.

"... I mean, my father always thought I'd follow his footsteps and take over his office – but come on – me, a dentist? Just think of all that time I would have had to spend at college in the first place! My uncle always told me: You were made to knock out teeth, not fix them!"

Trevor had apparently been talking for a while now, if his somewhat exaggerated body language and his slightly shrunken distance to Lara was any indication at all. He didn't get frisky and his babbling didn't require any reaction from her side, which made him the best random company Lara could have wished for just then. The music, however, had been a little bland for a while, and she decided she'd be better off catching up on some sleep. She took a surreptitious look at her watch and decided to make a quick exit after this drink.

"Never would have pegged you for the party type!" Though dulled by the loud beats of the dubstep, the highly familiar voice was a jolt to Lara's alcohol-addled senses. Before she could turn around, a hand – big and strong enough to crush hers – stopped her from picking up the glass. His suit and tie were gone; she was looking straight into the concerned eyes of Chris Redfield.

He shook his head. "That's enough, Lara."

A hand grabbed and tugged at his shoulder. "Hey, who the hell are you?"

With an expression of stern authority, Chris slowly turned to face Trevor.

"I'm the guy you really don't want to get involved with."

Lara bit her lip, failing to stifle a giggle, before remembering to try and keep it together.

Trevor withdrew his hand, abruptly – eyes wide. "Captain! ... I didn't know–"

Chris gave him a serious look, silencing him instantly. He wanted him gone, now.

Trevor glanced over to his envisaged prey, who seemed more interested in his superior's back than himself, and back at Chris – and realized that he had just lost this game, big time. Hands up, he surrendered with a scowl.

"Impressive.", Lara commented, when Chris shifted his attention back to her. "However, I would advise you against marking too many territories at once. It will become a pain to look out for them all at the same time. It didn't work for the Romans after 117 AD, either."

Chris frowned. "I'm sorry, what?"

Lara exhaled, rolling her eyes. "Wifey might get the wrong idea, darling."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you're here, at the bar, with me, and witnesses all over the place. She might get the idea you're having fun." Lara reached for her gin and tonic; he caught her wrist – again.

"Oh no, you're not drinking this.", he ordered.

"And why is that?", she sang, a coquettish smile plastered on her lips.

He exhaled in disbelief. "God, you're really trashed.", he uttered silently.

"Bollocks. I'm about to – and I'm quoting you now – ease the fuck up, woman." She blinked and frowned, realising something wasn't quite right about that. "Aw, did I just swear? Naughty me!" She giggled softly. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Not letting you do something you'll regret tomorrow." He turned to the barkeeper and pointed at Lara. "Water!"

She blew a strand of hair away from her face. "I'll be fine. Go – don't keep her waiting. She looks the jealous type."

Chris frowned, confused.

Lara tilted her head and rolled her eyes. "Jill?"

"Jill? Why– no! She's just a friend!"

"I know, I know, and it's not even my busi–oh?" She paused to read his expression, which was a mix of perplexity and sheepishness. Suddenly, her face lit up. Sensing the opportunity, she leaned in and let her voice drop to a lower tembre. "Well, in that case, how about–?"

He forced himself to turn his head away to disguise his unease but couldn't help but glance over to her, curious about the end of that sentence.

"To broken and mended hearts, freedom and the American Dream!" Pause. "And the Roman Empire.", she added as an afterthought.

She backed off and flashed him an even bigger grin. He didn't react.

"Drink with me?", she blinked.

He let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. "Absolutely not. With you like this I'm feeling like on duty."

She leaned in, supporting herself on the bar top. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, you make me feel like I'm on duty!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Am I your duty, now?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Whatever."

She beckoned him to come closer. She spoke the words loud, clear and articulate. "Well, in that case you're obviously not on duty now. But that's fine as long as you promise to clock in soon!" She grinned broadly, reaching for her glass.

Chris swallowed, hard.

As much as he hated to see her like this, he sincerely hoped she was drunk enough to not notice his façade crumble; this was more than he could handle. "That's it. No more drinks. I'm taking you back to the hotel."

"Well, aren't you straightforward!", she giggled.

He shot her a hard look but chose to ignore her remark otherwise, inwardly grateful that the low-light ambience of the venue was able to cover up the rush of colour on his face. He took her hand, pulled her up and began working his way through the party crowd.

"Hey, ease up yourself, you big... yank!" Her words were swallowed by the music and general noise of the club. Then, suddenly, she realised why she couldn't leave this place just then: the subliminally familiar beat faded to reveal the killer melody of Sweet Dreams. Her personal drug. This was lethal.

"Wait! Chris!", she called.

He ignored her.

Suddenly aggravated, she tugged at his arm, hard.

He stopped and spun around, puzzled. Inertia threw her forward – her nose collided with his chest. She drew in a deep breath of his scent – her anger dissolving completely in less than a second.

"Mmmmh, you smell good.", she purred, bringing her arms around him, instinctively. "So, so good." She inhaled, again.

"Stop it." It sounded a bit too harsh; too angry with himself, really.

Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close and continued leading her towards the exit, but she wouldn't have it.

"Dance with me."

"I don't dance."

"Oh, don't be a square! This is my favourite song!" She wiggled out of his embrace and headed back. Chris sighed: even like this, she was stubborn. He followed her.

With half-closed eyes and sensuous and graceful movements, Lara took over the dance floor. She was instantly taken and thrown into a trance-like state, engulfed by the sexy vibe of the song and the hot, humid atmosphere of the club. Chris was fighting hard not to stare and enjoy the sight of Lara's seductively swaying hips – an every man's dream come alive. Elegant, like a wild cat, she was locking eyes with him, challenging him to join her.

She could tell he was fighting with himself to take action, and so she approached him, swaying smoothly, as if moving through water, until they almost touched. He was effectively paralysed.

"Lara, this is awkward.", he commented, helplessly.

"I agree." Her hands slid down his arms until she reached his knuckles. Lacing her fingers through his she lifted and placed them on her hips. Never stopping to move to the rhythm, she closed the distance between their bodies.

Chris took a deep breath, looking upwards – irritating her.

"Am I really that repulsive to even look at?"

He dared cast a glance at her, eyes pleading her to stop.

Her irritation turned into hurt. "Fine – I get it. Why do I even care. Why are you even here? Go make somebody else miserable!" Her shoulders sagged, she spun around and moved away.

She didn't get very far – he caught her by the waist and pulled her towards him, cushioning her back with his chest.

He held her close and lowered his head onto her shoulder. "Don't you get it? I can't... Not when you're like... this. You don't know what you're doing."

She turned around and sought his eyes. Cupping his face with her hands, she brought it down to hers and brushed his lips with hers, softly and gently. "I know exactly what I'm doing, Chris." She kissed him, hard, as if to prove her point. This time, he responded, eagerly.

Fighting with himself to not loose all self-control, he spun her around again and steadied her hips against his with a firm hand, as they effortly sought and found their own rhythm in the beat.

Lara let out a content fit of giggles and threw her head back, onto his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his breath burning hot on the nape of her neck. With eyes closed, she allowed herself to let loose and savour this very feeling of his arms around her. She knew she wouldn't be able to listen to that song in the same way ever again. When it faded and turned into another club mix, Lara spun around and pressed herself into him.

"Shall we?", she purred. He nodded.

.

Lara woke up the next morning laying face down in her king-sized hotel bed with an equally king-sized headache. In her line of sight, she recognised the frame of Chris sitting bent over a traveller's magazine, silhouetted against the bright daylight shining in through the window.

She let out a small groan, making Chris turn around. His voice was unusually tentative and soft. "Morning. How are you feeling?"

She brought her palm to her face. "Can you kill the lights, please?"

He closed the blinds with a chuckle, stepped up, poured a glass of water and handed it to her. Wordlessly, she gulped it down in a go and reached for Chris' hand to tuck it between her head and the pillow, before closing her eyes again and cursing the pain.

A little startled, Chris reached to brush away a strand of hair falling over her face. "I'll be right back, all right? Ten minutes."

He bent down and began removing his trapped hand, silencing her unintelligible moan of protest with a kiss on her temple.

When she managed to turn onto her back and dared open her eyes, Chris was indeed, gone. Lara didn't remember ever blacking out before – not even in her wild year associated with Chase Carver. It felt bad – as if she was trapped in somebody else's body with the whole world weighing heavily on her head. She squeezed her eyes, trying to fight the headache and recall the events of the previous night. She touched her lips – they were still swollen. She grinned to herself, recalling their hungry kisses that tasted of gin and tonic; she remembered stumbling the short distance from the building to the car in the adjacent skyscraper in Chris' suit; the drive to the hotel, which had seemed incredibly bumpy; her efforts to keep up a sober appearance when they entered the hotel lobby to find the reception desk empty; the elevator ride – thank God they were alone; and then? She squeezed her eyes again, concentrating harder, but her head and sense of balance protested. Then, everything else was a blur.

"Brilliant, Croft.", she muttered. "How old are you – eighteen?"

She cracked one eye open, in fear her brain would short-circuit if she strained it with a three-dimensional image, and looked down at herself – no bra, as usual. Checked beneath the blanket – at least she had her panties on. She lowered her head further to her chest and smiled. Through her numbed senses, she could still smell Chris on her skin, though only very faintly. Her wrists turned out to be a stronger source of his scent – however, still no memory of whatever happened when they came here. Shame, she thought. It must have been good.

The door opened – Chris was back with a cereal bowl covered with aluminium foil and a cup. He put the bowl on the bed stand and sat on the mattress, facing her and handing her the cup – earl grey, no milk. Just the way she loved it.

She bent over and raised her hands to take a sip. The blanket slid down from being tucked under her arms, but she couldn't be bothered. "Cheers.", she mumbled.

"Uhm, you should eat. This will get you back to normal soon."

She raised a brow at his airy tone and found him facing down and away. She chuckled and covered her bared chest, clearing her throat. "And this is... steroid soup? – ugh..." Her headache was not amused. Chris, however, was.

"Oatmeal, oil and salt. My grandpa Don's magical remedy."

"And they serve that here?"

"Nope. But they didn't mind me taking over the kitchen for a few."

Lara chuckled, quite surprised – and grimaced – the hangover triumphing over everything, again. Her eyes fell on the other half of the bed – rather neatly made-up. For some reason, it didn't surprise Lara to find Chris so tidy. Then, she spotted her bra on the pillow next to hers, laying on top of the white bathrobe she left on the bed the previous day in pretty much the same position.

Her confusion was noticed. "Are you all right?"

She put the cup down and cradled her head in her hands and remained there in silence. The uncertainty was becoming disconcerting; she needed to know. She looked at him through spread fingers.

"Chris, did we...?", Her voice was quiet. she couldn't finish the sentence.

He shook his head. "We didn't."

She straightened up, genuinely surprised. "Didn't?" Beat. "Right..." She breathed a restrained sigh of mingled regret and relief. He watched her reaction, amused.

"Well, this is awkward.", she uttered, eventually mirroring his smile.

He picked up the bowl from the night stand and placed it in the hand in her lap. She followed his movements in affectionate disbelief.

"Who are you and what have you done with Chris Redfield? Oh wait – the captain is just looking out for his cadet, right?"

His face fell a little, a hint of forlornness filtering in. "You know you're not my cadet, Lara – unless..."

She bit her lip and put her hand on top of his. She raised an eyebrow and gave him a lopsided grin. "Unless...?"

"Any regrets about last night? Apart from the alcohol, I bet."

She shook her head and stroked the back of his hand. "You know, I don't actually regret it that much."

His smile widened as the half-disguised meaning of her words sunk in. He leaned in for a gentle kiss. "I'm glad you kept my compass, after all.", he mumbled.

Lara broke it, frowning. "Compass?"

Then, it hit her. The very same compass the BSAA unit had used to locate her position in the jungle had been in her handbag all along, the previous night. She ought to have been mad, but she couldn't help but feel warm. Protected. "Always in control! Sneaky.", she winked.

He gave her an apologetic smile and got up to grab two slips of paper from the table, as it turned out, two open-ended departure flight tickets to Bogotá – issued on behalf of the US Government. "They're cleaning up the cave as we speak. I would love to make it up to you."

The jungle could wait.

The End.

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